Jaskier, Eddie Munson, Miguel O'Hara, Dean Winchester, Elsa Dutton, Johnny Lawrence & Rick Sanchez are my Baes. Aniyvwiya/Cherokee. 20s. Bi. CNDN/US. Chronically ill (kicked too many leprechauns in a past life). Author of Perfect Match. Feel free to ask, but I dont have the answers, I typically dont have the spoons to reply but I appreciate my readers, and will do short (1000k or less) requests regarding any of my above mentioned Baes 💗
Warnings: 18+, Depictions of Smut, Implied Non-Con, Breeding, Kidnapping, Restraining, Yandere Miguel, Obsessive Miguel, Possessive Miguel, Implied Female Reader, Implied Gender-Neutral Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.
You took him in after you found him collapsed on the rooftop of your apartment, a thick, bleeding gouge along his side. And, initially, he was very suspicious of you, found your generosity – your eagerness to clean and dress his wound, to bring him a fresh change of clothes, to offer him a warm meal – a cause for alarm.
But, you made your intentions with him quite clear; that you only wished to help, to make sure he was fully-healed before he descended upon the world once more.
He did try to leave. Truly, he did. But your proclamations that he needed rest and the nice warm bed you’d offered him forced his body to succumb before his mind did.
As convincing as you may be, Miguel is still highly cautious of you. Tuning into his senses, trying to detect poison in his food or a hidden enemy in your apartment.
But, for the days he’s there, Miguel picks up nothing.
You tell him about yourself – anything and everything he’d like to know – often sitting by his side and answering every question he asks of you: your name, your job; the basics. And, eventually, he opens up to you. Marginally. Tells you a little bit about why he’s here.
He only tells you he - and his associates – are in pursuit of a highly dangerous target. Of course, he omits the part about the fate of the Multiverse hanging squarely on the success of this mission, and he just can’t seem to bring himself to as your eyes fill with wonder and curiosity, your attention solely on him.
And he can’t help but indulge you when you ask him if he has any stories about his time as a superhero.
He relents. Tells you of missions which bear little weight on the universe you reside in – nothing that could endanger you should you tell another soul. And you listen with an eagerness he wished his subordinates would display, even if only for theatrics’ sake.
You tell him how lucky the world is to have a hero like him – how lucky you are to even be talking to him, seeing as you’re just a civilian.
Your earnest nature makes something in him tick. Something he can’t place his finger on.
As the days fly by, he finds himself racking his brain for more stories to tell you, more tales to regale where he comes out on top, ever the hero he is.
It helps bury some of the guilt that lingers in his heart, fractals of a universe he’s shattered. Makes him feel as if he’s not entirely a failure.
Whenever you leave the apartment – for work or for shopping – Miguel wanders around, watches some TV, formulates his game plan for when he has to leave.
That last one brings him a little too much anxiety for his liking, so he often finds himself thinking of you instead to ease his nerves.
Something, initially, he’s somewhat shocked by. But the longer he does it, the more natural it feels. The more vivid his daydreams become.
He tries never to let them stray into lewd territory, but after he accidentally caught sight of you undressing, his mind has been urging him to visit some...unsavoury places.
He only permits brief trips there when you’re out of the house, and never for very long.
You took him in after you found him collapsed on the rooftop of your apartment, a thick, bleeding gouge along his side. And, initially, he was very suspicious of you, found your generosity – your eagerness to clean and dress his wound, to bring him a fresh change of clothes, to offer him a warm meal – a cause for alarm.
But, you made your intentions with him quite clear; that you only wished to help, to make sure he was fully-healed before he descended upon the world once more.
He did try to leave. Truly, he did. But your proclamations that he needed rest and the nice warm bed you’d offered him forced his body to succumb before his mind did.
As convincing as you may be, Miguel is still highly cautious of you. Tuning into his senses, trying to detect poison in his food or a hidden enemy in your apartment.
But, for the days he’s there, Miguel picks up nothing.
You tell him about yourself – anything and everything he’d like to know – often sitting by his side and answering every question he asks of you: your name, your job; the basics. And, eventually, he opens up to you. Marginally. Tells you a little bit about why he’s here.
He only tells you he - and his associates – are in pursuit of a highly dangerous target. Of course, he omits the part about the fate of the Multiverse hanging squarely on the success of this mission, and he just can’t seem to bring himself to as your eyes fill with wonder and curiosity, your attention solely on him.
