#yandere atsv | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-wishes · 10 months

Text

The Perfect Girl

Summary: Somewhere along the line the villain won and the hero lost. Now your life is nothing more than a cautionary tale.

Part #2 of Imposter Syndrome but can be read as a stand-alone. Part #3 The Spider's web

Warnings: Dollification, yandere themes but like more than usual, abuse, violence, horrible Spanish, NO NSFW but the reader and Miles are 18+. Friends to enemies to one sided lovers. This plays out as a cautionary tale.

Author's note: Can you tell I'm bad at writing Intimacy??😂🤣

You squirm uncomfortably on Miles's lap. Arms awkwardly thrown around his neck as you try to hide your face in his chest. Miles sits proudly, face void of emotions and voice overflowing with authority. He's barking orders to his underlings. For what you're not sure, you've long since stopped listening in on his conversations, your inability to do anything coupled with the innocent lives you know would be destroyed was enough to keep you awake at night. And consciousness was the last thing you wanted these days.

It's been six weeks.

Six weeks since the Prowler defeated New York's last beacon of hope. Six weeks since he'd been welcomed into the Sinister Six as their newest member. They're shining star.

Six weeks since he stole you away from everything you knew,

everything you loved.

You hear the padding of feet and the loud thump of the door. You're alone with him again. So the nightmare begins anew. You're reluctant to lift your head, to face your capturer. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. It's funny how once, back when you'd still wore your beloved silk mask, you had used to count the minutes until your midnight rendezvous.

Miles's fingers reach towards you, tilting your chin up. His smile is razor sharp, deformed as if he can't quite remember how to smile. "Muñequita" he mutters like a disjointed prayer as his fingers glide up your side. Drowning you in a sense of impending doom.

You stare into his eyes. Two voids that have seen every nightmare imaginable. Any saint, any sweet innocent boy whose been trapped inside the darkness for this long comes out as a monster. Stumbling through the night with knives instead of teeth and an appetite for destruction. Miles Morales may have been a human once, a long time ago. Before you met him, before the savior of New York met him. But now he's a monster, one who has long since buried any morals and dignity he may have once had.

Sometimes when the night rages on and you're caged between his arms and sentience. you wonder if maybe, just maybe you should go digging for any of the virtues that he's buried six feet deep. But when he laughs and tauntingly presses on a new bruise with his thumb, you conclude quickly that it's better to leave his good qualities dead. it's easier to hate him that way.

"How does it feel to sit in your arch nemesis's lap?"

He jabs as he pinches your cheek. You let out a soft cry of annoyance as you shift your gaze away from your tormentor.

Miles revels in your fall from grace. Adores pinching and probing you in front of his minions or the rest of his gang members. Loves taunting you after every failed escape attempt. You try to bite his finger, to make him feel a fraction of your pain. But before your teeth can graze his skin, he releases your cheek. He laughs, low and fragmentary. A haunting noise that reminds you that he barely counts as human anymore, just a heartless ghost masquerading as a real boy. "Trying to rebel again mi amor?".

You fight the urge to pick at the flesh of your face or bite your fingers until you reach the bone.

Miles's eyes narrow, annoyed at your lack of a response. He's growing bored, he always does when his pet refuses to play along. His gauntlet reaches for your neck. Squeezing as the claws bite into your flesh.

you should let him kill you, give him the final satisfaction of watching your blood blemish the skin-tight dress he's made you wear. Watch as the life leaves your eyes. "let's try this again mami. When I ask, how it feels your response should be.."

"I love you Miles" you mutter, all deadpan and defaced. "Not like that say it the way I taught you" he hisses, a threat, you note wearily.

"Te amo Miles"

"Bino"

Sometimes you think that he's foolish enough to believe your reprised lie. It almost helps him deceive himself into believing he still has a soul left.

He thinks he loves you.

You think he doesn't know what love quite is.

You use to be a hero, use to be revered and respected by all. You use to be someone, someone important. Laminating about all of this now will do you no good.

You're nothing more than a doll now. Painted and dressed the way Miles likes, posed forever perfectly on his lap. Flaunted and paraded as all prize trophies should be. You guess it makes sense. To the victor goes the spoils. You wonder if you would have done the same to him if you had emerged triumphant that night. Deep down, where logic doesn't reach, you know you would. At least you would have let him keep his dignity. You're not like him, you're not a villain...

But you're not a hero anymore either. What are you supposed to be anyway? When questions like this bubble into your withering mind. You force yourself to choke down the idea that you're still good, you have to be. You're not like him, like them. You're afraid that someday you'll look in the mirror and every ounce of your virtues will have evaporated. You promise yourself that that'll be the day you do something drastic. To yourself or Miles, you're not sure yet.

Miles's fingers trace the indents on your neck. Angry red puncture holes left by his steel claws. He buries his face in the crock of your neck. Licking the measly blood drops from the wounds before tenderly kissing his territory. "Stop it" you grumble trying to push at his chest. But he just growls in warning, ignoring your feeble attempts. "I got you a present, Mami" he whispers over your jugular. You flinch, as he detaches from your neck with a final kiss. He maneuvers you off his lap as he gets up and walks over to a closet on the other side of the room. Plucking out a necklace from one of the drawers.

Necklace is a generous term. Its neck tight and studded. With a silver chain hanging dead-center that speaks of horrors untold. You know what it implies, you know what he's trying to say, trying to prove. You never thought you'd miss the Prowler's iron glad punches to your stomach but you think this might just be worst. At least back then you'd been able to fight back. Reimburse every punch with a kick or stab of your own. Now you are helpless, frail. Broken glass perpetually embedded in soft cotton. Something wild, something tamed. Golden specks of a crown long since shattered tint your hair. All ghosts of who you once were.

"What do you say, muñequita," He says. In a tone that's sick, in a tone that's sweet. Like rotten nectar trickling down a destroyed paradise. Like boiling blood dripping from a broken heart. There's a click, as he fastens his present around your neck. An endless second before reality comes crashing in.

"Gracias Miles" You reply as you feel your last shard of freedom disintegrate.

You use to be something, someone. Carved from porcelain ideals and ivory hope. Divine ichor ran through your veins as you swung across New York's skyline. You had been chosen, but you hadn't been enough.

Now it feels like someone tore you apart. Ripped away your flesh, your bones, your thoughts, your soul. Stitched you up wrong with a rusted needle and a thread of ash. And all you could do was sit there and watch as your golden blood seeped through ruptured veins.

Miles grabs your shoulders. Pulling you close enough so the spikes of your necklace cut into his flesh. His lips bite yours teasingly before they finally merge into a dreadful kiss. He isn't the Prowler you remember, albeit you know that's wrong. He's not the Prowler you had fabricated when you'd thought that the two of you were both innocent souls driven to madness by this city. You use to think that Miles was beautiful, a moon-kissed face with stardust dripping from his eyes. Now you know the truth. He's nothing more than a nightmare, the embodiment of starless darkness and the terrors that lurk upon blackened city streets. He's not your friend. He never was. You were just so foolish and overwhelmed back then.

"You're mine, héroe." His voice is nothing short of a dagger laced with venom. Spreading apathetic poison from your heart to your lungs and leaking into your bloodstream. You see blood behind your eyes when your eyelids shut. Feel the apprehension pounding in the hollows of your bones.

You've long since hemmed every hole where your pride and glory use to bleed through. But it's so hard to keep divinity down when it's all you've ever known. This life isn't yours. This thing that Miles has forced you to be isn't you. There's still hope, you think. Heroes never lose hope. It's a lesson everyone learns, sooner or later.

Later that night Miles kisses you again, this time whispering how to him you are perfection personified. The dark circles under your eyes and bloody knuckles validate that. He traces circles on your arms whilst telling you about how the Sinister Six plan to expand their operations to the next city over. All this makes you wonder if he'd ever been a sweet little boy, tucked under his mother's arm, whilst his father kisses his cheek. Of if he's always been a merciless monster who wears his kills like honor badges.

You pray under your breath as he reminds you that you're no longer a hero. You wonder if you pray because you are human or if praying makes you human. There are still some fragments of hope bubbling inside you regardless of what he says.

Miles likes to remind you that you no longer have the power to save anyone. That the villains won and the heroes lost and that's the way this story ends.

You refuse to believe him.

1K notes · View notes

an-ambivalent · 11 months

Text

Reunited [Yandere! Miguel O’Hara]

Synopsis: Two souls who have once lost one another, find themselves reunited. It reignites the passion, the love, and the lust. For a moment, the longing and despair disappears and everything becomes okay again. You feel okay again. But like the stars that become supernova, the passion, the lust, and the facade of love burns up. You realise all too late that your new Miguel is nothing like your old one.

Warnings: As this is yandere fiction, this deals with behaviours that can be uncomfortable and triggering to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional, I do not condone this behaviour irl. By clicking the ‘read more/keep reading’ you are consenting to read this at your discretion.

