Magically Attached (Please Help)

Peter B Parker X Reader

synopsis: your (boy)friend peter kisses you for the first time. it makes your heart leap.

—

Peter leans over and kisses you in the living room during a languid game of scrabble. His glasses press awkwardly against the bridge of your nose and his mouth tastes like pizza and vaseline and lukewarm wine. It’s the first time he’s ever done it. It makes you feel warm.

“What was that for?” you ask dizzily, when you break apart, hand resting idly at the back of his neck as though that’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.

Peter smiles, still half-lidded.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. His voice sounds like velvet. “I guess I just wanted to.”

Contemplatively, you hum. “I thought you’d never kiss me.”

“You were waiting?”

“Of course I was,” you say, as his arm drops against your shoulder. It sends a pleasant shiver up your spine— he traces the side of your neck with a calloused, tentative thumb. Rhythmically, your pulse beats against his skin.

It’s a quiet evening. It’s raining, as it often is in Queens; the pitter-patter of the water against the window is soothing. Peter is back-lit by the Tv. It’s playing Friends reruns. Drowned out by the blood in your ears, is a convoluted subplot involving jell-o and an elevator.

“That’s a relief,” he tucks some of your hair behind your ear. A candle on the coffee table flickers playfully, as if to say: how sweet. “I’ve been agonising about how to do it for weeks.”

Peter’s face glows easily with lamplight in your vision. It outlines him in a gentle light; makes his lashes golden; his lips deep-pink. His expression is dangerously earnest.

“I’m glad you were as wrung up about it as I was.” You scratch a line down against the neckline of his shirt, nails gently itching against the bone of his spine. Peter practically purrs.

There’s this feeling that implodes slowly in your chest, like a flower unfurling in the midst of spring. Soft colours, easing open for the sun.

It’s nice. It’s delicate. You generally melt into it, a drizzle of honey against the velvet-petal fondness itching against your ribcage.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re so pretty my chest can’t take it.”

The flower grows fonder. “Says you.”

“I like you a lot,” he goes on, with the sweetest sincerity. “Probably too much. I feel silly for not telling you sooner.”

It stirs something in your chest, hearing how kind Peter’s heart is towards your own. The ceiling seems to disappear, retreating out so that the stars may twinkle around you. Up and up and up. In the background, Joey says something ridiculous. You don’t hear it. His large hand slides against your back. You like the way he touches you. Softly, easily, like he was made to do so. Like you’re cosmically bound. Or something of the like. Two planets, sharing a moon.

“I like you a lot too,” you offer back tenderly. “You should take me on a date, tomorrow.”

“I should take you on one now,” Peter says, and it makes you laugh.

“It’s midnight.”

“And I’m spiderman,” he reminds you. He looks unblinkingly into your eyes, lashes kissing at the corners. “Let’s go on a roof-top picnic.”

You know that there’s nothing in his fridge. It’s why he’d ordered pizza in the first place. Though, the thought is endearing.

“Kiss me again first?”

Peter smiles again. “Of course.” He tilts your head with the tip of his finger, and you curl your hand against the back of his head. Like before, his glasses slip against your nose.

You don’t mind at all.

—

thank you for reading! reblogs are appreciated!

Rigor Mortis (part 3)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 2, Part 4

summary: A bad day turns even worse. Miguel surprises you.

warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of grief, very vague mention of domestic violence and abuse.

recommended reading: the painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais, and the song Ophelia by the lumineers.

a/n: i lowkey suck at communicating my "big" ideas so i really really hope this makes sense!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

they were here, she says,

You’ve had your share of bad days.

Oh God , enough to fill an A4 binder with. For example, knocking out that tooth when you were twelve. A butterfly effect of fuck ups that led to a scuffle at school: blood in your mouth, a tooth on the ground, and a looong suspension. You received quite the earful at home, that day. 

And then there was telling your parents you had dropped out of college. Telling them you were moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend. Breaking up with said boyfriend in your favourite diner; thus sullying Pam’s waffles and pancakes with the bitter taste of… oh-fuck-I-don’t-know-how-I’ll-afford-an-apartment-now. Oh, and heartbreak – although that wasn’t as immediate. 

