😍😍😍😍

Sorry

I’m not going to be posting for five days because I’m under the weather so so sorry guys wish me luck

me when I think about Miguel at night

bark bark bark 🗣️🗣️🗣️

blue light (2)

miguel o’ hara x villain!reader

wc: 4.9k

warnings: fem!reader, reader can manipulate electricity, can teleport via lightning, age-gap (reader is early 20's), miguel is (slightly less) emotionally constipated, angst, swearing, jealous miguel, stalkerish behaviour, reader is a bit of a meanie (she's a villain after all), drinking, classic college kid shenanigans, implied one night stand, reader is highkey stubborn (she’s been hurt let’s not judge), happy ending this time i promise

an: next part to yellow light! i hate leaving stories with an unhappy ending so i had to work this out :) remember to repost to support your fav writers !!

summary: someone's following you. you can feel it. like tiny spiders crawling over your shoulder when you sit too still.

part one

jumping between dimensions is exhausting work.

fuck what any spider-person had to say, they have fancy little watches that let them drift between earths as they pleased. they should try falling through a super collider every once in a while, not to even mention the glitching. like every molecule in your body is being ripped apart and reattached with wet wood glue.

and all that pain for a man. the notion makes you sick.

fuck Miguel too. fuck him especially.

you'd blasted him through the concrete face of a building in spite. the thought made you chuckle. he deserved it, that bastard.

when you returned from earth-8901, you slept over most of the next few days.

only closer to the end of the week had you dragged yourself from the depths of your bed to class. assignments glared at you from under the hood of your shut laptop and the professor's voice drifted over your head where it was hunched down over the scribbled outline of a scheme to cut power across the city.

you sketch a tiny little you in the corner, if you were a better illustrator someone may have been able to make out the tiny figure laughing maniacally at the panic she's induced.

scheming is fun. it lets you forget for the red and blue shadow that haunts your mind, if only for a few minutes at a time.

there's a coffee shop on the route back to your apartment and inter-dimensional travel has you jet-lagged enough to push it's doors open. a chime fills the space.

you stop most days just for a coffee, if you've made a recent hit at a bank on the other side of town you'll spoil yourself to a sandwich or a smoothie. but as it turns out, the money on earth-8901 is all purple bills. useless memorabilia hogging space on your study desk.

behind the counter is a fresh face. a handsome face.

he smiles at you and it's dazzling enough to prompt you into returning it. there's a name-tag against his black work shirt, Tobey, and he has dreads pulled up into a bunch at the top of his head.

you lean over the counter more than you would normally and his eyes follow your figure where it's divided by the countertop.

"hm. first week?" you prompt.

"indeed."

"how's it going?"

his eyes wash down your body again before returning to your gaze. "well. very well."

when you leave the shop there's a number written on the side of your cup with smudged black marker and a "give me a call -Tobey :)"

the ink stains the pads of your fingers. you consider the number the whole walk home.

by the time you reach your door, you've decided that you'll be calling him. that it's a good idea to start engaging with men in your dimension, as opposed to six foot nine assholes with sturdy shoulders ... and swirling brown eyes ... and a soft temperament despite how desperately he tries to hide it--

you slam your door, leaving that thread of thought on your welcome mat.

-

New York has already dimmed to a fuzzy black, perforated by city lights of every colour when you perch yourself on the edge of your bed. the city hums and the tune drifts in through your open window.

your cup from earlier is empty where you hold it up and dial the number written against it.

it rings twice before a static voice carries over the line. "hello?"

"Tobey?"

"speaking."

you tuck your knee up against the bed. in the low light, your glow emanates into the space. "i just called to say that i think you accidentally wrote your number on the side of my cup."

he chuckles. it's hard to make out, but then again most calls are tough when you're holding the phone with the same touch that could cut power to the pentagon.

"not a mistake, sweet-cheeks."

your nose crinkles. you hope the nickname isn't gonna stick.

but you press on, "that so? well, pray tell. why am i phoning you?"

"you're phoning so we can talk about when i'm taking you out."

"usually that discussion is preceded by actually asking me if i want to go out with you."

"i'm sure that--"

there's a crunch beyond the window.

the unmistakable crumble of concrete, accompanying dust cascading to settle on your sill in a tiny pile.

you squint, your apartment is on the eleventh floor. there's no way anyone could--

the phone falls, clattering to land across the dial.

spider-man.

your palms warm, you feel the surge of power rising where it's settled most days just beneath your skin. fingertips prickling with electricity, desperate to come reaching out - the bedside lamp dims as you brighten. your light casts shadows across the room.