PSA: idk much about the multiverse or marvel other than whatever is shown in ATSV. So if “interdimensional” stuff isn’t accurate, well, idrc. Also, not really proof read. We die like men - Happy reading!

It was a momentary glimpse through the an interdimensional portal when each person saw the other again. Like a typical day, you had saved your city from whatever disaster was happening once more. In the beginning, your heart was embedded in the work you did as a superhero; the thrill of chases and extraordinary powers were exhilarating, and the praise and feelings of accomplishing good things of saving people inspired you to keep doing what you were. But out of all the people you saved, there was one couldn’t - your fiancé, Miguel O'Hara.

The agony of losing your closest person had been unbearable. The absence of his presence, reminiscing in your memories with him in everything: your shared home, his clothes, the lack of affection you now found yourself with - everything, it all continued to tighten that knot in your chest. And no matter how much time passed, you weren’t healing. You could not accept the reality. The grief felt like it was continuously swallowing you whole until there was going to be nothing left, until you were going to be nothing but a shell of your former self. And just before you were about to lose all hope, there was a small disturbance in the fabric of space near you, until it had morphed into an portal that showed you another place. There you saw him: your Miguel, who looked just as dead in the eyes, and a hollow shell like you, like he had gone through the same grief you had.

But life is cruel because just before either of you could call out to the other, the portal had closed in an instant. You had been ripped away from his grasp for the second time, and Miguel was not going to have that.

It wasn’t difficult for him to track you down. After all, he had access to the multiverses. He had already checked multiple versions of Earth where you had never existed in the first place. In the others that you had, you met the same tragic fate that his own [Name] had. So to find an you, who was perfectly safe and alive, and definitely an anomaly, he was going to have you. For the sake of multiverse, the best decision was to take you from your dimension, and keep you beside him, isolated from the world, so you were safe and he could maintain monitoring of your influence on the multiverse.

Much to his pleasure, Miguel did not even have to try to get you to fall for him. You had lost a version of him, and were yearning and desperate for him just like how he was yearning and desperate for you. Immediately, both of you felt like you were restarting your relationship where it had been left off: the deep kisses and clutching onto each other until your nails dug in each other’s skin; gentle whispers of ‘I missed you’ and ‘I love you so much’ hushed over and over again in between the lip locking when oxygen was desperately needed and clothes would start to come off.

But eventually, the reunion perceived through the rose tinted glasses came off and you finally noticed how you were never able to leave the place Miguel and you lived in. You hadn’t met anyone else, you only ever saw Miguel. You rationalised to yourself that he was just being protective and cautious of your safety because he had lost you; you may have been the same way if you hadn’t known that the current Miguel had his own powers and was capable of looking after himself. So, you just had to let him know that you also had powers and could look after yourself. Surely then, you would have your freedom?

It was during the dark hours when you were once again engaged in intimacy with Miguel. Your room was dimply lit and you were both half bare. You withered on the cool bedsheets beneath you as Miguel gently nipped and sucked on that perfect spot between the back of your ear and neck, toes curling, fingers pulling on his messed up hair, and breathy and sensual gasps leaving your lips.

“Can we, ah, p-please talk?” You whispered, while you shifted one hand to naked chest, and half heartedly tried to push him to create some distance.

“There’s nothing to say right now, mi amor. There’s only our love right now,” He responded easily, and went to kiss you on your lips. But, you moved your head away, and this time, pushed him away firmly to create the distance you wanted. You prepped yourself mentally to bring up your concerns, and in doing so, failed to noticed the frown that Miguel now wore due to your rejection.

“I just want to reassure you that nothing is going to happen to me, just like I know you’ll be safe too because you’re Spiderman.” You said softly, and affectionately swept his hair back with your fingers. Miguel grabbed and kissed the palm of your other hand, while raising an eyebrow.

“I know nothing is going to happen to you, not again. I’m going to keep you safe. If anyone tries to hurt you, I will kill them.” He stated plainly. Then, he leaned down to kiss you once more, but you moved your head again so he kissed your cheek instead.

His words had made your stomach churn, but nonetheless, you tried to remain optimistic. You smiled at him weakly. “No I meant that unlike my first Miguel, you have powers, so I know you are capable and strong. And unlike your original [Name], I have powers so you don’t need to worry-”

“I am not going to worry. It doesn’t matter that you powers, you’re not going to go anywhere else. You will remain here, where I know where you are all the time.” He said, and your eyes widened in surprise. Just when he was about to try to kiss you for the third time, feeling like he was near the end of his wits, you started to use your strength to pull away.

“What do you mean I’m going to remain here?! You’re not the boss of me! Let me go!” You shrieked.

Miguel growled in displeasure. “Stop your idiocy before I make you regret it.” He hissed, and his claws dug into your skin, and drew blood as a warning. Although it hurt, it wasn’t painful as his words were. He had threatened you. The Miguel you knew would have never threatened you.

“Make me regret it?! Who the hell do you think you are?! You’re not my Miguel.” You responded indignantly. As you tried to pull away once again, Miguel didn’t let you. Instead, his grip tightened to the point where you finally cried out in pain.

The sclera of his eyes was starting to red and he leaned down just inches away from your face, baring his fangs threateningly at you.

“I was never your Miguel and you were never my [Name]. But we’re all that’s left of each other, and I’d damn the whole world before I lose you again. I’ll show you exactly the Miguel I am. And I’ll continue to show you who I am, until you finally understand that you now belong to me.”

#yandere x reader #miguel x reader #yandere atsv #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderverse x reader #yandere miguel #ambivalent writes #yandere spiderman

2K notes · View notes

pianocat939 · 10 months

Text

I cried my eyes out so hard like an hour ago but hey- I got brainrot during that process (I’m fine- I’m worrying so hard and idk why)

Miguel vs Hobie for MC’s attention-

Tw: house-arrest(?), Miguel showing that controlling behaviour

Now I’m gonna write this in a way so it can be taken in whatever way you choose-

To make things easier, let’s say you’re another spider. Just a spider chilling and doing the everyday things as a Spiderman alternate. But one day, something fucked up happens in your dimension (bcs of Spot) and you have to ask Miguel for help since you’re clueless.

Well, Miguel takes this as the chance to finally keep you from going back once and for all. Miguel does “help” you, but for a price you were never told about. After the dilemma in your dimension was cleaned up, Miguel ordered you that you can’t leave the spider-quarters until they get rid of Spot’s havoc.

Since then, you’ve been watching all the other spiders go back to their universe, but you’re stuck in Miguel’s, wondering when Spot will fade away.

Well, surprise, surprise, Hobie shows up and asks if you want to leave with him, so that you can go back to your universe.

You hesitate, since you know Miguel’s rage is no joke, but the want to go home is far stronger so you agree.

Hobie does take you back to your universe. Meanwhile, you’re constantly anxious that Miguel will come get you any second but Hobie reassures you’re fine.

Hobie leaves to go do some fun back at spider-quarters. Well, as soon as he does, he sees Miguel absolutely livid.

(I’ll end it here for now- sorry if there’s any mistakes, I’m writing on my phone)

#yandere #yandere x reader #spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #yandere spiderverse #atsv #atsv x reader #yandere atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #Hobie brown #spiderman #spiderman x reader #yandere spiderman #blurbs

1K notes · View notes

mango-bango-bby · 10 months

Note

Yandere Miguel O’Hara pls?

He lost Y/n, his wife, she die in his multiverse. When he went into different multiverse to take care of anomaly villain, he met a spider woman. Her mask cut off by villain only to reveal Y/n, his wife. Miguel plan to take Y/n from her home and keep her from losing again.

Take your time.

♡ Together Again ♡

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, kidnapping, Miguel has reader tied up, my first time writing Miguel so if he’s ooc just ignore it 😭😭

Summary: Miguel lost you and now that he has you again, he’s never letting you go. Even if you aren’t his Y/n (Yan!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Miguel lost his whole family. You and your daughter and there wasn’t a single day that went by when he didn’t think about it. It was his fault, he killed both of you. Even if indirectly, he killed you. He still wore his wedding ring because he couldn’t bare to let you go.

When he realized that the new spider-woman with them, was you. He had to take you. Yes, it might destroy your world. But he couldn’t lose you again. He gently tilts a photo on the nightstand to look at you. It’s a family photo of all of you from his universe.

“Y/n, you’re not going to get anything out of struggling like that” Miguel says calmly watching you struggle against his webs. You weren’t his Y/n but that didn’t matter to him, you were still you. And being spider-woman was to dangerous for you. He can’t lose you again.

And he knows keeping you here means your universe would fall apart but frankly, he doesn’t care. He is never going to lose you again. You see to try and yell something at him but he can’t make it out, he silenced you with a web over your mouth.

He walked over to the trash can, throwing away parts of your machine that helped you create webs. You only created webs through technology which worked well for him. You had no real powers, you can’t try to escape with them. “You’re going to tire yourself out” He sighs, watching you struggle to get out of his webs.