And he can’t help but indulge you when you ask him if he has any stories about his time as a superhero.
He relents. Tells you of missions which bear little weight on the universe you reside in – nothing that could endanger you should you tell another soul. And you listen with an eagerness he wished his subordinates would display, even if only for theatrics’ sake.
You tell him how lucky the world is to have a hero like him – how lucky you are to even be talking to him, seeing as you’re just a civilian.
Your earnest nature makes something in him tick. Something he can’t place his finger on.
As the days fly by, he finds himself racking his brain for more stories to tell you, more tales to regale where he comes out on top, ever the hero he is.
It helps bury some of the guilt that lingers in his heart, fractals of a universe he’s shattered. Makes him feel as if he’s not entirely a failure.
Whenever you leave the apartment – for work or for shopping – Miguel wanders around, watches some TV, formulates his game plan for when he has to leave.
That last one brings him a little too much anxiety for his liking, so he often finds himself thinking of you instead to ease his nerves.
Something, initially, he’s somewhat shocked by. But the longer he does it, the more natural it feels. The more vivid his daydreams become.
He tries never to let them stray into lewd territory, but after he accidentally caught sight of you undressing, his mind has been urging him to visit some...unsavoury places.
He only permits brief trips there when you’re out of the house, and never for very long.
The two of you fall into a routine while he’s healing; you come home and prepare him dinner, he comes and helps you – even when you tell him he should be resting. Then, you eat together and watch a film.
One evening, close to his departure – Miguel knows he hasn’t long with you left – you fell asleep on him, your face resting on his shoulder.
He dared not move for fear of disturbing you, losing you.
Then, his heart…fluttered.
And, as you slept soundly on him, with all the trust in the world, he realised that nobody had been this close to him – physically – since…
Since he lost his universe.
The idea that someone could take this for granted, the simple act of trust, that they could take advantage of yours, shot through him, a bullet of realisation. And the pain only sears as he looks upon your face, oblivious to the thoughts racing through his mind, through the minds of others – criminals and low-lifes who would kill you for no reason.
He couldn’t leave you.
Not here, and not on your own.
He knows it’s selfish, but, in another vein, he believes he’s saving you. Being the hero you see him as.
The next day, he’s fully-healed. And he has a proposition for you.
“Go…with you ?” you say, eyebrow raised. “Miguel, I don’t underst-”
“You don’t need to,” he says. “But what you do need to know is that you’re not safe here.”
“What makes you think that ?” You cross your arms over your chest, as if to contain – hide – the suspicion growing there. Miguel brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubs it, tilts his head back.
“Listen, I just know things– things that make me qualified to tell you that you, on your own, in this universe, are not safe.”
Miguel knows he’s getting nowhere with you. Especially since he made no effort to explain his multiversal goings-ons to you when he first arrived. So, he shows you.
He takes you by the hand and, willingly, you go with him. To him, that’s confirmation – submission. Your compliance with his whims.
He brings you to a universe where everything is oddly…liminal. Like an early 2010’s Microsoft desktop wallpaper. Just green hills, a distant forest encircling the land, and a house. Big enough to fit a family of considerable size.
Made to fit you and Miguel.
By the time you realise anything’s wrong, out of the ordinary (aside from being shown inter-dimensional travel), Miguel’s dropping a bombshell on you.
“This is your new home,” he says, standing behind you. He’s so close you can feel his warmth against your back. He places a hand on your shoulder. Squeezes it. “Our new home.”
Any shock that overcomes you is overpowered with the sense of dread that you’ve walked right into Miguel’s trap. That, just as he’d warned you, someone had taken advantage of your kind, trusting nature.
You can fight as much as you want, but Miguel’s got his heart set on you. And your future here.
You see, while you were caring for Miguel, showing him the concern and attentiveness he’s been starved of for years, his mind had begun to wander. Wondered what you’d be like with him if you were always together. Wondered how you’d act if you were to care for a child.
His child.
He’ll try to convince you of this ideal, that this is right and is what’s best for you, but if you keep resisting, you’ll see his possessive side emerge. His anger.
Red eyes, pinning you to the wall, nostrils flared; he is not losing you. And if he needs to frighten you into this new life, then so be it. Though, he wants you to adjust naturally, to want what he wants, to, dare he say, love him as he loves you.