"uhm, hello?" the abandoned phone still hums.

you creep towards the ledge before leaping at it, knees connecting with the sill. your eyes chase around the view beyond the window.

the night is still. there's no sign of movement beyond the people down in the street.

just above your window, the source of the noise, there's a gash in the brick. four gashes, to be exact. like an animal had ripped into the stone, like ... like claws.

your heart sinks into your stomach. the night is still unmoving.

-

it's thursday afternoon and the sidewalk is busy. you think that if one more person knocks into your side you're gonna zap them across the street.

Tobey hasn't showed up yet.

"how's thursday? some lunch, twelve o' clock?"

it's already half-past. you think hard about zapping him too, the face he'll make when he's swallowing scalding hot mouthfuls of electricity.

as if drawn from your thoughts, Tobey's figure is bumping people down the walkway. he's jogging, panting between an apology as he nears.

"i-i'm so sorry," he's hunched over, hands on knees. "my car was totalled ... i had to call the cops and sort out a bunch of stuff--"

"you got into an accident?" your voice is more curious than concerned.

he shakes his head. "no, an animal. last night an animal or something attacked my car, it's completely wrecked."

you squint at him. "an animal? we live in Manhattan."

Tobey straightened out. "yeah, go figure. giant claw marks and everything, the car was on it's head when i found--"

"claw marks?" your interest peaked.

the sound at your window.

"yeah. the thing must have been huge, it flipped my car." he nods. "and the security cameras were malfunctioning over the time that it happened so i can't know for sure ..."

there's only one creature you know personally, the kind that lurks on New York rooftops, that can inflict that kind of damage.

you don't allow yourself to think any more on it. Miguel hasn't come to your dimension before, he's not starting now.

and here to do what? wreck Tobey from the coffee shop's car?

the thought settles the bubbling in your core.

"well. are we still getting lunch?"

-

nearly a week passes and the thought of Miguel haunts you no more than it usually does - which is generally in the space between each thought - but you've squashed the notion that he may be around.

"it's not good to jump too often between dimensions."

he'd said that once.

you bury yourself under the safe cover of assignments and tests. early classes and afternoons at library desks.

of course, there's always time for hobbies. cultivating a healthy school-social balance is reliant on a well-rounded lifestyle.

there's two security passed out in the corner. you would duct-tape them but you struck them with enough power to light a carnival for a week. they'd be out for a while.

you'd think the university student finance office would be unoccupied at almost nine at night. but seven or eight people huddle in the corner of the room, stragglers that had remained to do work after hours.

they press against each other in fear. you delight in it.

"it's not your guys' fault," you speak to the room. the lights flicker overhead. "i get it, it's the big corporations! but, that still affects the lives of students who can barely afford to pay for registration anymore--"

the computer system fizzles and sparks beneath your hand. monitors go black across the office, the remains of student financial documents dissolved into digital dust.

you'd deny the notion that you were doing all this for the "greater good". your own student fees were climbing, and just while you were here, there were a couple friends who could do without it too.

blue and red lights bounce off the side of your profile. sirens echo down the street.

"right." you dust your hands and look around. you're chuffed when you curtsy at them, ends of your short dress pinched between your fingertips. "that should be me done then. you all have a good night."

the buildings doors slide open where you push them. you're almost blinded by the cop car headlights.

they’d formed a lineup behind open car doors, guns aimed up at you.

“Statica!” a gruff voice called from the depths of the lights. “get on the ground and put your hands behind your head! you’re surrounded!”

you roll your shoulders, pretending to consider their offer. eventually you shook your head, “i don’t think so, sheriff. i’ve got class tomorrow, can’t be out too late.”

a crack of lightning rains from the sky and a nearby police car explodes, lifting a few feet off the ground and bursting into flames.

“well, i’ll be off.”

your hand raises to call down another bolt, one that would send you back to the sidewalk outside your apartment, when the officer calls again.

“drop your weapon!”