You yell something but it’s muffled. He looks down at you, grabbing your chin in his hand so you’re forced to look at him. He’s looking at you with stern eyes.

“Y/n, I told you to stop struggling. Be obedient. I’m not letting you out of those until you’re obedient” He says, his voice stern as if he’s talking to a small child or even a pet. You looking at him will such anger in your eyes.

You never looked at him like that before. Or his Y/n never looked at him like that. But he got you to fall in love with him once, he could do it again.

His gaze softens as he’s looking at you. “I’m sorry, love, did I scare you? I didn’t mean to yell at you” He gently pets your hair, he never wants to scare you. Your whimper as he leans down, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

He smiled slightly, walking over to the nightstand. He picks up your wedding ring, he finally has you again. He walks over, picking up your hand. Miguel tries to ignore how you flinch away at his touch. He slides the wedding ring onto your finger. It fits you perfectly.

He softly smiles, placing his forehead against your hand that’s now clad with a diamond ring. He sighed, content.

“My Y/n… I missed you…”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

(A/N: Eeeee, my first spiderverse fic!! I’m so excited, I hope you guys like it!! I changed up my formatting a bit so I hope you all like that too!! Also I’ve been getting a couple requests for Miguel where he speaks Spanish so if any darlings know how to speak Spanish and would be willing to help me, i’d greatly appreciate it 🙏🙏)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

#yandere spiderverse x reader #yandere spiderman #yandere spiderverse #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel o’hara x reader #yandere!miguel o’hara #yandere atsv

1K notes · View notes

untitled-writer-013 · 10 months

Note

Okay, Yandere Miguel O'Hara hurting the reader, can be platonic or romantic, whatever your heart desires

Imagine getting into a disagreement, argument, then a screaming match.

Miguel gets shoved by the reader and he just, either shove them or uses his claws to swipe at them, in a fit of blind anger.

I wonder how he would apologize 👉👈

Yandere!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Hurt!Reader

warning(s): yandere themes, violence, Miguel hurts reader, angst, hurt/comfort, spanishdict spanish, possible bad spanish.

Miguel adored his darling, but sometimes she could be so frustrating. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his darling argued with him, and he tried to calmly reason with her.

“Please Miguel, just listen to me! I know I’m right about this!” (Y/n) pleaded, looking up at him with slight desperation.

“(Y/n), you need to calm down, I’m not going to put up with this behavior.” Miguel stated, crossing his arms, watching his darling glare at him.

“This is why I hate talking with you, you always belittle me!” (Y/n) yelled, balling her hands into fists, making Miguel frown even more.

“Darling, por favor cálmate.” (Darling, please calm down.) Miguel stated, unfolding his arms and reaching out to her.

“Don’t touch me!” (Y/n) yelled suddenly, shoving Miguel as hard as she could away from her.

Miguel looked down at her, a snarl building up in his throat as he swiped at her, his claws scratching her face as he glared at her. His eyes widened once he realized what he had done, reaching out to check on her when she flinched, making his heart drop.

Miguel watched as (Y/n) ran, and he couldn’t help but let her run. He let out a sigh of frustration, grabbing the closest thing to him and throwing it at the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering what to do. He looked down at his hand, some blood still lingering. He thought about it, but forbade himself from trying her blood, wanting to taste it when he had permission. He washed his hands, mumbling to himself.

“Fuck me!” He yelled, frustrated with himself for acting so irrational. He wished he would just think things through more, and clearly he was going to pay the price for not doing so.

A few hours passed, and Miguel went to check on his darling. He peeked into their shared room, spotting her curled up in bed while holding a pillow. She let out a few sniffles, making his heart break as he carefully walked up to her.

“Angel, lo siento mucho, ¿me perdonarás?” (Angel, I'm really sorry, will you forgive me?) Miguel asked gently, careful as he spoke. His darling (Y/n) looked up at him, a hurt look on her face as she wiped her tears away. She couldn’t speak, instead nodding as Miguel watched her. He smiled softly, taking a look at her face to make sure he hadn’t left any marks.

Once satisfied, Miguel laid down on the bed with his darling, taking her into his arms as he laid her on his chest. (Y/n) listened to him breathe, calming down as she laid there with him. He let out a sigh, pressing a kiss to her head before he wished her a goodnight’s sleep, planning on making it up to her tomorrow.

~fin~

author’s note: i believe Miguel would initially give the reader space before he apologizes to her, wanting to make sure she calms down, and he’d feel pretty guilty about hurting his darling <33

#original writing #taking requests #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #miguel o'hara #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #yandere miguel o’hara x reader #yandere atsv #yandere atsv x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #yandere marvel #yandere marvel x reader

974 notes · View notes

yanmaresu · 11 months

Text

Yandere! fem! Miguel O'Hara

I haven’t been able to see the movie and made this purely off vibes qwq but the idea of Miguel chasing their darling and going from 0 to 100, no in between, has been stuck on my mind for days. Also, I've been avoiding spoilers thanks to the Miguel fanart so I'm thankful.

Single drawing version of this one because I think it looks pretty.

#yandere #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel #fem miguel o'hara #genderbend miguel o'hara #yandere atsv #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n

2K notes · View notes

mo0nfairy · 10 months

Text

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

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 :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

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

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!?

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

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

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @hex-touchstarved, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @gothika-spacech1k, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg, @sublimesoulmagazine, @minimari415, @hcmay, @jinuaei, @altusha, @daisygirlll, @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @islandgyal06, @the-hufflebird-girl, @laucoeurs, @nepherawinchester18307, @tiredao3reader, @decadentlawyerapricotcowboy, @kitisb0red, @gabiacee, @reneuv, @letmegetthestrap, @krentkova19, @ayupfrogg, @vita-nire, @emmbny, & @realifezompire

4K notes · View notes

i-cant-sing · 10 months

Note

Ok. Ok. HEAR ME OUT. Miguel hanging out with reader (shes chained to the chair) and feeding her (shoving food down her throat) bc she mentioned she hadn't eaten anything while Miguel was out handling business (beating up a child)

Ommg yess but like imagine reader being a spider person and unbeknownst to her, Miguel has grown really fond of her, seeing her as his own daughter and so he... dotes on you. Look, his family loss is still fresh, so he has this abundance of platonic love that he just needs to pour and you are luckily (or not) that person.

And papa Miguel is like trying so hard not to show that he cares about your well being, but HE DOES and he's always worried about you and he just wants to pull u out of the field and tell u its too dangerous for u to be spiderman, but he doesn't wanna say it because then he'll have to explain his concern for u and I've already told u guys that he's an emotionally crippled father who cant say "I love you" but their actions always scream out the words.

So, he thinks its best to just take care of you as best as he can without arousing suspicion from you or pulling u out of the field (cause he knows u love being a hero). He makes you food(mostly mexican because everything else doesn't have enough spice and it doesnt matter if u cant handle spice, you will LEARN to), okay? I mean good, homecooked meals, 3 times a day and he expects you to eat breakfast and dinner(ofcourse u have a curfew) with him. But lunches? well, since you're always on missions during lunch time, he packs u up some food for u to take and he always checks your bento box (ALSO SPIDERMAN THEMED OBV) but perhaps this one day, you forgot to or didnt want to take your lunch along (a very tasty burrito) and when Miguel sees your lunch in his kitchen, he is LOSING it all. My man here is making himself go crazy(ier) by overthinking the worst possible scenarios (because this is unusual behavior in his textbook) and he sends a sort of AMBER alert on your ass because you're not answering his calls/texts(cause ur busy fighting bad guys) and Miguel just sends the ENTIRE spider society to find where you are and bring you home ASAP. Obv the spider society follows his orders to bring you because he's boss man and he probably has some important reason to drag ur ass home and not because papa's heart cant handle that his baby missed lunch???

Omg can you imagine reader finally finishing tying up the bad guys and now stops by a pizza place to grab a slice and girl looks outside to see 100 spidermans swinging around, all coming her way. These guys all shoot enough webs until you were practically cocooned in them and perfectly immobilised, and then they all open up the portal to deliver u to Miguel.

And Miguel just shoos them all away before he begins to free u from the webs and asks where u were, what happened, did the bad guys hurt u, were u kidnapped.

"Yeah-" you pulled the webs out of your hair. "-by your men!" And Miguel explains that he sent them after you because he thought something bad happened to u.

"Why would you think that?"you inquired.

Because you forgot your lunch at home. No, he cant say that.

"I- my spider senses were telling me to. I guess they were wrong." Now before you could ask more questions, he changes the topic. "Anyways, you must be hungry. Lets eat lunch-"

"No, I actually ate a slice of pizza before I was brought here-" you start but Miguel glares at you as he pulls out a dish of enchiladas from the oven, placing it in front of you.

"You will eat. You're hungry."

"I'm actually not. Like I was saying-" but he glares at you again, piling up your plate with enchilidas.