And if you’re not going to submit to him willingly, he’ll take it by force.
If you’re capable of bearing children, he creates a strict regiment wherein he takes you, filling you with his load. At first, this was once a day – every two days if he was busy.
Initially, he’d string you up to the ceiling by your legs after finishing, “To make sure it takes,” he told you. And it doesn’t matter how hard you struggle; his webs are steadfast. Stubborn.
But, as he became more ravenous, more enemaoured by the prospect of keeping you, of breeding you, he became sloppy. Desperate. The thought of you swollen with his offspring hits him while he’s at work, during the downtime between missions.
At which point he just takes care of himself, panting your name in the bathroom stall before finishing and returning to work as normal.
Then it became more frequent, occurring while he’s on missions, during integral moments. At this point, he tries to suppress it, save it for later. After all, it’s not like he has a choice.
And that’s when he’d come and pay you a midnight visit, girthy and stiff and eyes red with the carnal need to fill you again and again until your stomach bulged.
That regime he’d set up unravelled, and now he takes you at every convenience, every chance he gets, pinning you to a web and making sure you can’t struggle if you’re particularly resistant.
At first, he did feel guilty about this; guilty that he was the one hurting you, causing you to cry, to beg for him not to finish inside you as you told him you weren’t ready to have a child.
And, during this period, he would wear his mask. He thought it would offer him some protection against your tear-streaked, anguished stare, your pleas for him to let you go, to return you home.
It didn’t.
He tries to comfort you, to tell you that you’ll “Love being a parent – just give it a chance,” as he pumps his hot load into you, holding you close to him.
Depending on his mood, he can be very gentle or very rough.
When he’s gentle, he whispers in your ear, tells you how much you mean to him, how he loves you more than you’ll ever know.
When he’s rough, he’s merciless. And gone is the tender love he’d subject you to, replaced with growls and claims that he needs you, that he won’t stop fucking you until you’re filled with his offspring.
He has a web created specifically for when he breeds you – where he attaches you to it upside down, making sure your chances of pregnancy are maximised. He fucks you here too, sometimes. And while blood is rushing to your head from being upside down, Miguel’s pounding the life out of you, panting, sweating, moaning your name.
He can go for many, many rounds. His superhuman stamina and strength make him unstoppable when it comes to you.
He’ll keep going long after you’ve finished or while you’re unconscious and exhausted from his barrage, never ceasing until he stuffs his cum into you, holding you to him, pressing kisses to your face as he tells you what a good job you’ve done, how well you’ve taken him.
If you do end up pregnant, Miguel is never letting you go.
You can say goodbye to any chances of getting back to your universe when he finds out you’re bearing his child.
And you can’t hide it from him, either. His hearing and perception tell him you’re expecting even before you’re aware of it.
By that point, the only thing you can do is just accept that this is your life now. Doing so early on will make your existence with Miguel little more than bearable. Because if you aren’t excited or tolerant of this child, Miguel will string you up in your bedroom.
“For your own good,” he tells you, his eyes flickering down to your stomach. His eyes soften, fill with warmth. “And the baby’s.”
If he suspects you’ll try to hurt yourself or the baby, he’ll take drastic measures to ensure neither of those things happen; restraining you, placing you into an induced sleep, cocooning you.
If you can’t have children, he’ll simply take one from another universe and tell you that the two of you will raise them together.
If he suspects anyone or anything else is going to try to hurt you or the baby, he’ll destroy it. No questions asked.
He’s indiscriminate, too.
Even if it were one of his associates – someone he’s worked alongside for years – they’re all superficial to him.
His only concern is you.
And he’ll make sure you’re loved and cared for forever.
A common thing I'm seeing in fanart I've seen is peeps giving Miguel a resting angry/bitch face but honestly... The dude really doesn't have that
He very much has a resting tired face.... Even a resting stressed face. He's giving off the vibes of very much going:
"no no I'm cool. I'm chill. I'm relaxing" while very much having the most tense shoulders alive.
Like he emotes a lot in the movie, he even smiles a couple times funnily enough. He's just very much like "I'm so okay but if i experience literally a minutiae more stress i am going to start crying and screaming"
Which like arguably one of those things does in fact happen so
He does get angry, he mainly just looks annoyed at times at first though, it's only when Miles refuses to listen to him (for obvious reasons) for the 50th time does he start going off the deep end and looks livid
He is an asshole but at the end of the day...