“my weapon?” you chuckle lowly, “you mean my hand—“

you’re cut short by a bang and a flash at the end of a standard police pistol.

several things happen at once:

a force hits you with enough power to force all your breath clean out your lungs. your body is thrown back against the sidewalk and your midriff grows warm. your hand finds your stomach, it's sticky there.

on the wall behind where you once stood, there's a gaping hole where the bullet that was supposed to be yours has dug a wide welt into the grey plaster.

"you missed!" a voice call somewhere beyond the flashing lights.

another shoot rings out, but you're gone in a shower of sparks before the bullet has chance to even graze your cheek.

you're back on the street outside your apartment building. the streetlamp buzzes above you.

your lungs are burning, grappling desperately for oxygen. your eyes find your stomach again:

where there should be blood and a bullet sized hole, instead is a tangled mess of white web. it's solidifying slowly over your yellow get-up.

"it ... there's no ways." you whisper, the only person out in the late night street.

your spider-man isn't going around pushing you out the way of police fire. he's probably off kissing babies and saving cats from trees.

no. this was someone else, and there's only one person-- but why would he be here?

your eyes find the line of rooftops as if Miguel's figure would crescent over your street. it doesn't. somewhere beyond them, a cop car whoops.

webbing is drying over your hand.

"fucking asshole."

-

you're being watched, all through the next day. all the way to friday, you can feel it. like tiny spiders crawling over your shoulder when you sit too still.

the heat of red eyes, they're never there when you look for them.

in the walks between classes, the breaks between sprawled over campus benches in the summer sun flittering out conversation riddled with classic complaints. i can't believe that fucking test, that twenty mark question at the end? is she crazy?

you've considered calling out. maybe he'd appear from the shadows, but you'd squashed the notion quickly. he didn't deserve your acknowledgement.

he's probably right chuffed with himself, saving you when you didn't need his interference. no. if he wants to lurk like a creep, let him!

but the thought weighed on you. your heart whined in the quiet dark of your room late at night. the empty space beside you, the prodding of a dream you'd long since killed: rising a grey soil-ridden hand out from the depths of it's grave.

it was never gonna work anyway. it was the thought that sent you into sleep.

friday night arrived like a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day.

you thrust your hips into your tiniest skirt and your chest through your prettiest top. your friends met you out on the sidewalk, already three drinks deep when you all spill into the muggy heat of the bar.

two vodka cranberries and three tequila shots under, the thought of Miguel dissipates. it's further incinerated by the warmth of the hand on your hip.

the man is tall - sure, not as tall as Miguel - and his blonde hair hung over his forehead. it didn't look soft, like how Miguel's did--

your grip tightened around the half-empty cup, thumb-sized welts melting through the plastic with the electric heat of your hand. shut up.

he brings you another drink. you chug it without another thought. he laughs and wipes at a red drop running down your chin with a cool hand. the bar swims around you in technicolour strobe lights and before you know it, the enthusiasm of the good times are whittling down to a thin thread.

"can i walk you home?"

you nod. he slips your hand in his and it's still too cool against your hot palm.

in the barely lit street, you wonder if he notices your glow. it wasn't so bright when you wanted it to be, but he was still too distracted by the tune of his own voice to notice.

"and we went down to the dock that day, there was a whole keg stand and we even--"

you think that maybe if you were as drunk as you were an hour ago that you'd have more energy to entertain him better. you nodded dumbly instead.

a quick in and out, you thought. you could tolerate him just for a few more hours if it meant he left your bed before the sun rises. he wasn't who you wanted, but he was here. and Miguel wasn't.

now that the alcohol in you was dwindling, not dead but dying, the melancholy of your situation was curling a cold hand up and making it hard to breath where it wrapped around your throat.

your building watched contemptuously down at you when you drew to a stop in front of it.

the man's, Cooper's, blue eyes draws circles over your face and his hand finds your waist again. he inches you closer.

"am i saying goodnight, or are you inviting me inside?"

you smile at him. it's faint and half-assed.

the rest of the night looms in your mind. could you really stand his Old Spice reeked conversation for another few hours? and would he really be able to get your mind off--

oh, oh. he's leaning in.

his thumb is pressing into the cavern of your cheeks, eyes pressing closed as rum-stifled breath nears your lips--

thwip. thwip.

there's a gust of air and a thump and Cooper is plastered to the side of your building in white webbing. his hands are pinned at his side, face white in shock.

your eyes widen. you teeter on shaky drunk legs, turning to face the rooftops where the darkness is blanketing over them and hiding where you know Miguel is lurking within.

alcohol infused rage claws up within you.