"I wasn't asking, mija." He hands you the utensils, red eyes piercing you. "You are hungry, and you will eat. Now."

#yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel x reader #yandere atsv #yandere platonic #platonic yandere #platonic #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv

2K notes · View notes

appleblueberry-pie · 3 months

Note

yandere miles 42 when a guys asks you out to prom yk like where they make a whole scene a cardboard box cut into a square and it has will you go out to prom with me 😭😭 and says the most cheasy thing making you cringe and a large group of ppl are surrounding you two but we reject them and they get mad and you tell miles all abt it ^^ i love your posts btw🙏🏽

[Come back home to me.]

You knew something funny was gonna happen when people were smiling your way, giggling and whispering about you. And the further you trekked down the hallway, the more crowded it was. You tried to keep your eyes to yourself as you slithered through the crowd. Clutching your backpack straps harder. Phones were out and on you, you felt a little nervous. This day has been hard enough for you. Long, grueling hours in class, people chatting up a storm in your ears, a mind-blowing headache that you've had all damn day that you could only take medication for just 30 minutes ago. You were tired.

"Hey, Y/n!" You tense up before sighing, shoulders dropping. How much happier would you be if you just ignored the call of your name and dealt with the backlash tomorrow, instead? You recognized the voice, and knew that if you ignored him...you'd be dealing with the consequences forever. You decided to turn around.

There goes Travis. His dark brown complexion and well-maintained dreads make him stand out. They were pulled back into a low pony, probably because he knew these videos would be the talk of the school for a while. He always loved the spotlight. A junior, like you, giving you that smile that all of the girls bothered him to give to them. It's directed right at you while he holds a beautifully made sign. It's humongous. And pink. And purple. Colors that you don't remember telling him were your favorite. Your head begins to hurt again when you notice your name drawn in amazing detail and care, followed by something among the lines of "prom" and "love of my life."

Somehow in the time span that you scanned your eyes over the sign that determined your possibly inevitable doom, a perfect circle was formed by the students who stood and watched you two like hawks. The flash on phones made you calculate that these videos wouldn't leave the internet for at least a month. Great. A month of reminders. A month of prodding and picking at your sanity from a place you have to go to damn near every day for an education. And a month of replays of a rejection.

You're not telling him yes.

Travis's homeboys hoot and holler to encourage him. "Y/n..." He starts, taking a step closer to you. A fake smile wobbles onto your lips and you stare up at him. "......yes...?" Everyone suddenly goes silent as you two begin to converse.

The way he stares at you makes you feel like....what he's looking for in you isn't something you'd give up for any high school boy anytime. Because what he wants, you know it isn't genuine love. So it makes you nervous the way he seems to tower over you during his, so called, "profession of love".

"Your beauty and smarts is something I've always wanted in a girl." His voice is loud and clear. It echoes throughout the hallway, like he wants everyone to hear. You don't think the halls have ever been so quiet. "Everyday, I'd pass you in the hallways while you carry your textbooks and wonder what it'd be like talking to you every morning before class. What it would be like to love you the way you deserve to be loved." His vague explanation of his love towards you had you wondering if anyone else also realized how fake this whole thing was.

His dark brown eyes never leave your face and he's right in front of you now. "So, I made this sign...to show you how much I love you. And how much I want to be with you. So, if it isn't so much to ask," Travis slowly puts the sign aside and drops to one knee, taking one of your hands into his, holding it carefully. "would you please go to prom with me? And let me be your man?"

The longer he watched the live feed, the harder it was to not burn his work space to the ground. The longer he listened, the harder he tweaked his claw he was attempting to fix. He was trying. He was trying so hard to stay calm. Because it's not like you'd say yes. But at the same time, no matter how often he kills or beats niggas up, "They just keep fucking touching you, puto cabrón!" He swipes the table, his tools and broken claw flying to the ground. Miles takes deep breaths, holding his head in his hands.

He stands up, turning off his phone and begins pacing. He didn't wanna see the rest of that. Why does he have to keep doing this? Don't they understand your his? Just his??? Yes, you're the shining light that keeps Brooklyn alive, yes, yes, this isn't news. But he's always with you. So why do they keep bothering you?

It doesn't matter because he's gonna keep killing them until they get the message. The more roaches he brings into the light, the better. He suddenly rushes to his phone and quickly dials your number, chest heaving as he tries to calm himself.

Your phone silently vibrates in your back pocket and your heart drops. It had to be Miles. Because he wasn't at school today and this definitely wouldn't have happened if he was here. You're so fucked, you think to yourself as everyone cheers at Travis's speech. And it goes silent again as they wait for your answer.

Suddenly, Travis is so hard to look at. You didn't want to be stared at like that when he's gonna die in the next few hours. Miles was gonna get him and it'd be your fault. He always said it wasn't and would caress your face as reassurance, but there's no excuse when he only kills these guys at school because they talk to you. And not for any other reason. You always have to be where the line is drawn.

"No, I can't go to prom with you." You say, chest lifting of the thousand pound weight that held it down. Travis didn't even look sad, he still had that adoring look in his eyes. And you then knew that he was faking all of this. "Why not? Is it because of Miles?" He stands, still holding your hand and shakes his head. "If he's bothering you, I could....get rid of him if you want. Cause that nigga, he a fucking weirdo. And he clearly, like, has you hostage or something, cause he ain't nothing special. Any one of us is better than him." He scoffs at the mention of him and his friends laugh with him.

You shake your head and take your hand away. "No, sorry, Travis. I just....don't wanna go." He rolls his eyes and smiles at you, picking up his sign. "Whatever. That's aight." He tosses it in the nearest trash can. You wonder if he even made that himself with the way he tossed it with zero regards. He turns back to you one last time and nods. "I'll holler. Let me know when you get rid of yo little guard dog. He be stinking the halls anyway."

And everyone dispersed.

You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. You think this city is going to be the death of you with how many times you've gotten unwanted attention based on your looks. You tense up once more when you remember that Miles was calling you. The sudden silence after multiple calls was never a good thing. You yanked your phone out of your pocket and saw the 20-something missed calls and whispered to yourself in fear.

Immediately, you began your journey to his place.

His room was dark and cold. Only the light from outside his window illuminated it. You softly dropped your backpack into the usual corner and backed up to sit on his bed, but your back softly collided with a warm wall that also wrapped it's arms around your torso. You flinched as Miles exhaled in your ear, his head resting on your shoulder. "Miles, what the hell...."

He squeezes you a little and backs you both up, until he brings you to sit on his lap on his bed. He shifts you, so that you're facing him, his hand caressing your face and rubbing your back. "Hermosa como siempre, mami. How was your day?"(Beautiful as always, mami.) He whispers it to you, to calm you down. You're visibly nervous at his actions, expecting him to explode any minute.

"Um...it was alright. I did my project in 3rd period and got a coffee drink with my lunch. And..... I got asked to prom." You stare down at him, watching him scan you up and down, and let him 'check' your pockets before resting his hands on your waist. "Yeah? Who asked?" He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from you.

You severely struggled to tell him it was Travis. You were tired of him killing people. You were tired of the apologies from men who were beaten half to death because of you. You scrunched your eyebrows as your throat began to close.

"Hm?" He asked. You hated how calm he was about this. How he held you so dearly as you fidgeted with your uniform skirt. Tears built up in your eyes and you shook your head. Miles pulled you closer, immediately wiping your eyes. "No, no, por favor no llores, nena. No estés triste. I just want you to tell me who did it, that's all."(No, no, please don't cry, baby. Don't be sad.) You break into full out sobbing and wipe at your eyes.

"I don't- don't want to because you're gonna kill him!" You stutter and manage to spit out your words, voice wobbly. Miles shushes you and rocks you back and forth, resting your head on his chest. His voice rumbles in your ears when he speaks. "You don't have to worry about a thing when I'm here with you, N/n. All I want is for you to drop his name, and everything else doesn't matter."

He kisses your forehead sweetly, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. "Okay?" You nod and try to take deep breaths. You couldn't win against him. He probably already knew who proposed to you, and Travis's fate still wouldn't be unavoidable. "Travis." You felt immense guilt and despair the moment you dropped his name.

"Travis...." Miles repeats. Just putting his name in the air made him pissed all over again. He stays silent for a few seconds before tilting his head to the side. "I just realized why that name is so familiar," He starts. "That's that nigga who robbed and threatened you last year, ain't it?" Miles scoffs and turns to look at you. "Is that why you didn't leave when he brought up that sign? Cause of what he did to you?"

You scrunch your eyebrows at his words and sit up. "How do you know about that?" You didn't meet Miles until a month after you were robbed by Travis in your sophomore year. So, him knowing about that was weird, especially since you never brought it up to him before. Miles ignores your question and continues. "I should've known some shit was off." Miles places you on the bed and gets up, grabbing some clothes to change into.