Miguel isn't an angry man, he's just experiencing the entire dsm5, 2 hours of sleep in the last 2 weeks and coming face to face with the thing he's been trying to ignore for over a year now plus like the whole movie while looking like he wants to be doing literally anything else but this
you have no idea what you've unleashed anon. My headcanons are closed but this man is an exception. I am so goddang thirsty for this man it's not even funny. He's been occupying my mind 24/7 since I've seen the movie and I have not had a moment of peace since. My tiktok fyp is filled with him. I will never escape him. And I'm fine with that. I want this man to hunt me down like he did Miles. I want to be chased to the absolute extent of my abilities. Til my heart is beating 100 miles per minute, my lungs are working overtime, and i physically cannot run anymore. I want this man to capture me and bite me and paralyze me with his fangs.
anyway thirsty rant over-
Yandere Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
TW: spoilers for Across the Spiderverse, yandere behavior, paralyzation, yelling/threats, nonconsensual sexual implications,
Fandom: Spiderman - Across the Spiderverse
Pairing: Yandere Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader
Imma be honest when I saw this man in theaters I thought he was PEAK yandere
Dude chased Miles for nearly an entire movie and will probably still try to find the dude in the next movie
If his darling ever escaped you know this man is chasing, and he won't ever give up either.
He instills fear during the chase too, with how he digs his claws into walls and stuff. Probably would destroy stuff while chasing just to show off to his darling. Show off how strong he is and how he'll catch (Y/n) soon.
Dude is sentimental and can't let go of his loved ones. He literally replaced a dead version of himself to live with his family again. After that event you know that whoever he gets attached to, he gets attached, and afraid of losing (Y/n) like he lost others. He will keep his darling at his side, any means necessary.
On that note, even if (Y/n) were to somehow die or pass away, you know he's immediately latching onto a different version from a different universe.
Oh back to chasing-
You know that once he catches (Y/n), if she isn't compliant this man is using his fangs and paralyzing his darling
which I gladly welcome, I would let this man bite me all over and paralyze me, leaving me helpless to his will. but this isn't about me-
honestly he'd probably use his fangs whenever (Y/n) is acting out of place. He has the strength to hold her down too, so it's not hard for him.
He is capturing his darling and keeping her safe somewhere, whether it's a small universe only he'll travel to or a secluded place in the spider society building.
And you know from the videos this man constantly rewatches that he is a sweetie at heart.
okay but him acting so sweet with his daughter got my baby fever acting uppp i love a man who is a good father
If (Y/n) is compliant and goes along with his whims? Then you know this man will be the sweetest husband ever.
He has a sweet tone when he's not angry and he's happy. Even if (Y/n) is talking about being free he goes with softness first.
"The universe out there is dangerous. You know you're safe in here, right?"
"I'm just trying to keep you safe mi vida. You understand that?"
It's only when (Y/n) keeps pressing that his temper goes up. He yells, but would never hurt her. He'd probably punch walls or throw tables around her though.
"How many times do I have to tell you!? This is for your own good!"
Scratch that he would be rough with (Y/n), but uh.... only during certain times
Would he force himself on (Y/n)? No, unless pushed to a certain point (i.e. (Y/n)'s been repeatedly trying to escape and he needs to teach her a lesson or smth)
this man can paralyze me and teach me a lesson any day~
If he were to use force though you'd best bet he's using his fangs to paralyze her
He'd probably try to baby trap (Y/n) too in the process
This dude loves children, he's also gonna love the children-making process
Hes never gonna use protection if you get what I'm trying to lay down
Can you tell I'm trying not to use words that would make this 18+
also he's gonna force his darling to wear a ring and is gonna refer to her as his wife
Would also call himself "her husband"
Him believing them to be married also contributes to the "forcing himself on her" thing
Theyre married, they have marital duties to perform, at least this is what he believes
Anyway this is all I have for general yandere headcanons for now, if anyone wants smth with a specific reader (like spider reader or alternate dimension reader who was his wife that died in his dimension) I can do drabble/hcs for those
tw - spiderverse spoilers, kidnapping, manipulation, and obsessive behavior.
You were wearing the same cardigan you had been, on the day he first met you.
