#me!spiderman2o99

[unfortunately-obsessed]

I'll love you like a dog (you'll betray me like a man)

A/N: Not proofread. Rushed this before the gym tbh. Hope y'all guys enjoy. AO3 link

"Why do you need to punish yourself this much?"

Most houses and apartments on Earth-42 rest in darkness, so you glance down the street, eyes straining at the neon of rooftops. It's pouring. Miguel didn't had the chance to put up a fight when you are being this cruel.

The pressure is unbearable, his shoulders tense. You watched him send Gwen back her universe despite the probability of her having to confront homelessness there. You watched Miguel try to hurt a kid, and now you're watching as he sets teams to hunt Miles.

"I need to fix this," he tells you, staring and fists clenched. His voice's flat. It's the same answer everytime. You're used to it.

And you know why, of course. It's the reason why every Spider-Man must suffer.

It's the tenderness of grief. Tender like a bruise.

Miguel suffers and weeps. It's sickening to watch how much pain can make you aggressive.

You're more than aware you're a bad person. Never a hero, never sure why you were accepted among them.

(The truth about the multiverse is that they don't know it enough. The canon theory could be right. It could be wrong. They will never know in their lifetime.

It's cruel and merciless and they will never understand it fully.

You're never fast enough to save a person. You are fast enough to watch them die.

Grief comes in waves. Miguel will never see his daughter grow up.)

"Years dedicated to this job," you lament, voice clear through rain, "It all comes down to letting people die."

In another life, we bump on each other at the grocery store. There, we are meant to a happy ending.

Never this one. Here, Miguel looks at you with dread despite all else.

He stiffens further. And you're on his side, he knows it, because you will always be, loyalty outweighting what you know is wrong.

"I don't need your approval," he says. Miguel looks at you strange, eyes fiery red as if glowing with contained rage.

You inch closer to him. Miguel keeps dooming himself. It always going to end up like this.

"I'm just saying," you start, and there's something horrible inside you, "there's no coming back after this."

It's the awareness that you will let Miguel ruin you. Besides that, you would dissect him to know what's happening in his brain, gut him like a fish.

Grief comes in waves. It outweights reason, born from love. Gabriella's laughter is so loud in his head, right now. Not one day passed that he didn't want to take the his heart out of the chest.

You enable the worst in each other. It's true, you had watched him bite off the neck of a person, blood dripping from his fangs. He had watched you punch someone until your own knuckles scratched open.

"I know," Miguel snarls. Life brimming with sorrow. "But you will be on my side."

Jeff Davis has been dead since the beginning. This can go only one way.

Yet, what were Miles supposed to do? Stay still and watch his father die?

And what were you supposed to do? You'd chose Miguel over anybody else. You were never a good person.

Miguel is, though. Despite everything else, he is trying to do what he finds right. Despite the bitterness, the grief.

Somewhere else, I try harder to stop you. Here, I don't try at all. Here, I will meet you halfway.

It rains. It had been raining. The truth is that you are better a weapon than a person. Never letting go of violence like a mother's hand.

"Always," you say.

"And you understand why," he croaks out, solemnly. Taking a shuddering breath.

You purse your lips. "I do."

Loving Miguel had made you worse. "You will regret this," he waves, leaning closer.

You cannot save. You can only try. In another universe, we grew up together. The grief doesn't end but so does the love.

"Maybe." You smile to him, it's not a happy sight. He doesn't falter. "But you can do anything and I won't leave you."

Miguel is making the wrong decision. It's okay, good people also make bad things.

You stand in front of Miguel, and he loves you too. That's why he allows you to be here. "Just don't go where I can't follow."

Everything's sacrificial– you'll make Miguel's massacre holy until there's nothing else to sacrifice.

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Guys guys I need y'all to understand that the one of the strongest evidences that Miguel isn't evil is that he explains the Canon to Miles and then says when his father will die: two days

Are you kidding me?? The first thing I would do if I had the information Miguel has was gatekeep gaslight girboss my way into taking care of the multiverse

Not telling people about the Canon is the safest way to ensure that it will stay safe

Miguel believes that people will do the "right thing" and not disturb it. This is a fool's hope, not a villain's secret plan.

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Saw someone saying that Miguel would be called mickey by spanish-speakers and I now want a sassy non-spanish-speaker reader sneaking up from behind to shove one of those obnoxious mickey mouse headbands on him

[unfortunately-obsessed]

All Things End

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader • Hurt no Comfort • AO3 link

In the end, all is quiet

You said many and many times to Miguel that being in love wasn't a weakness.

It was supposed to be easy. In-and-out, just trying to make a map of the warehouse Sinister Six were using. Empty room. Empty room. They've been doing some remodeling since last tim you've been there.

Just trying to get some pics. Maybe a manifest. Counting the number of goons. Your steps just like a mice's, soundless and light, using of the celling and vents to move undetected.

True to the word, you don't operate the same way most Spiders do. Peter B calls you sneaky and Jess slick, but Miguel respected you for not being reckless like that whole side of the multiverse.