"O' Hara!" you scream out into the street. your hands heat, the streetlamp above flickering wildly under your influence. "you fucking asshole!"

your foot stamps against the concrete, hands racing up to your head and through your hair. "aaaghhh--!"

the bulb in the streetlight bursts. glass showers over your tantrum. it follows down the row of lights down the street, exploding in quick succession and sinking the sidewalk under an inky black cover.

you're now shining like a light on the mast of a fishing ship, casting a glow over the sea of tar. the spider is yet to emerge into your line.

"you are so full of shit! and if i see you again i will blast you through the whole city block, and this time you won't wake up--!"

"what the fuck--"

you turn with glowing eyes on the blonde bound to the wall, "shut up!"

thwip. his head bangs back against the brick where another web has sealed his mouth shut.

whipping back, your eyes find a shuffling figure over the next building. it's just a flicker of movement and then it's gone.

"ugh! you are so childish!"

you draw your hands over your face, running them down your cheeks and sigh. a couple deep breaths later and you can feel the heat of your power subsiding, it's dragging the anger down along with it.

"i'm going to bed." you mutter, patting down your skirt and fixing the edge of your shirt.

"mmpf--" Cooper moans against his restraints.

you'd just about forgotten about the man glued to your building. you cock your head at him.

"yeah ... well. good luck with that."

the buzzer echoes behind you when you shut the gate on his struggling.

-

it's hot when you wake up.

the covers are sticking to your legs and there's an itch in your throat for a tall glass of water. somewhere beyond the thrum of a headache against your forehead, you remember the bottle of water you set aside to cool in the fridge for this exact moment.

you groan when your feet hit the floor, the rush of blood to your head doing nothing to aid where your brain is pounding.

the apartment is warm with the soft glow of nearly morning. your alarm clock is flashing red - 05:02

orange light peeks over the counter when you pull your fridge open, the glare of starchy blue light pressing against your sensitive eyes. from the bottom drawer, you fish out the bottle and unscrew the cap.

you chug it down noisily, wet slurps echoing across the room. when you set it down you sigh, "god."

the image of your bed swims in your mind. the lure of the sheets calls to you again.

"princesa."

your back slams into the edge of the counter, "j-jesus--"

lurking in the corner by the door, wide shoulders out of place in the cramped apartment, stands Miguel O' Hara in his shiny red and blue suit.

your heart leaps into your throat, lodging there like a stone. you swallow around it. fuck, he looks so good.

"you," you stabilise the water bottle where it's spilt over the floor from your leap in fright. "what the hell are you doing here?"

he takes a step towards you. you press further back against the counter.

"i came to talk to you."

you guffaw, mouth slackening in amused disbelief. "talk? now you wanna talk?"

rising irritation flushes blood down to your legs, anger urges your steps forward all the way until your standing beneath him.

"you have been a pain in my ass for two weeks now--" you shove a finger into his hard chest, rising enough electricity to zap him but not enough to hurt. well, not hurt too much. he flinches.

"i've been a pain-- you electrocuted me through the side of a building?"

his face twisted, brow-bone hardening where he was glaring down at you.

"you deserved it. and i hope it hurt."

"it didn't."

"you're a liar."

silence rung into the space. you held your glare, but could feel it slowly softening. Miguel's hair was creeping over the edge of his forehead and his eyes had turned back to their chestnut brown that glittered in the sunlight peeking through the window.

he looked so ... so tame in this light. cramped into your apartment like he could belong there, like he could maybe be yours if you asked.

you broke first, turning away. "get out, Miguel." it was a whisper but you know he heard it.

"i need to talk to you."

you shook your head, refusing to meet his gaze again. "you had two weeks to talk, but instead you've been interfering in my life--"

"interfering? i saved you."

you huffed, forcing yourself to face him again. "saved me? saved me from what, a lunch date? a one night stand?"

at that, he turned away. face reddening. "i wouldn't have had to do that if you weren't going out with fucking such losers--"

"oh, pardon me for trying to find a date in my own dimension, someone who actually gives a shit about me.”

“i give a shit about you.”

you stilled. your lip wobbled against your will. “that’s not fair, Miguel.”

he shrunk the space by taking another step. “i came to apologise—“

you shook your head again. eyes finding the floor. against your sides, your palms were warming again: your next steps playing out in your mind.

another scalding hand to the chest, his body seizing underneath your palm and dragging his unconscious body out onto the street. probably come back and cry yourself back to sleep.

your hand rises.