You rush to stand in front of him to stop him. "Miles, wait! Please- please don't do this. He didn't even do anything to me. All he did is ask me out. I said no. What's wrong with that??"

"What's wrong with that is that nigga is gonna keep fucking getting at you until he can get into your pants, baby. I'm not stupid. These niggas know what they doin' riling you up and sending you back home to me crying and shit. Ain't you tired??" Miles begins to size you up, backing you towards his bedroom door, clothes clutched in his hand as he stares down at you.

"I am fucking tired. And I'm also tired of you ruining my life by making more rumors for niggas to spread about me. Nobody wants to be near me because of you, Miles!" You jab your finger into his chest and he grabs your hand. "You don't need nobody else." You hear his breathing speed up and realized you should've kept your mouth shut.

It's too damn silent for your liking. All you can hear is him and your heartbeat in your ears. "When the fuck have you ever needed anyone else besides me?.....I take care of you. I feed you, I do your fucking hair every morning, I walk you to and from school, I protect you. Es que no es suficiente?(Is that not enough?)" You don't respond and stare up into brown eyes that glare down at you. "How 'bout I show you how good you got it?" You try to pull your hand back, but his iron grip isn't letting up. "What.....? Miles, let me go."

"What's wrong, mi corazón? Don't wanna see?" Miles almost jokingly asks about your sudden concern. He steps into your space once more and firmly grabs your face. "Look at me when I tell you this,"

He shakes his head. "You don't know how to protect yourself. I'm the only one who knows how to keep you safe in these fucked up streets. When was the last time you felt protected before you met me? Huh? Cause I know you haven't. I'm meant to be here with you! I'm protecting you from the horrible fucking things that are happening out there that could've been happening to you, baby. You heard?"

You struggle to remove his hands from your face and he makes no move to stop the distress he's putting you in. "Okay, okay, Miles. Just...please stop."

Miles places a kiss onto your forehead before holding you in his arms. You sigh relief at the release of pressure and let him hold you. "Volveré pronto, okay? And then we can do whatever you want."(I'll be back soon) You allow yourself to relax and your eyes flutter shut. Sometimes you wonder how much it'll take for him to stop taking his obsession out on Brooklyn.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere character #reader #across the spiderverse #itsv #atsv #yandere atsv #yandere atsv x reader #yandere 42 miles x reader #yandere 42 miles #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #yandere miles x reader #yandere miles morales x reader #yandere miles morales #miles morales imagine

371 notes · View notes

dilfartist · 7 months

Text

Model 2099

Pairing; Yandere Android Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You always thought of your android Miguel as a loveable companion. Little did you know he had an unhealthy obsession with you. And it even went as far as hurting someone who hurt you.

Word count; 3.3k

Tw; yandere theme, dark themes, dead dove don’t eat (maybe).

Reader description; Female/GN

Your skin felt frigid. Your fingertips, ears, and nose all numb despite your body being clad head to toe in warm apparel.

In Nueva York, the snow descended in great, unforeseen amounts. On the first day of the predicted cold weather, the snow reached from the street to the concrete. It was narrow enough for a child to build a snowman. However the next day, the snow reached higher, enough to cover the doorsteps of some apartments on your block and blanket the roads in ice.

Now your street felt lifeless. The only cars seen were the ones parked on the sidewalks. None of your neighbors left the warmth of their homes.

You dig your left boot into the hill of rampant snow, then bring the right one to propel yourself further. Unlucky you, having to fight your way home through the snow just because you needed a few necessities. The weather forecast predicted the snow would last for at least two days, so you went out to retrieve toilet paper, soup cans, microwaveable dinners, and a flashlight in case of power outs.

Grasping the handle of the front door, you pressed it forward, enough for you to enter. Swiftly, you shut the door behind you to sponge in the warmth coming from the heater. Once your numb fingers began to absorb the heat, you peeled off your gloves - well these gloves weren't yours; they belonged to a co-worker nice enough to lend them to you- and threw them inside your purse. You let out a pleased sigh. The house had a tidied aroma, smelling like someone had used enough bleach for it to still be identified hours later despite drying. Still, the apple cider fragrance spray claimed the house, if only slightly. Disrobing yourself off your coat, you call out to your Android. "Miguel! I'm home!"

Usually, your android - Miguel O’Hara, model 2099- waited beside the door to greet you after a hard day's work. Helping you disrobe your jacket and asking you about your day. And even when slightly off-timing, he'd let you know of his presence with a "welcome back!" from wherever he was in the moment. Oddly enough, there was no reply. You look up, puzzled by the lack of response. "Miguel?!" You call out, voice more audible for the other side of the house this time. Again, no reply.

You don't think much of his absence, presuming he had forgotten to grab an ingredient for tonight's dinner and would be back home in no time. Sometimes he'd be so focused on one task that the other errands would be forgotten. Miguel could handle himself.

The majority of lights in the house were turned off; furthering your conclusion about your Android’s whereabouts. You stepped into your kitchen, examining the room. Aside from the pots on the stove, nothing had changed in the kitchen. The kitchen was spick and span, per usual. You'd remember to thank him when you saw him.

Approaching the stove, you took note of the two pots simmering on the stovetop. One sat on the front burner, the other on the back burner. You lifted the lid, allowing the steam to escape. Your stomach rumbles, craving the smell. I groan, feeling impatient, placing the lid back on the pot.

The aroma of dinner leaked out of the slightly ajar pot, alluring you closer for a taste. You entered the kitchen, following the scent of the meal simmering on the stove.

Raising the lid off the pot, you dip the ladle into the soup, scooping as much as you can. You took a small sip, savoring the creamy-rich taste. The taste is addicting and you can’t get enough. You dip the ladle in once again, drinking the soup until the ladle is empty. Then again you repeated the action.

“Don't worry, dinner will be ready in just a minute.” The abrupt sound of a person’s voice states. You flinch in surprise, A hand is placed on your chest, dropping the ladle, and your heart thumps quicker than before. “Miguel!” You gasp, “You scared me.” You whirl around to meet his eyes.

Miguel gives a small apologetic smile, setting the basket of clothes he was carrying onto the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Miguel says softly, accent getting heavier at the end. “Didn't hear you come in.”

“No, it’s fine.” You reassured. “Thank you for cleaning.”

Even if Miguel was programmed to clean, you always felt the need to thank him for his labor. No matter the times he reminded you that he was a machine designed for that very chore.

“I should also apologize for not greeting you at the door; My clothes were in the dryer.”

“It's fine, Miguel, really. You don't have to greet me at the door every day.”

Once again, Miguel provides you with a small smile; however, his smile does not reach his eyes. If the guilty smile Miguel sported wasn't enough evidence of his guilt, the flashing red LED on Miguel's right temple certainly accomplished the job.

The LED’s scarlet color quickly transitioned into a light blue color, indicating Miguel had gotten over his negative feelings.

It was terrifying knowing the sole dissimilarity between the two of you was the LED. Without the LED, you wouldn't have thought Miguel to be an Android. Knowing the sole difference between the two of you was the LED was in a way terrifying. Without the LED installed in the right temple of Androids, no one would be able to tell who was a robot and who wasn't.

Dragging the box cutter down swiftly, the tape splits open. You take a step back examining the package. The package is light brown, standing up vertically against the wall. “What the hell is this thing?” you ask, amused. A good friend of yours shipped you a gift out of the blue, so you called her up to catch your reaction.

“Open it and see,” she replies sarcastically.

You roll your eyes and spread the folds of the box open. Package peanuts spill all over the floor, and you grumble at the mess that piles on the floor. “Goddamn it,” you’re just about to complain some more when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. You freeze in place, you raise your head in an unhurried motion, the dread in your abdomen expanding.

You holler with fright, falling on your ass. “Did you send me a dead body?!” you exclaim into the speaker of your phone.

Your friend on the other side of the line enjoys your reaction, laughing so hard she begins to have a coughing fit. “Oh my god,” she hums in satisfaction, “you’re too funny, (Name).” After a while she settles down, no longer laughing but her tone still caries the puerile amusement she once had a moment ago, “It’s not a dead body. It's an Android.”

You were familiar with the concept of an android. Androids have been ubiquitous since their first release, and you’ve encountered many, but the majority of the time they were owned by establishments due to their overwhelming expense. Which is why the thought of you owning an Android was mind-boggling.

You stutter out a response, not sure how to approach the profound surprise, “You- I- why did you give it to me? Not that I’m complaining. It's just- this had to be about 8,000 dollars!” Then it hits you; you and she are in the same boat when it comes to funds, “Wait- how the hell did get this?!” you rub your temple, examining the face of the bot through the blurred glass that contains it.

She responds nonchalantly, “Aaron is wealthy remember? He bought me it.”

Aaron was her new boyfriend, he came from a wealthy background and she took advantage of that fact every moment she could. And he didn't seem to mind. Buying this bot would be like buying a box of cereal for him; not something to think twice and a regular ordeal.