Scratch that, the day of the breakup had been fairly mundane. Pleasant, even. Jamie had an off day, and you only had a few lectures. He didn’t tell you, of course, so meeting him in the apartment was a surprise. You’re home earlier than usual, and you can’t quite bear to wake him up; slumped on the sofa like an old cat. He’s tired, lectures and clerkships running him ragged for the past few years. Only a year out until residency, with bags under his eyes as proof, and you see him less and less.  All things considered, you’re glad to spend the rest of the day with him. 

You’d spent too long after the break up analysing the days leading up to it: for a sign, something in his behaviour that would’ve warned you. And so, you remember it quite vividly: kicking your shoes off, putting your bag down, and sinking into the sofa next to him. You curl into him, looking up at his face: steady, tempered breathing. Something at your chest, solid and heavy. He looks peaceful, happy; and you haven't seen that side of him in quite a while. 

When you shift against him, you knock against his shoulder. Jamie stirs, groggy, and eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing he sees as he wakes is you; romantic, in theory. His expression is etched into your subconscious; stark and stiff like a marble statue, or a tombstone. A flash of disappointment, lip drawn in what seemed like disgust – but only for a moment.  

" Morning , baby." You squeeze his side, and take his hand into yours. That look ; it's gone almost as quickly as it came. 

"Thought…" He frowns, fighting dregs of sleep. "I thought you would be back later."

"Nope." You give him a smile and he returns with one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He puts a hand on your cheek. 

"Morning," Probably tired, he sighs deeply. You move on with the day. And he breaks up with you, not even 6 hours later.

You had had 4 years of that: good days, bad days, but most of them had been… mundane. Boring. Not quite the heat and intensity of true love, as the movies had gaslighted you into believing in. 

You like the old black and white ones the best. Old fashioned, old-timey folk; declarations of love in tinny transatlantic accents. Suddenly, you’re on the floor of your childhood bedroom; eyes wide at the Sound of Music. Maria and Von Trapp hand in hand: her dress billowing, the flash of white glove on the small of her back. Love, love, love; and your lack of it.

You feel its loss all the same. 

Despite all your efforts – including a dash to the station that could rival an Olympic sprinter – you were late to your first lecture. Sweaty, out of breath, and ambushed with a pen and paper; thrust into your hands on arrival. You look around to see dozens of heads down, scribbling furiously. A surprise test – and you’re late.

Hand aching, you barely finish within the two hours, after bullshitting your way through at least half of the questions. By the looks of the people streaming out of the hall; faces rumpled and grimacing; you’re not the only one. However, it does little to comfort you. You’re sure you're the only one failing so spectacularly, with the semester already half over. 

You'd smacked your leg on the coffee table on the way out and a book had slammed to the floor. An art book, the kind in a model home - and you know damn well Miguel's not an enthusiast. The image sticks for some reason, leg aching as you trudge to your next class. When he gives you that blank look; the memory of men gone past is haunting – dead-eyed, and blank, like eyes cut out of a painting. You wonder if a Van Gogh would feel the same with the brilliant blue of eyes slashed out. 

Nevertheless, you feel like lead. Off

to your next class, and it's going over material passed out the day before; which you didn’t have the time to look over. The professor drones on; voice monotonous and gravelly. Struggling to keep up, you sink into your seat – tapping away at your laptop, whatever you can get down. You pick at your lip, unravelling; unfurling like the tip of a slashed rope.

That's what you’re waiting for, you think: sandbags clattering down from stage left, to bring the rest of this whole farce down.

A sinking feeling, that starts at your chest and makes its way to the tops of your fingers and toes, leaves you numb for the rest of the day. Dread, like a shadow, at your heels in the corridors, across the courtyard, all around campus. Another lecture, and you make it in time for labs, barely, but there’s no time to go over notes; what you managed to scrape together in preparation. And of course , your lab partner’s sick, because that’s just the kind of day you’re having. It’s hectic, doing the work of two people with only the scraps you’ve cobbled together. 

The pressure mounts. Like liquid in that flask you weren’t meant to stopper; and you just might end up like its remnants on the counter. Glass everywhere but where it should be. For a good grade, it helps to be organised: everything in its place, always. Except it isn’t, and you’ve fucked it up, again . It means the results don’t match up in your lab book, and another hour staring at liquid decanting, monitoring temperatures. Staring at stark white walls, with achy legs. 

You step out whilst machines run in your stead, and shed your lab coat. It’s hot and stuffy in there but out in the corridor, you can finally breathe. Forehead on the cool wall, it all stops for a moment. The persistent buzz of your phone, sat in the pocket of your trousers, creeps into the quiet. 