The beige one, your favorite one, three-sizes too big for you and covered in sunflowers all knit with the same eye-bleeding shade of bright yellow yarn. He could still picture the loose collar hanging off of your shoulder as you pushed the door to your cluttered apartment open, barely holding yourself upright long enough to kiss his cheek and tussle your daughter’s hair before collapsing onto the nearest couch – unaware that your real husband died earlier that day, that the man currently occupying your home and holding your daughter was only a few steps above a common intruder. The buttons would fall off, the thread would fray, the flowers would unravel, but you’d never get rid of the poor thing, never put it out of its misery.
You’d been wearing it the last time he saw you, too – as he watched you get ready for one of your early shifts, stumbling around your sun-lit bedroom, sending him teasing smiles over your shoulder every time you caught him staring (which, in his defense, he never really tried to hide). He could only imagine you would’ve been wearing it when your dimension collapsed, when your life together unraveled like the silk of a spider’s web and everything, every shot he had at a happy life with you was—
When he made a mistake. That was all. When he made a mistake.
He couldn’t afford to think about it as anything but a mistake, right now.
Not when he had you in front of him.
A different you, of course. A version of you who never had a Miguel, never got married, never had a daughter, never tied yourself to any significant canon events, but you – down to the dark circles carved under your eyes from too many late nights to the way you curled into yourself as you slept, looking for something to hold that wasn’t there. You’d wake up, soon. You were just as feisty as you’d always been, too smart to trust a man rambling about ‘past lives’ and ‘alternative realities’ and too stubborn not to fight back as he worked his syringe into your neck, but you were where you should be, now, in his bed, in his dimension, safe and sound and, most importantly, not at-risk of throwing everything he’d worked so hard to preserve out of order. Not at-risk for forcing him to throw everything he’d worked for away.
And you were safe, here. He’d made sure of it. A dimensional travel watch was already strapped to your wrist (modified, of course, so you wouldn’t be able to leave this dimension without his help), and he’d done what he could to make you comfortable, to keep your cardigan draped over your unconscious body, to brush the same stray hair away from your face whenever you turned and it was thrown out of place, again. Idly, he ran a knuckle over your cheek, just like he had during your first life together, when he got home hours after midnight, bruised and bloody from his last fight, too exhausted to do anything more than sit on the side of your shared bed and admire your oblivious expression. Just like you had when your daughter was distracted and you had a few seconds to look at him, to note the creases pressed into his brow and cheeks, to wonder aloud what’d happened to your husband before laughing and resting your head against his chest.
Something ached in his chest as he leaned down, pressing his lips against the top of your head, letting his eyes fall shut and an ounce of the tension that’d kept him going for the past few years dissolve. He only managed to pull away when he felt you shift underneath him, straightening his back in time to see your eye flutter open, your mouth opening, then closing, then opening again. He waited, patiently. You’d always been so smart. Even in a strange world, underneath a strange man, you were still trying to be careful. “…hey?” And then, a second later, as your gaze fell away from him and towards his darkened room. “I’m sorry, but… do I know you?”
Clearly, you didn’t remember your last conversation – how quickly he’d lost his temper, how violently you’d thrashed against him as he tried to calm you down and, when that failed, to pin you down long enough to pump a syringe’s worth of sedatives into your carotid artery. That was good. He could start fresh. He could do better, this time.
He tried to fall back on the excuse he’d almost gotten himself to believe, something about an extra-dimensional threat, a fracture in the canon that necessitated an otherwise-remarkable civilian be taken into the care of his foundation. He tried to summon the indifference he showed to the rest of his task force, the practical neutrality it took to make the difficult decision he was forced to, but his throat felt dry, his tongue leaden. Still, he felt himself smiling, his grin only growing broader as you nervously returned the gesture. “You can call me Miguel,” he muttered, almost under his breath.
idk how the multiverse works so im just fucking up the worldbuilding but basically my hc is that whenever a dimension suffers trauma (too many ppl leaving dimensions, rift in time etcetc), it will create a shield around itself, preventing anyone from entering or leaving as it works to self-correct.
(Yandere, dark, kidnapping, captive, delusional behavior, gn reader, implied deaths, talks of bombs)
Yandere!Miguel O'hara x reader
Honestly, you weren’t much of a threat.
It was a rather misfortunate case of wrong place wrong time. One second, you were in your home, mulling about. The next, you were across dimensions.