You lift a brow, perplexed by the fact she gave you such an expensive gift. Not that you were complaining, of course, just simply curious “And you gave it to me? Why?” you question.

“He got jealous because the Android is literally breathtaking and I just couldn't keep my eyes off him. So being how he always is, he requested for me to throw it out. I mean his voice, Jesus,” she suppresses a squeal, “and not only that, he’s 6’9 and muscular!” she continues to gush about him, you unconsciously tune her out, your focus too busy on analyzing his blurred features.

You hum in acknowledgment. “Well, let me take it out, I’ll have to research it. Thanks for the gift, I'll talk to you later. Bye.”

You take a seat at the dining table. Miguel saunters to the stove, opens the lid, and takes a portion of the soup out to pour into a porcelain bowl. You cock your head to the side, curious to know the reason two respective pots were brewing their own soups. “What’s the other pot have in it?” you question.

Miguel glances at you for a moment then continues to prepare your bowl. “Mrs. Peterson is sick,” he carries the bowl over and sets it gently in front of you. “She asked me to prepare her some soup. I offered her the soup I made for tonight’s dinner, but you know how she can be.”

Mrs. Peterson lived next door, and she adored Miguel. She was sixty-three years old, childless, and had no family members in general. She always required his assistance and Miguel always obliged.

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, concern morphing your face. “She’s sick? That's too bad. That’s sweet of you to help her.”

Mindlessly, you use your soup spoon to stir the steaming liquid in the bowl. Anxious of the answer he’ll reply to you with, you take a breath of courage. “Did David come by today?” you question, voice low and meek

Miguel is quiet for a beat until he decides to speak up. “No, and if he did, I’d deal with him,” he states carefully, touching on the subject to convey his understanding. “You haven't called him, have you?” his tone is identical to a nagging best friend who is tired of seeing you whine over a boy.

“No.” you shake your head, eyes shifting to meet his, “no,” you say once again to reassure him. Miguel appears satisfied with the answer he received, “Good. Don't go contacting him after what he did to you.” you let out an exasperated exhale. Leaning back in your chair, setting down the soup spoon in your hand, “I- Miguel, I think I might have deserved it.”

Miguel snaps his head in your direction, wearing a stern mug, “He had no right to put his hands on you, no matter the reason.” he chides. He leans his massive body against the counter, folding his arms, fully engaged in the conversation.

“I brought up his ex!” you argue on his behalf. Why? You’re unsure.

“Oh, so he should act the same way she did, to you?” Miguel is a tad bit galled, being sardonic with his retorts. Now he’s fully engrossed in the discussion, leaning his massive body against the counter, giving you his undivided attention. “Slapping you so hard you hit the wall.”

It hurts how factual his words are. It’s enough for you to look down in chagrin, a lump forming in your throat making it hard to swallow. Let anyone else be in your situation, you’d chastise them for such a weak mindset. Make sure they knew there was no good reason to blame themselves for someone else's wrongdoing. But being that person who feels empathy for the person who hurt you, feels so much more embarrassing than having a friend be that person.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you say lowly, speaking any louder would make you cry.

“It’s fine, (Name).” Miguel consoles, moving from the counter to rub a comforting hand on your back. You sigh, feeling soothed by the little gesture. Miguel leans down, tilting his body slightly to face-to-face with you. Miguel looks at you with such tenderness a shover travels down your spine. “He won’t hurt you again, I’ll make sure of it” His expression as a whole is soft and full of fondness, though his red eyes pierce your soul.

“Miguel bot 2099,” you mutter the title of the YouTube video on your TV screen. You click play and the video loads for a second before finally playing.

A woman appears in a pitch-black void background. Her whole body is a golden color and she sports an elegant white dress that fits her figure. “Hello, I am Lyla.” she greets sounding welcoming, “I am the mascot of the company LYLA. We are the ones responsible for Androids and Ai’s. You must have clicked on this video because you must have purchased a Miguel bot or you’re just curious.”

Lyla presents a Miguel bot that emerges on the screen out of nowhere. “Miguel O bot is one of LYLA’s number one selling Androids. And there’s a reason for that.”

“Miguel is used for three sole reasons.”

Three Miguels appear on the screen, all in diverse outfits. One is in a business suit, another in a red and blue apron covering a white t-shirt, and the last one is shirtless with leather pants.

Lyla puts her hand out, motioning to the first one in a suit. “Here we have Workbot Miguel. Miguel’s hardworking nature mends well with a work environment, which is why he is mainly purchased to be a working android. Miguel has a variety of skills that companies yearn for in employees. Barriestabot Miguel, Assistant Managerbot Miguel, Firefighterbot Miguel, and Nursebot Miguel are just a few Androids listed in this category of the bot.

Lyla moves on and the camera pans to the second Miguel clad in the apron and white shirt. “Household Miguel: with household Miguel, you’ll never have to worry your head about cleaning or cooking, that’s his job! He pays necessities and bills if you have no time. And he is great with children!”

She moves on for the last time. “And here we have the Miguel meant for adults eighteen and above. This is sexbot Miguel, mostly found in male strip clubs or can be purchased online. We assure you, that you’ll feel pleasure you’ve never felt before. He comes with a remote control, which switches from hardcore dominant to soft dominant to submissive. We’ve created his intimate parts to the point numerous test participants felt like it was the real deal, and probably even better. He’s crafted to seem real so he includes fluids. The fluids are not real, they are simply there for it to seem real or by the user's choice. The fluid can be bought in stores near you or online. There are fruit flavors as well as desserts.”

The Miguel Androids disappear and Lyla is left by herself. “If any malfunctions occur with the bots, we have programmed the Miguel to have a Lyla AI to sit on his shoulder and help the user repair the issue. Lyla’s are never the same. They don’t appear like I do. Lyla’s come in all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities.”

Lyla gives a smile, a smile that you can’t help but feel uncomfortable by. It’s like she's staring right at you. In you.

“We hope you enjoy your Android. Your friends at LYLA.” the video concludes.

You sit there mentally processing the information for a minute, rubbing your chin. Your gaze moves to the Android, now propped up on the wall, and outside it’s containment. Miguel is definitely tall and extremely muscular as he was claimed to be. You can see why Aaron demanded she throw him out; he couldn't compete with him in the slightest.

Miguel had tanned skin, dark brown hair pushed back, two thick bushy eyebrows, and old wrinkles. Why did they choose to make him aged? They never explain. Maybe it’s to target families and people with daddy issues, you think. You walk over, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut.

“Didn't explain how to turn you on,” you grumble. Your hands explore the skin of his neck until your fingertips brush against a button on the back, you press down until a humming sound emits from the Android. You take two steps back and watch as the Android powers on. On his left temple appears a blue swirling light. His eyes flutter open.

...Are they red? That's...not right.

Your brows crease at the sight. You take out your phone, glancing at the original model once again. Yeah...Miguel should definitely have brown eyes. “What the hell..?” you whisper.

Putting your phone away to be polite to him, you greet him. He looks down at you, “Hello. My name is Miguel O’Hara.” he states casually.

His red eyes are piercing into you, but still, you find yourself bewitched.

“Thanks, Miggy,” you smile slightly at him, not yet recovering after the hard topic. Miguel was right, David’s vitriolic behavior towards you was inexcusable. Miguel would be there for you. He’s been your support more than your own boyfriend has been for months. Granted one is a robot, but sometimes you don’t even realize it with how human he acts.

A high-pitched beeping sound echoes from the left side of the house. “The washer is done. I put in another load when you came in. I’ll be back.” Miguel saunters off.

You stand up, walking over to the stove holding your empty bowl. You reach for the first pot but then decide against it. Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t die if you had one bowl of the soup. You reach over and open the second pot. You scoop as much soup as you can onto the ladle and pour it into the bowl. Once filled nearly to the brim, you place it down on the counter. You grab the lid, placing it back onto the pot.

You turn your attention back to the bowl.

“What the hell?” you mumble, squinting to guarantee yourself you weren’t crazy.

Poking out of the soup was something white. Nothing you could identify from just one look. You take your spoon and pick up the white thing with it.

It was...an eyeball! A human eyeball!

You scream in terror, dropping to the floor, your fall causing the entirety of the pot to plunge with you to the ground, reverberating a clank. You crawl away, from the dark liquid puddling the floor. More and more body parts are revealed; a big white toe, fingers of all sizes, another eyeball, and you can only assume the chunks of meat are the entire body. You shake like a leaf in the wind, looking around for something to do! What were you going to do now?!

Your panic is interrupted by a creak in the floorboards outside the kitchen. You snap your head in the detection of the sound to see Miguel standing in the doorway, taking up the whole door with his body. You cower in fear at his physiognomy. His expression is indistinct, bloodshot eyes watching you like a lion catching its prey attempting to sneak off. You stare at each other, both unmoving from your spots. You’re the first to speak, though if it weren’t for the pregnant silence and the motion of your lips, “I’m sorry,” your voice cracks, the lump in your throat making a comeback. “Please don't hurt me.” you whimper.