“oh no,” thwip. thwip. “not this time, mi amor.”

just as he’d done to Cooper, your hands were plastered back against your apartment wall: splayed out against the cream paint job.

“this webbing thing is getting real fucking boring O’Hara—“

he was against you in an instant. warm, solid chest pressed against your pajama shirt. his hands came to cup your cheeks.

“i came to apologise.” you pressed your head back against the cold wall, eyes trained on the corner of the floor in your kitchen. it needed a vacuum. “i know i should have come when you asked. i know that.”

if you look at him, for even a second, you’d crumble and you knew it. your eyes were clouding, waterline wet.

a calloused finger ran slow and gentle down your jaw. “please look at me, princesa.”

you shook your head. a stray tear chased down, catching under the press of his finger.

“why don’t you go bother one of your other inter-dimensional girlfriends, Miguel.”

he growled at that, low and deep, and you’d be a liar if you said your knees didn’t buckle under the sound.

Miguel pressed forward: cheek to yours, hand digging welts into your hip.

“there’s no-one else. there’s only you, it’s only ever been you.”

you huffed at that, it curled at the edge with a humourless chuckle. “what, with this jawline and these muscles? i hope you don’t think i’m a fucking idiot.”

he caught the lobe of your ear between his teeth, pressing his body harder to yours, but you didn’t relent. your eyes fluttered against his heat, but stayed trained away from his shadowy figure.

“why are you so fucking difficult.” his breath was warm there. “you said prove it, Miggy, and i’m here proving it.”

“you’ve always known i was difficult.” you whisper, it’s more of an after-thought really.

he sighs, shoulders loosening just enough that you can make it out in the corner of your eye.

the flat column of his nose presses into your cheek. he nudges it there softly and it warms a pit deep inside you.

“sí, mi amor. lo sé.” hot lips press into your cheek and a whine escapes you before you can catch it. his thumb has reached up and is pressing into the space behind your ear.

his lips are traveling, just barely grazing your skin with pecks down your jaw. then to the column of your throat, to the bend between your shoulder and your neck.

“i know that … and you know that. and yet you still have no concept of how much trouble you make for me.” his voice swooping into the crevice of your collarbone. his teeth graze over that same spot. “how i can’t even work without thinking about you, watching every monitor hoping you’ll be in another dimension causing chaos so i can come find you and you can bat those pretty fucking eyelashes at me. can’t sleep. think about you lying beside me. about all the pretty noises i can draw from your pretty throat.”

his knee sinks to the ground, hitting the floor with a soft thump. the other follows shortly after.

that draws your gaze off the floor, eyes wide in surprise. they find the supple curls on the top of his head.

even on both knees, the crown of his head brushes under your nose.

the sight was widening the lump in your throat. it burnt to swallow.

“and yet you still never came.”

he shakes his head at that. gentle hands reach for the end of your pajama shirt, tugging it up slowly. Miguel leans forward and presses another kiss against the soft fat over your exposed hip.

you twitch against him, gasping at the heat of his lips over your cool skin. at your hands, your fingertips crackle with summoned energy. you can feel where the webbing is slowly melting under it’s press.

“‘s not true.” he says against you. “i’m here all the time.”

your shirt is being lifted higher as his head chases up your naked stomach, nipping at the skin where it freckles with goosebumps.

“i come to watch you—“

“that’s not creepy at all—“ you mutter, only teasing, and you’re punished with a particularly hard bite at your ribs.

“come because i miss your face and your laugh and …” he sighs, nudging his cheek against you. “god you make me fucking sick.”

there’s a squelch where the webbing has melted just enough where you pry your hands from the wall, immediately grasping for the depths of Miguel’s hair.

“ever the romantic.” you huff. but you tug on his roots so he’s facing up to you, neck stretched deliciously with veins and hard muscle.

he’s blinking, lips parted as he waits for you.

“are you being serious, Miguel?” you ask quietly.

his eyes twinkle. “i am.”

you purse your lips, a smile creeping up into the corners of your mouth. your nails scrape over the crown of his head, trailing down to rest at the base of his neck. his eyes flutter shut against your hand.

“this might be the best apology i’ve ever received.”

he hums. “that’s good.”