The whiskey, rain and and knock-off cigars scent flooded your nose. Kraven and Sandman are playing poker over a wood box. Kraven got a Full House but you mentally bet on Sandman. Hah.

With the two as guards, you just needed to noiseless.

Empty room. Not empty room, filled with wire but nothing interesting. You had wondered what Doc Ock been planning now. Another empty room.

You don't know what hit you.

The hair in your neck raises, you can't feel your legs.

Mind goes blank with jasmine acid and white, room filled with gas and you weren't quick enough to dodge a kick to the mouth. You punch and cuss aloud before Kraken can lodge a knife on your throat.

Ears unable to hear and eyes unable to see for a sharp second. A tiny mystery. There's shouting and there's pain. Everybody has broken ribs by the end of it.

Your hand voracious raw against a face, so you fumble about what is up and what is down until Kraken is is either unconscious or close enough and there's sand on your lungs and socks.

Two seconds and hard cough is what it take for a metallic arm ragdoll you into a wall.

You bleed an unsurmountable amount.

When the fight is over and after you put Doc Ock to sleep, you hear sirens approaching. Crawling to a celling down the road, you throw up, head tripping.

It's disorienting and the sky doesn't have stars because, after all, you're in New York. The blinding lights are not from stars and your right side is all tender. And it smells like trash and oil. And you think of red eyes and pouty lips and a stubborn valiant man. You wish it to end faster.

Not reckless, huh. You wonder what went wrong and can't pinpoint it, but neither you can feel your fingertips, so all you think is never damage and concussion. Maybe you were just ill-prepared, payed the tool but couldn't pay the price. The shaking comes in waves.

You did say that being in love wasn't a weakness.

And it's true, which doesn't mean you also doesn't have to convince yourself.

Damn Ohio and Vermont. Hate New York the same amount you see it behind your eyelids. Kindness isn't free and both you and Miguel refused to put a name on this burning. You want to go home.

Sometimes the poem writes itself. Sometimes it doesn't need to be written. It untravelled all lungs.

Until the story ends all their heartbeats. Flickering matches. Teeth dripping lead.

Do you love Miguel? Not sure. Does it matter when you're bleeding? Unlikely.

A strange habit: Miguel sometimes travels half the multiverse to see why you weren't answering his calls. You hear him swallowing dry and panic in his eyes.

"M'fine," you say to him.

"You look like shit," he tells you, kneeling to be in your side, hands hovering over, unsure of what to do. Worried that holding you will cause more damage.

"Thanks," you say, calm despite the numbness growing each passing second. Moving was impossible on your current state. Instead, your throat burn at the sight of Miguel. "I can't feel my hands."

Even Miguel, a complete idiot on intersocial intelligence, notices the perfectly hidden edge on voice. You tell yourself that you'll sleep it off, perfectly tucking away the fear.

It's natural and inevitable. Miguel is calm despite himself. "It's alright," he says, voice smooth but deep, husky. Ah, you do love his voice. It could lull anyone to sleep. "You're going to be fine."

The story doesn't have a massage. The notion of it, itself, is ridiculous. In another life, we hold our hands together.

You scoff even if you tell yourself the same. Heart won't stop racing. His hand cupping your neck makes you almost believe it.

It's almost peaceful and quiet, and you can't hear the sirens or the city buzzling as it does. "I'm dying", you conclude, sharing it with him, like you do. At this point, there's not a piece of information you don't share with him.

Miguel's eyes grow wide, fast but you see it. "You're no-"

"Something's wrong, I'm not feeling pain," you say, throat dry and hurting, "I'm dying."

He says something to Layla, who toughly scans you with one droid. The conversation doesn't register on your mind. You place a hand over his.

His head snaps back to you, gaze over your bleeding body. "You lost blood," he tries, yet his voice wavered, "but you're not dying."

Tears. You're crying. His hands relax over your carotid, suddenly bare, calming your mind and breathes. Miguel's shoulders are tense, thumb caressing your cheek. When did you ever take the mask off?

Before throwing up, you think.

Finally, pain laces your head. Red spots on you suit, pooling, but the wound is to o big to stop the flowing. It's smearing him, too. You think, very clinically, that you could have tasted his lips if you both were not cowards.

A stupid mistake. You should have named what's between the two of you.

(You're dying and you can feel it. It's the bleedout and the heart going fast and Miguel denying it instead of saying you're an idiot if you think he'll let you die. It's the trembling and the getting harder to breath. It's the fact you're not in panic.)

He smells apple cinnamon pie and warm sweet home.

There's nothing he can do. Moving you may cause it to come faster. So you don't let him know how much it hurts to move at all. His stomach twists.

Miguel's instinct – always there to be blamed, making him unable to clearly process his thoughts, – is to reach out and engulf you on his arms. He moves slow, closer. He threads his fingers into your stained hair.

"I'm not stupid," you say to him, clenching at his other hand.

This declaration shocks him. As normally, Miguel can't hide the frown on his face. "I know you're not."

"No. I–" A few feverish moments pass. It hurts to breath. You might stare at him forever before blurting out, "Please kiss me."