Miguel saunters towards you, you scoot back still on edge. Miguel knees down, taking your face into his hands. They feel warm. Why? He hushes your cries with such tender you nearly overlook the situation. “I had to,” he spoke up factually. “He came in here, threatening you for telling his mother about the fight. I couldn't let him hurt you again.”

You let out a muffled cry, looking into his crazed eyes bloodstained eyes. He presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “I made sure he’d never hurt you again.”

508 notes · View notes

yandere-kokeshi · 9 months

Note

PLEASE WRITE MORE YANDERE MIGUEL OHARA IM BEGGING UUUU

Warnings: yandere behavior, talks about kidnapping, venom, and yelling.

A/N: Sure :). After you guys voted and been sending asks, you deserve it. Enjoy this anon ;)

This spider of a yandere would be a mess. He’s overprotective. Easily jealous and aggressive. Controlling, and, a helicopter of a guy who hovers behind you like a guard dog.

It doesn’t matter if you are a Spiderperson, a normal individual walking into the street, or a trustworthy friend he met through Jessica, hell you could be a reincarnation of his wife. But, the minute he catches his obsession with you, and he finally realizes it, he’s not letting you go.

His obsession for you starts to unwrap the second he realizes he’s in love again. He slowly starts to get more unhinged, more of an aggressive wreck that causes everyone to walk on their tippy toes.

Everything is wrong. The missions go wrong. He can’t focus. You’re irritating in his presence. But he hates seeing you hurt. Everything is angering him, making him grumble and yell out in anger. But the second you come into the room? He’s suddenly calmer, almost like a switch had been turned off. Miguel always screams for people to leave, but he demands you to be near him, telling everyone, including yourself: you are more useful than the others.

By the time you realize he has feelings for you, you’re too late for escaping his webs. You can’t be saved, not by anyone. Nobody can stop Spider-Man 2099; the man himself of strength and dedication. Slowly, but surely, you’ll understand his ways. Someday, you’ll understand why he did this; realize his intentions of only protecting you.

He’s incredibly good at hiding, especially when looking out for you. Miguel likely will kidnap you when you least expect him. I mean, it’s so easy for him. Not only is it planned to be a perfect T, but he makes sure everything runs smoothly, making sure you fall into his perfect spider web as you’ve always meant to.

Weeks before you even realize his feelings, he’s stalking you. Following and memorizing all your schedules, habits, and routes. Miguel knows how your brain works, all the functions and wiring, he can read you like an open book. He can see and sense the way you think, the way you talk, your body language that shows how happy or nervous you are. He knows it all.

Likewise, he’ll make you come out to meet up with him, either on a ‘planned mission’ with just the two of you or making you meet up with him at HQ; stating something serious needs to be discussed. Either way, you are meeting up with him and clearly nervous. Every possibility is running through your head as you approach him.

But, when approaching him with a wide smile, it’s soon wiped off your face, seeing his stoned-cold face that seems too familiar. His eyes are cold and calculating, his mouth wrenched into a slight frown. Something was off. Maybe too off. Did you do something?

Of course, you ask what’s wrong. But he stays quiet. Too quiet for your liking. But, he walks up to you, his heart beating faster – hands shaking and body sweating. But, his eyes softened, almost like something or someone made his life complete. His hands reached up to your shoulders, keeping a rough but comfortable enough grip; his claws seemingly coming out, making your shoulder throb in irritation, but you ignored it.

He sighed, but soon went on about ‘keeping you safe’. For your safety, the dimension that you were in possibly already falling, you two belong together. You’re meant to be with him, swearing he’ll keep you safe – make you feel at home with him. Before you could even react, his fangs showed themselves, a slight hiss enveloping as they dug themselves into your neck; your body immediately turning into jello, feeling blood tinkle down your neck. It hurt. But not as bad as being betrayed.

You couldn’t speak. Not without stuttering, you couldn’t see well either, everything was multiplying in your vision. Your body felt like a million pounds. You couldn’t stand well, you were swaying back and forth, trying to hold your weight but to no avail, you fell back.

Of course, Miguel caught you. His giant hands catching you, and hosting you up in his arms; a gentle peck on your cheek as you sluggishly pestered him with questions; falling in and out of consciousness. But they were soon drowned out by his answer: “I’m taking you to our home. Rest, Cariño. I’ll take care of you.”

From then on, Miguel promises that. He will and can take care of you. Better than anyone else. He’s taking you to your new room; somewhere only he knows, a place he can be certain that’s heavily protected and away from any danger. An area where he and you can be spouses to one of each other.

When waking up, you quickly realize you are put into a ridiculously comfortable bed. A room full of things that anyone would dream of. Most of the items that you had back at home are already collected and put on the shelves; a backpack beside your bed. Everything in the bedroom is fancy, a huge TV on the wall which was in front of you, a corner full of blankets and pillows, and a bookshelf full of all types of books. It was clear he loves you. But, let’s not forget about the camera in the corner of the ceiling.

He doesn’t trust you. At least not yet. The entire house is baby-proofed, everything you can think of about hurting yourself is covered up. Of course, you’re allowed to roam the shared house when he’s gone, but don’t think he’s not watching – not only are there cameras in every corner of the house, but there’s a built-in speaker somewhere in every single room.

Miguel puts a tracker into you whilst you’re asleep. It’s in the back of your neck, especially where you can’t see or feel it. But, he knows your location 24/7; something he gladly likes to know.

Following his strict rules is something he expects. He awaits for you to be the perfect beloved he’s always imagined. He has the perfect image of a family he wants to create. And if it’s shattered or ruined? He gets very, very angry. Which isn’t pretty.

Breaking the rules isn’t something you’d want to do. Miguel will be angry, incredibly angry. If and when he gets an alert of you being gone, rewinding the video of how you escaped, he’s fuming with rage. The minute you think you’ve gotten away, he’s right behind you – his dark eyes narrowing at you as he snarls, harshly grabbing you and scolding at how stupid and childish you are.

Punishments are harsh. While he does mean business, and he does love you, but that doesn’t mean he’s not afraid to put you in your needed place. The punishments will and can vary with his mood, it especially adds up with what you did.

If he’s in a better mood, at best, you’ll get a loud scolding or a few hours locked into the bedroom with nothing fun to do; awaiting his arrival again to ask if your tantrum is over.

Though, if he’s not in a very good mood, Miguel… is more prone to accidentally hurting you. Regardless if you are throwing insults or directly trying to attack him, he’s impulsively grabbing your wrist which leads to a sprain, or yells at you to an extent where you flinch and sob. He apologizes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he softly whispers, ‘I wish you’d just listen to me’. Of course, when you cry, he comforts you. But it’s your fault, right? So, why don’t you listen?

Miguel is a man of many things, but patience is not one. If none of these end up working, he’s going to aggressively twist your feelings and thoughts around; constantly reminding you that he can always treat you worse. Or, threaten your family, possibly take away all the things you had joy in, and practically leave all types of bruises on your body from sfw and nsfw activities.

It is your decision after all, correct? Just spare yourself some nasty scars and play nice.

The ‘worst’ punishment he will do is accidentally causing a broken bone or drugging you with his venom, making you rely on him even more. With your slurring words and slightly limp-like body, he’s able to do what he can to help you: bathing you, feeding you, tucking you into bed with him as he whispers all types of things. Before turning off the lights, he always makes sure to kiss your cheek, a small ‘love you’ before cuddling you closer to his chest to sleep.

He’s not afraid of getting rid of people, especially if they’re in his way. No matter how messy it gets, Miguel is always ready to protect you; even if it means seeing tears come down. He will kill your family members, any partners, and the next-door neighbor that constantly tried to get into your pants.

Once you feel comfortable receiving affection, his way of showing it is quite off and almost uncomfortable. While he yearns for your touch, your kisses, and your hugs. Everything that he wants. It’s just for him, showing affection is fairly hard. After his past, he couldn’t imagine a world where he’d be happy again; feeling the same happiness and anxious butterflies in his stomach.

Slowly, but surely, he learns what he likes and what you like – which results in him being a cuddle bug. He loves smothering you in his arms, making you sit on his lap as he tells you about his day. Anything and everything results from his arms being around, on, or around you.

Of course, he spoils you like no other. Whatever you request, he will bring you; with you following his rules and being nice, he’s happier than ever. Though, he does expect a kiss from the gratitude he decided to do for you.

You will not be allowed outside. On rare occasions, such as your birthday or having a good attitude, he’ll allow you to eat with him at a pleasant restaurant or go to the park with him. But that’s all you are getting. And no, he will not let you come to the HQ.