“is it over, or should i let you finish? cause i’m kind of itching to kiss you right now.”

a smile of his own creeps over his face. it’s a sight you’ve maybe caught a glimpse of once in your life.

“i’m done.”

he leans up, persuaded by your touch reaching to cup his jaw. he’s almost at your mouth when he whispers again.

“you’re not gonna electrocute me for trying to kiss you again, are you?”

you laugh at that, his grip on your waist tightens at the sound. “you ever gonna let that go, old man?”

“old man?”

he surges forward, lips finding yours in a bruising kiss.

you giggle against him and your hands are everywhere: through his hair and down his shoulders and over his jaw. his tongue slips in against yours and it's saccharine like you'd always dreamed it to be. Miguel's hands race up your calves, behind your knees and hook beneath your thighs and lifts you when he stands.

your legs wrap around him and he's persistent, pushing you against the wall in the heat of his kiss.

you detach your lips from his, chasing them down his cheek and into the crevice between his jaw and his neck. he groans, fingertips driving deeper into the plush of where he was holding you up by your thighs.

"i should get you jealous more often."

he guffaws, face above yours. "me? jealous of those idiots? as if."

leaning back to meet his face again, you cock an eyebrow. "you wrecked that guy's car. and taped the other one against a building."

his eyes rolled, an all-too-pretty blush darkening his face. he dropped it against your shoulder, "you know about the car?"

you laugh. "what else is big enough to flip a car in Manhattan. and the claw marks? you're so transparent it's almost hot."

Miguel chuckles and it's ticklish against your skin. he drops another kiss there. "i don't like sharing."

"sharing?"

he's back to nipping spots up your neck. "don't wanna share my girl."

the smile on your face was impossible to squash. "oh, i'm your girl now?"

he nods. "will you be?"

your fingers creep back into his hair, bringing him back into the light of your eyes. "you're not trying to make a hero out of me, are you? convert me to your little spider-squad?"

his lips purse, pretending to consider it, before eventually shaking his head. "no."

“wouldn’t a villain and a spider-man together collapse the multiverse or something?”

“then let it collapse.”

your thumb tugs on his fat bottom lip before letting it snap back in place. "god you're a sweet talker, Miggy."

you press forward to kiss him again. he sighs.

-

comment and repost if you enjoyed <3

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I didn’t think that I was going to be tagged 😍 Ty for tagging me

yellow light

miguel o’ hara x villian!reader

wc: 2.0k

warnings: fem!reader, reader can manipulate electricity, can teleport via lightning, age-gap (reader is early 20's), miguel is emotionally constipated, angst

an: i've been dying to write a villian!reader for a while now and i actually have a lot planned for these two if y'all want to see more let me know <3 remember to repost to support your fav writers !!

summary: Miguel could find you across worlds, across dimensions. he'd only need to look for his yellow light.

evenings at HQ are quiet.

by eight, most spiders have crawled back into the arms of their MJs or their Gwens. and by nine, only Miguel’s heartbeat rings louder than the buzz of computers.

Lyla pops in with an occasional “you should go home” and he ignores her like he does every night. she doesn’t do it so much anymore.  

a light flickers against the computer, it pings softly. alert urgent enough to assume he’d received an email. Miguel’s eyes find the notification.

Anomaly detected! Earth-8901!

it wasn’t that anomalies clocked off, like the spiders did.

Miguel sighs, tight and curt. he glances over his shoulder as if there stood a row of spider-people itching to go fight. he finds only his shadow stretching far down the empty office.

Lyla glitches into form, leaning against a mug that had been growing steadily colder since he’d made it and abandoned it an hour ago. “you’d think even anomalies need sleep—”

she taps a couple times on the screen and live feed from Earth-8901 streams across the monitors. it’s a generic scene: police car lights flash, there is the steady rumble of people talking in frantic voices. they’re, unoriginally, in front of a bank.

Miguel rolls his left shoulder back, it’s fruitless in easing the tension there. “go see if there’s anyone still around. they can come help with this before they leave.”

there’s a flash on the screen and Miguel’s hand falls off his shoulder. his eyes find the screen again, they flicker frantically over it.

“wait.” he direct Lyla, hand held out.  

between the sirens, he hears it. he could pinpoint it over dimensions and in the crowd of a rock-concert if whispered. that giggle.

yellow light flashes again, a crack of lightning, and you appear on the hood of a police car. you’re keeling over laughing – Miguel doesn’t find it villainous, like he should. instead it warms a pit deep in his stomach.