At least, that’s how it was explained to you. You had no idea there could be more than one spiderman, and now you were surrounding by millions. Maybe even billions. Here they all were. Heroes, all working together to save the multiverse, returning innocent people, like you, back to where they came from.
But, according to Miguel, you were a special case.
fjjshjkdfsjkjs hgnnnn that scene,,, i hc him as someone who really tries to maintain his composure and keep up that whole 'strict but levelheaded' thing while being just a little more gentle towards his darling, but at the first sign of something not going his way, at the first hint of any significant resistance on your part, he just. snaps. in less than a minute he's reduced to bared fangs and glowing red eyes and snarled threats for you to 'come out before you make things worse for yourself', as if he hasn't already scared you to the point of total paralysis. walls are reduced to rumble, steel beams crushed and shredded into scrap metal, his senses dialed up as far as they can go and his blood-lust only dampened by his unwavering determination to make you regret running away from him. depending on how long his more animalistic urges have to fester, he might've forgotten just how delicate you are by the time he reaches you, just easily your skin tears under his claws, just how much blood you can lose as he works his fangs into your neck, focused on getting you to stop fighting him and nothing else. he's a feral little guy, like that <3
Yandere!Miguel O'hara/Spiderperson!Reader- No More Dry Bites
TWs: Yandere, Obsession, Possessiveness, Violence, Manipulation Poorly Done, Prey/Predator mentions, Miguel is not nice about it, Biting, Kidnapping.
(This ended up longer than most of what I've written recently lmao. This angry bitter man has me gripped.)
Miguel isn't scary. He's not dangerous. Out of everyone you've been around, everyone in Spider society, he's somehow wedged his way into being the kindest person here- not an easy feat. So...why is it that the way he's staring you down reminds you of a predator cornering it's prey?
No matter what people told you about him being the most intimidating, work oriented, terrifying Spider-Man in this line of work, you didn't believe them. Thought it was an inside joke, even; not once has Miguel made you so much as flinch around him. In the near-year that you've been here you haven't been given any reason to be scared of him despite what everyone else seems so keen on hammering into your head. Except...right now, you suppose. You're alone with him, which, normally would be nothing but a relief- but you messed up big time today.
You snooped. Really, you shouldn't have had any reason to put much stock in what Hobie "Instigator" Brown was telling you, about how you need to be careful being so close to and unaware about "your Miggy" (his words, not yours, but the phrasing and tone made you so so inquisitive, so consider his job done). You should have done what you normally do, and brushed it off. This time, though, something about the way Hobie said it, with some semblance of genuine worry in his expression...it's not like you could make yourself disregard that, coming from him. You'd thought, if Hobie had reason to be worried, maybe you should look into it...? Initially you only intended to take a tiny, inconsequential peek inside Miguel's desk.
Said peek quickly turned into panicked reading and terror. Pages in his handwriting about obsessive, possessive feelings, the need to keep and hide and take- all centered on you. His apparent need for control, barely hidden behind a kind facade that he keeps up so he doesn't scare you off as he strips you of your agency; at least, that's what seemed to be his plan. His gross, twisted idea that you should be his, only seen and heard by him.
You suppose the amount of time you spent glued to his writing is how you lost track of time. It was only supposed to be ten minutes at most. That...was until you felt the familiar prickle in your veins, screaming 'danger'. Miguel had not only come back sooner than expected, but you'd vastly overshot your window to leave in the first place. When you'd turned around to face him, it became very clear that he wasn't letting you run, from the way he blocked the door with his body.
...the way he's still blocking the door as you frantically try to explain yourself. Trying to rationalize his side of things is fruitless, but maybe you can weasel out of this by explaining yours? That brings you back to the way he's staring at you. 'Miguel would never hurt you', you try to convince yourself, 'he'd never actually do all that, you need to calm down'. It's difficult to believe that, though, as he keeps leering at you with barely contained disappointment and anger swimming behind his eyes.
You're stuttering, doing anything you can to convince him that you didn't see anything worthwhile, that you were just putting a rumor to rest, and it's honestly so fucking cute. Of course he's angry- all his hard work to make himself seem as unthreatening to you as possible just went down the drain- but the way you're trying to make him believe you were just looking out for him is adorable. He'd like to believe it, honestly. However...
"That's enough. You've said enough."