—

My masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

947 notes · View notes

barefoot-joker · 10 months

Text

Two Lonely Hearts Yandere!Miguel O’Hara X Reader

Hey, guys! I hope you all are doing well. This is my first time writing for Spider Man and for Miguel O’Hara. I just think he’s neat. The Spanish I did Google Translate so please let me know if it’s wrong so I can fix it! I hope you guys all enjoy and have a great day/ night!

Words: 2010

Warnings: Implied suicidal thoughts, anxiety, depression, yandere tendencies, kidnapping, talk of forced mothership

BEEP!

I sighed and groggily turned off my alarm. Last night I did not get a lot of sleep, even with my sleeping pills. It has been like this a lot lately and it sucks because the night is when my mind wanders the most. I hate that I have to deal with my anxiety and depression even while I try to sleep. It really sucks the life out of you.

Today I was in the mood to not get out of bed. I just wanted to lay there and let the day pass while I wrapped myself up in a blanket cocoon. I indulged myself and lay there for a while when I suddenly felt like I was being watched. I brought the blanket over my head similar to what a child does to try and get rid of the feeling.

It didn’t go away.

I might as well get up.

With that, I shrugged the blanket off my body and slumped my way out of bed. My bare feet slid against the wood floor as I was too tired to try and lift them. It’s going to be one of those days.

I tiredly made my way to my closet and picked out a f/c t-shirt, a pair of basketball shorts, and my undergarments. With those in hand I made my way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I set my clothes down on the toilet seat and when the water was scalding hot, I got in. I liked hot showers. They felt like they got rid of some of the grime my emotions left. After I completed my normal routine, I just stood there and allowed the warm water to run down my body. Let the water take it all away, Y/n. Let it take it all away.

Soon the water turned frigid and I knew this was my cue to get out. While I didn’t like wasting water, it felt nice to just stand there and not have to worry about anything. The shower was like a safe haven for me. I could block out my adult responsibilities and emotions for a while and just concentrate on the water.

Turning off the spigot, I allowed the cool air to pass by the shower curtain and tingle my skin. It was like my actual wake up call for the day. Sliding the curtain open, I stepped out and grabbed my towel to dry off. The fuzziness of the towel was calming and as soon as I dried off I slowly put on my clothes. I looked at myself in the mirror when I was all done. My eyebags had gotten worse and I looked a bit pale. I could almost compare myself to that of a zombie with how tired and dead I looked.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, seeing if that would take the dreadful image away. Of course it didn’t, so I left the bathroom in search of breakfast. I hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a long time. Being around people lately was scary to me. It felt like their eyes were always on me and judging my every move. Looking in my fridge I knew I would have to conquer my fear and go out today to get some food. Especially since the only things I had in my fridge were apples, two slices of bread and some jelly. Jelly sandwich with some apple slices it is.

I took out my ingredients and set them on the countertop. I turned to my cutlery drawer and took out a butter knife. Looking at the blade, I regretted taking it out. My hands started to twitch as I gazed at it, ashamed of my thoughts going through. Breathe, Y/n. Breathe. In. And out. In. And out.

I followed along to my breathing technique and placed the jelly on one slice of bread. As soon as this was done, I disposed of the knife in the sink as fast as I could. My thoughts still lingered on the blade, but now that it was out of my hands I felt a bit better. Turning back to my breakfast, I placed the top piece of bread on to complete my sandwich. I also decided not to slice up my apple. I took my breakfast to the couch and began to eat, the silence in the apartment was deafening. I took my time since I wasn’t in a hurry to go outside and be an adult quite yet, not that I liked being in my apartment either. I was hoping to be in a place that was away from the world, my own little dimension. It would be so lovely.

I finished up my breakfast after a while and then wrote out my to do list. After this was done I put on some sneakers, grabbed my bag, and headed out. The walk from the fifth floor down wasn’t a bad one fortunately, so soon I was out on the street. The surge of people out and about made me want to crumble, but I forced myself to trudge on. Once again it felt like I was being watched, but I assume it’s all the people around me. Things can get like that sometimes.

It only took me a few minutes to get to the grocery store, which is nice that it’s not too far from my abode. I grabbed a basket from the front entryway and began my journey. I had only gotten a few items in when I saw a child looking scared on the side. She had tears in her eyes and I felt bad for her. Even though my anxiety was high, I wanted to see this little girl safe. I walked over and knelt to her height. “Hi there, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

“I-I-I can’t find my M-mommy-y,” she said through sobs.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I said as nicely as possible, “I’ll help you find her.”

“R-really?”

“Uh-huh. Now, do you know what color shirt your mom was wearing?”

“It was r-red, a dark r-red.”

“Okay. C’mon, kiddo.”

I held out my hand for her to take and luckily she did. The two of us walked around the store when the little girl gave out a happy shriek. “Mommy!”

A woman with a dark red shirt and braided hair quickly turned and smiled wide when she realized her child was safe. “Sarah!”

She ran towards us and hugged her daughter tightly. It was honestly a very fulfilling scene. “Oh I was so worried about you!”

“I’m sorry, Mommy. But this nice lady helped me!”

The woman looked up at me and smiled wide. “Thank you so much, dear. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

“I understand, Ma’am. It was my pleasure.”

She nodded at me, took her little girl by the hand and walked down the aisle. I sighed happily and continued my shopping trip.

It took me a bit to get everything, but in the end I completed my to-do list. Walking back to my apartment, I thought about the events in the grocery store. I helped out others all the time. Even though I was suffering on the inside, why should somebody else? However, even my kind deeds did not make my sadness go away, no matter how hard I tried. It was pointless.

After I got back to my house and put everything away, I decided to take a nap. I was tired after all the social interaction. Quietly, I snuck back to my bed and laid down. My eyes closed and it took about twenty minutes before I finally fell asleep.

It felt like a few hours had passed when I finally woke up. I yawned, stretched and got up…or at least attempted to. I was confused when I felt more bed when normally I’d have my feet on the floor by now. Sitting up quickly, my eyes widened.

I wasn’t in my room.

I was somewhere completely different.

I scooted myself over to the side of the bed and rushed out of the room towards the nearest door. I got out a few feet before I smacked into something muscular. I tilted back and strong firm hands grasped at my arms. “Hey slow down, Y/n,” a voice I didn’t recognize said.

I looked up and gasped. The man standing before me I had seen a couple of times in my city walking around. He was so tall with light brown skin and dark brown hair. He wore a skintight dark blue and bright red jumpsuit and his eyes. God his eyes. The red irises stared down at me and seemed to eat me up. He guided me back into the room I just left and I finally took a long look. It was minimalistic in design. All it had was a king size bed, a wardrobe, a desk, a couch, coffee table, another room off to the side and a balcony. He sat me on the end of the bed before sitting next to me. He grabbed my hands with his and squeezed gently. “Now I know all of this is new to you, but I can assure you you’re safe, Y/n.”

“Where exactly am I? W-who are you?”

“I am Miguel O’Hara, but you can call me Miguel. You do not need to know the exact location, just that you are safe.”

“How did I get here? I mean you kidnapped me-”

“Think of it as relocation, not kidnapping, mi amor. As for how you got here…you were sleeping and I grabbed you. I thought it would be the best time so you wouldn’t panic and stress yourself out.”

“Grabbed me?! That sounds like kidnapping to me! And of course I’d panic, I was taken by a guy I don’t even know!”

“Calm down-”

“No! I won’t! I want to go home!”

“You’re safer here.”

“No! I want to leave! I want to go home, please!”

“But mi querida, you were so unhappy there. I saved you! This way I can protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” “Yourself!”

There was a deafening silence between us. “M-myself?”

“Yes. While I was watching over you I saw how sad you were over everything. I figured you needed some company and this way I can keep an eye on you. You’ll come to love it here, I assure you. Besides, I feel better knowing you’re here. I will protect you, that I can promise.”

I didn’t know what to say. This man claims he’s been watching me and knows what’s best. I stayed silent. Miguel grasped at my hands a bit tighter and he tried to look into my eyes. I kept them forced on my lap. “Why me?”

“Querida, you have such a kind heart. I’ve seen the things you have done to help those in need. You’ll be a perfect mother.”

“Mother? Mother?! What are you talking about?”

“Yes, madre. I have lost so much and so have you. Why not let our two broken hearts mend together?”

“Because I barely know you!”

I ripped my hands from him and stood up. He followed. “But you will come to know me. I will be the best husband you could ask for.”

“N-no. No! Get away from me, you creep!”

I turned and started to run but Miguel leaped on top of me and restrained me with his arms. “Let go of me! Let go! Please!”

“Shh, mi amor. You’re just tired. I understand. Let me help you.”

I struggled until I felt something pinch my neck. Within minutes my body went limp and numb. Miguel picked me back up and laid me under the covers in the large bed.

I struggled to blink.

I struggled to breathe.

“Hush, mi amor. All will be well when you wake up.”

He leaned down and nuzzled my forehead. Just as he was going to pull away he gave my forehead a kiss as well.

My blurry vision then became dark.

729 notes · View notes