Keeping you eyes open was starting to be a problem. The sky is spinning. All you feel is drozyness. Like you want to sleep. You want your bed.

"Sweetheart," he says, so slow and low you might have imagined it.

Hot, desperate tears streaked down your face. You couldn't keep appearances anymore, keep playing the waiting game with Miguel. You don't know what cause this pathetic display, but still wasn't worse than the numbness.

A gasp left your mouth as his lips pressed against yours. It settles deep within your chest, but all he probably taste is metal.

A low growl rumbled in your heart.

Why are you crying? It has leapt from my throat when we first spoke, alight when I first head your laughter, strong, hands gone rough with time. Your hands are trembling now.

Hungry mouth and lips. In the end, it's quiet.

Your face dropped the frown. Why are you crying? I cannot undo it. My heart under your palms, ribs de-boned and body peeled from skin. Glossy ruby eyes.

Sorry about the mess. Just hold me. In angry tears, never-mended flesh, and razor-sharp teeth, and sometimes I wondered about the needle edge of it. Guts half-spilled, and rocking waves.

Dear thing, we are bound by fate. I'll let you bring me anywhere.

Bleeding still, shining ribs.

Did you taste the best on the roof of my mouth?

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Y'all give Miguel too many daughters, he needs to be a boy dad.

Yeah he would love his daughter wholeheartedly – maybe feel a little insecure because he doesn't want to feel like he's replacing Gabriella, and he isn't. But he would still would love the babygirl with all his heart.

Still. Miguel as a father of a babyboy. As a change. Miguel who pampers his son with kisses and gives him the attention and care he never received from his father.

Miguel who, nevertheless of gender, is always insecure about being a father because he grew up in an abusive house. His stepfather hated him. His bio father hated him.

But Miguel is especially shaken if his kid is a boy.

He tries to compensate by being physically and verbally affectionate. You think he would spoil his daughter? His babyboy is rotten from birth, can't look at something and it's already bought.

Just,,, Miguel loving his baby boy, adjusting to him. Kissing his little feet and cheeks and letting the boy chew on his fingers and arms. Blowing raspberries on the baby's belly and the laughter makes his heart all happy

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Miguel is an antagonist, not a villain.

Kingpin wanted his family back, and he was willing to sacrifice everything to have it. He failed.

Miguel did what Kingpin wanted to do, but he wasn't willing to sacrifice everything for it. Indeed, he didn't even act on that thought until his variant died. He probably assumed that he was doing something good, in a way, preventing Gabriella from turning into an orphan without no one to lean on.

He might have rationalized all he wanted, yes. But this didn't mean that what he did was right.

And, the thing is, Miguel not only got punished for this, but he was punished with a far greater punishment than his acts: being responsible for a death of a whole dimension (which includes trillions of lives, if you count not only Earth, but also the other planets...)

But he also felt something Kingpin never felt: regret. Villains don't feel regret.

He might be wrong about the Canon, he did say things he shouldn't have to Miles, and he definitely shouldn't have choke-slammed a kid.

(There's a note here, also, because Miguel might not be the strongest hero on the SS, but he might be the most aggressive one on his combat style. And, because of that, it is clear that he didn't want to permanently injury Miles, much less kill. He probably was fighting to either capture or knock out Miles. And that is, Miguel knew, or at least had an idea, of how much Morales could take in a fight. After all, he is surrounded by heroes with the same set of powers and durability.)

Y'all guys shouldn't forget he still is an antagonist – someone that opposes the goals of the main character, Miles. And I'm not trying to justify his acts.

At least, Miguel is trying to do the right thing. He has a idiotic view of what is right, and he is desperately trying to prevent what happened to him and doing a bunch of things he shouldn't.

But it's like I'm seeing the whole drama with Gwen again. People said she was the villain because she made mistakes, because she didn't told Miles about the Canon and didn't visit him for a whole year. But why people would throw all the hate on her?

She was under scrutinizing pressure, an imminent death threat hanging over her head, homeless, and went through the trauma of he father pointing and shooting a gun to her.

Miguel nor Gwen's traumas made it all rainbows and sunshine. It doesn't erase their wrongs. Gwen's wrongs can't even compare to Miguel's, actually. He is in another level.

But you never did something you shouldn't have? Never stood still when you should have done something, because of fear? Never made a mistake? Never thought you were doing something right and was actually hurting people around you?

So, no, neither of them are villains.

Because villains are those characters with malicious intent, who not only opposes the protagonist, but also wants to do something morally bad, for example, kill a innocent person to reach a goal.

Oh, do you know who fits this description?

Spot.

Yeah, he's the villain. He's not a silly little guy. You can tell whichever story you want with him in it, of course, make him as silly as you will on your fics, commit to the bit! I'm not saying you shouldn't interpret him as you want him to be. He doesn't exist, after all.

He still is the villain of atsv tho

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Can someone explain to me whats the deal with Dana and Miguel?? Dana cheated on Miguel with Gabe? Miguel cheated on Dana with Xina?? Xina is Gabriel's gf? Why???? And Dana's a horrible person? I don't understand

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Headcanon: Miguel is extremely arachnophobic