...the way your heart sinks at his tone makes it hard to breathe. "Miggy...c'mon, I didn't see anything-"
Was he always this menacing? The way he puts his hand up to stop you and scoffs makes you flinch. It's painfully clear how few options you have as he moves his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
His guttural sigh is grating on your ears. "Please, don't make this harder than it has to be." As he takes a step forward, you take a step back.
"Make what harder than it has to be? Miguel, this better be a fucking joke, or I swear I'll-" ...the sound of his claws coming out makes your eyes go wide like a deer in headlights. You keep backing up until you hit the desk, and he keeps advancing even as you jump and clamber over it- away from him.
"You make everything so difficult. Do you know how hard I've had to work to keep things safe for you? To keep you safe? Is it too much to ask that you fucking," The sound of the desk drawer being slammed open makes you jump further back, "keep your nose out of my things? You couldn't even put things back where I had them, what makes you think I wouldn't know?!" He's waving the papers- the ones you were just reading- in your direction. "Who told you? What made you think this was a good idea?"
Sputtering, a struggle to find words, as he tears the papers in front of you. He's in a rage. Pissed beyond belief and reason. Could you even reason with him in a good mood? ...probably not. He's breathing heavily as he slams his fist on the desk. Animalistic as he groans- oh fuck, his eyes are red. You've only seen that when he's fighting someone.
His eyes meet yours. You're on the wall, eyes previously darting to find an escape route. "No no no, don't you even think about it. I can't let you leave me. You're not allowed to leave me."
"I don't have to fucking stay here! You don't own me!" Really, you hadn't meant to say it out loud. It sort of just...spilled out. It doesn't change the fact that his expression changes to sheer anger as he digs his claws into the desk. Does he have to stare at you like that? He simultaneously looks enraged and hungry.
"Oh really? I don't own you? If you're so fucking sure about that, then why don't you try me? Come on muñeca/muñeco, give me a reason to sink my teeth in."
Miguel has jokingly bitten you before. A demonstration, of sorts- to show that, like many venomous animals, he can dry bite. In this moment, the memory of it vaguely reminds you of how sharp his fangs were despite the lack of paralyzing venom being pushed through them. It had still hurt when he bit you, but it was just for fun. You don't think you want his teeth anywhere near you right now. It looks like you may not have a choice; he's pushed the desk aside and started advancing towards you again. You very briefly consider trying to fight him...but he's not blocking the door anymore. If he just gets a little closer...
"Do you know how much work I've put into this? Into us? Is it so hard to understand why I need to keep you safe? Are you really going to make me throw my hard work away like this?" A tiny bit closer, you know he can do it. "I can't let you do that. You can't leave me. You're mine." Your nerves are screaming at you.
You jump as far as you can, onto the ceiling, just as he lunges. The sound of his claws striking the wall and digging in is apparent- he was trying to sink those things into you. He's really going to hurt you at this rate, if he catches you. You'd heal, easily, but that doesn't make it any less unnerving, even as you hoist yourself over and off your ceiling perch to get closer to the door. Unfortunately, your mad dash to the door is short lived; about halfway there, something hits your back and pulls. You're put on your ass and dragged violently back towards the wall, and your attempts to pull his webbing off only results in a harsher yank.
"Keep trying, maybe you'll grab it before it's too late." Every pull gets a grunt out of him as you resort to sticking to the floor in order to stop him from pulling you. "Stop acting like a child, mi caro/mi cara! This. Is why. I- fuck, let go of the fucking floor! You know what, fine."
Despite being able to crawl a considerable distance and even get to your feet, Miguel is more than willing to tackle you back to the ground and wrestle you onto your stomach. Your flailing and punching and kicking all stay strong even as his talons dig into your skin. Scratching, latching onto you, as he forces your arms onto your back and and grabs a fist-full of your hair.
You're still vehemently struggling and trying to get him off of you as he pulls your hair to make you expose your neck. He wouldn't, he wouldn't he wouldn't he wouldn't-
"I don't care what story I have to make up after this. You're never leaving my sight again."
Any time he's bitten you, it's been playful. Dry bites as you two joke about his preferred method of dealing with criminals. Now it's terrifying, and you find yourself wishing you'd just taken photos to go over later. Maybe then you wouldn't be crying out as he sinks his fangs into you, talons deep in your skin as venom is pumped into you.
...he wonders if you'll like your new room. He's worked hard on it.
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