“oh look,” Lyla folders her legs over each other, glancing back at him amused. “it’s your little girlfriend.”

he doesn’t grant her an answer, he’s focused on your miniaturised figure. it’s blurry, but it’s undoubtedly you.

there’s another crack and you’re gone, bullets fly through the spot you’d just occupied and the police car is a pile of smouldering ash.

“i’ll sort this out.” Miguel says. it’s strained, gruffer than most of what he says is.

 “you don’t want back up? i’m sure there’s still some Peters hanging around?” but Lyla’s grinning that wide grin she does when she knows she’s pushing her boss’ buttons.

“no.” the portal spills orange and red and pink light into the dimly lit room. “and you stay here.”

her little hand came to her face, eyes rolling when she offers a half-assed salute. “whatever you say, boss.”

the air is sticky where he steps out onto a rooftop. Miguel feels where the humidity crowds over his face and against his palms, it’s the syrupy warmth that follows where you go.  

down in the street below is the image he’d been watching off the monitor. heavily armed policemen were drawing closer to the doors of the bank where you were no doubt inside wreaking havoc.

you had no inclination for money, he knew that, but your chase for chaos? endless.

overhead, a chopper is flying low over the scene. cameras and news-women flock the barricades blocking the street. Miguel rests a hand over the railing, mask crawling up over his head. he is quietly assessing the easiest way past meddling cops when his thoughts are dissolved by a crack. it’s so loud, so close, and the brightness of the light screws his eyes shut.

“what’cha looking at?”

when his eyes open, you’re leaning over the railing. you’re grinning down on the street as if you aren't the cause for commotion.

your dress shivers where you bounce on the balls of your feet. that goddamn yellow doll dress, the villain uniform you insist on donning. it did unspeakable things to Miguel's psyche. the way it fluttered at the tops of your thighs, that your whole clavicle was exposed and just fucking begging for him to run his lips across your shoulders.

your mask is hanging loosely in your hand.

"i thought i told you to stay in your dimension."

you shrugged. your hair was held up by bows of canary ribbons and they swayed where you tilted your head petulantly at him. "c'mon, Miggy, where's the fun in that?"

he's still made no effort to move, head cocked to watch you. your figure swims in his shadow, small beneath his frame.

you were glowing like you did most of the time. a golden light that permeated the dark night air. Lyla once commented that you were a walking lightbulb.

but it's dimmed. you were losing power, wasting it by flashing up to bother him on this rooftop. Miguel knows more about your condition than he needs to.

"they happened to fix the super collider on my earth, so i thought i'd take it for a spin." you speak again.

Miguel's eyes narrow.

you cave, whole body loosening and eyes rolling. "fine. i held a couple scientists against their will and forced them to fix it, but that's hardly what's important."

your words chase each other around his brain. your smile is fracturing, he hasn't heard your little laugh once since you'd appeared beside him.

"why?"

little ribbons swinging, you ignore his question.

"take off your mask for goodness sake." your head lolls to the side, almost against your shoulder. "haven't seen you in ages."

the red and blue mask slips back.

half because Miguel found he could never find it within himself to say no to you and half because he wanted to soak in the view of your face with his own eyes and not through his grainy visor.

he finds it was worth it because you smile again, that smile that could call him home from dimensions away.

"pretty as ever, O' Hara."

"why did you fix the super collider?"

you recoil, like he's lashed at you. your eyes find the street again and you shrug but don't answer him.

Miguel lets the silence permeate. even the ruckus in the street quietens, but he thinks that maybe all sounds do when you're around.

you shuffle your feet until your shoulder finds his side where his arms hang purposelessly. when your skin finds his, there's an electrical snap and he flinches just slightly. you don't mention it.

"don't the lights look pretty?" the commotion still holds your gaze.

trying desperately not to cave into your touch, not to pull your glowing face into his palms, Miguel sucks in a breath of composure. "to rob a bank, is that why? couldn't rob a bank on your own earth?"

"you wouldn't come if i robbed a bank back home."

the sentence hangs. your head finds his side.

"what?" it's barely a whisper, barely a sound, but you catch it.

"i mean," you push yourself off him, voice relighting with that theatrical quality that hid the tremble beneath your words. "i got the hint, you don't like me - you made that clear - but i just wanted to see ya' one last time. you know?"

Miguel hated the voice you put on. it was ungenuine and you used it on cops and other spidermen. not him.

"so i thought i'd do a quick pop in, see if you were around--"

"when did i ever make that clear that i didn't like you?"

gravel of torn brick crunched beneath your foot where you turned to face him again. Miguel found that your eyes were wet, the same eyes that blinked at him when he closed his own.

"i asked you to come." your voice wobbled and it was like a scalding poker meandering between his organs. "i asked you to come. to visit me."

of course he remembers when. it was the last time you'd been dragged from an earth that wasn't yours, when you'd gone for a joy-ride between dimensions really just for the fun of it.

Jessica was clipping some handcuffs around your wrist, the kind that Miguel invented to subdue powers. he remembers how your light flickered all the way out, leaving only the shine that could never rub off your eyes.

despite the metal clipping your wrists, you'd grinned up at Miguel.

"you gonna come visit me, Miggy?" Jessica huffed, tugging you in the direction of the portal.

Miguel didn't like how rough Jessica was being, despised the thought of dark bruises around your wrists, but didn't say anything on it.

he settled with: "it's not good to jump too often between dimensions."

your eyes twinkled. "just once?"

he chuckled, it came out crumbly.

"yeah. maybe just once."

you weren't satisfied. "promise?"

he'd nodded. he thought it'd make you go easier. "yeah. i promise"

he realised now that it had only made it easier to watch you go.

your shine flickers like a lamp in a haunted house. "i waited. you never came."

it wasn't true.

"yn." he calls out gently across the space dividing your body from his. he takes a cautious step.

it wasn't true that he "never came". Miguel visits your dimension more than his own apartment.

in the moments where Lyla ushers him home, her static voice echoing over his shoulder: "you need sleep", he'd slip out quietly.

sometimes it's morning already, he watches you trip over your feet out your apartment building. you're consistently late to your first class.

other times it's Friday night and you're dolled up, primped up in a short skirt and dirty sneakers. you're with other girls, you all stumble together to and from the bar down the street.

Miguel's never had the balls to announce his presence. he quietly enjoys you in the moments you're just ... yn. physics major and perpetual night owl. enjoys watching you at three am when you tinker at your desk with copper cables and wires and entertain yourself with a loose lightbulb where you flicker it on and off and on and off with just a brush of your finger over the glass.

when you've made it home - drunk, but safe - or grown bored of your trinkets and crawled into bed with slow blinks, only then does he conjure the portal and return to his own lonely apartment.

"that's the answer to your question." you're not facing him again. "i just wanted to see you one more time."

this time he tucks his cowardice in his pocket and Miguel moves to you, out from the shadows into the warmth of your light. his chest presses to your back, head finding the side of yours.

you nuzzle his temple with your own, melt against his frame like you were built to be slotted against his chest.

"lo siento, mi amor." words scramble in his mouth. he chokes on all the sentiments he could share. mostly i love you, please ask me again to come with you.

his hand finds your hip, he squeezes the fatty tissue there. you sigh.

your palm finds his cheek, it sparks but Miguel is ready for it this time and doesn't flinch. you nudge his face so it hovers over yours.

"i thought you might say that."

the soft pad of your finger runs over the edge of his jaw. you twist so you're facing him, jailed beneath his wide shoulders and Miguel realises that your lashes are even longer up close.

he nudges his nose against yours. "it's the truth."

your eyes flutter shut, you shake your head.

warm lips press up into the apple of his cheek. his stomach curls dangerously at the wet touch.

"maybe one day you'll prove it then, Miggy." you whisper against his skin.

he leans further down, desperate and itching to catch your lips against his this time, but your palm finds his chest first.

electricity chases down his veins like blood on fire.

Miguel's body is launched with the volts of a bolt of lightning and barely feels where his shoulders crumble through brick and plaster of the building over. he wrestles with unconsciousness and loses, body twitching and spasming from the surge of your power when the darkness envelopes him.

when he comes to, the sun is peaking over the nearest building and you are long gone.

-

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Uhhh um-daddy-I-I mean

Leon looking real yummy

sorry for not posting

life has been hard on me I’m going to try to post but if I don’t post it’s because of my depression and college love u guys so so much 🫀

My pfp

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I just thought of something

what would Miguel O’Hara look like eating a cupcake that’s my question