Absent-mindedly, you turn it on with a click. The buzzing stops. You’ve just missed a call from Miguel. It’s odd, he doesn’t usually call, but it’s the little box underneath the notification that makes you pause. A message, from a number you thought you’d blocked – that you should’ve blocked. 

From:Jamie <3

Hey

From:Jamie <3

We should meet. I’ve still got some of your things in the apartment.

Your blood runs cold. Dread, like a shadow; its hand wrapped your neck. You can’t breathe, stuck under the weight of something at your chest. You can’t breathe, the walls close in. We should meet , he says. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world; just friends catching up over a coffee. Like you didn’t watch him carve out a chunk of your heart with a rusty spoon. 

A panic attack, and you’re awkwardly hunched over by the wall, phone in hand. Someone will find you here, lying on the vinyl floor in Block B, spread eagle between lab 6 and 7. Dramatic timing, but if it kills you; you’ll find a way to haunt your ex's ass for the foreseeable future. And Miguel’s too, because if you’re having a bad day; then somewhere out there, he’s having a good one. 

~~~

The apartment is still when Miguel gets back – unusually so. You’re not on the sofa, watching a mindless soap opera, or howling some song in the shower. And he’s had to deal with that most days for the past few weeks, a break in the peace and quiet he’s so carefully cultivated. Rigorous routine, they keep him together. He needed it; the way myth needs a martyr, the way flowers on a small grave needs a body. A tick-tick-tick in his head, that drives him a little less crazy after a morning run, or a good meal when he comes home. A countdown, he thinks, a mechanical clock whirring and puttering with a shake of its gears. He feels them stutter and start, slowing down, but not quite stopping. An ache so deep, he feels its creak with every step. 

Absent-mindedly, he looks around the empty apartment, pulling at his ears.

When he was younger, Gabi would pull at his ears, to get him out of a book. Reading, always reading, whenever he could. At the dinner table, when his mamá would rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon and chuckle lightly at his little grimace. No en la mesa, Miguelito. Not at the table, Miggy. Léeme más tarde – read it to me later.

It was when he got his braces, and picked up a slight lisp. He stopped talking for a while, not completely; but a lot less, not as interactive in lessons. And it was always little Miguel, at the front of the class with his hand up to answer. It didn’t help that Gabi poked fun at him, often sneaking up to him to hiss in his ear: palms pressed together with a slithering motion, and then a strike to his ribs like una víbora - a viper , struggling to say his S’s. They’d fight because of it after, tousling on the floor of their bedroom in a mass of limbs, like pythons squeezing prey. Or at least, until their mamá rushed to separate them. 

She didn’t like it when her boys fought; so they’d been forced to make up every time. He still has the scars to prove it.

Car magazines at first, and then the newspaper, whatever book he had picked up at the library that week. Even with his lisp, his mother made sure he read to her, and sometimes to Gabi as well, at least once a week. Looking back, she was never perfect; the things he knows now about his dear mamá, and her visage tumbles like Ozymandias in the sand. Her mother, married to a piece-of-shit mechanic; and his mother, elbow deep in the oil spill. That’s the funny thing about love, he thinks. Love, and the lack of it; dripping through the cracks, passed on through generations. Maybe mamá felt the gears shuddering in her chest. He hopes Gabi was saved from that burden. 

A small voice at the back of his mind tells him: it’s not enough. Doesn’t explain the little boy pulling at his ears, in Miguel’s jacket and dress shoes.

A glimpse in the reflection of a shiny pan on the side table, and he looks like shit. Eyebags, a permanent scowl, shadowy lines that prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s ironic, crows feet without the penchant for laughing. He thinks you’d find it funny. The pink and purple of a setting sun spills in through windows and makes him sigh. It’s late, and you’re still not home. 

God, you're strange; sticking your nose where you shouldn't. Disrupting the calm of his apartment. A sanctuary, and you've got your grubby paws all over it. Your shit is all over the place; pun-based mugs in the cabinet, chewed pen lids with no pens in sight, a blanket on the couch. The same blanket, a ratty old thing, that he usually meets you wrapped in when he gets back. A creature of habit, he folds it up; trying to ignore the whispers of your perfume, sweet and heady on the fabric.

He gets dressed, starting with dinner; knife on a chopping board cutting onions and peppers into cubes. It's therapeutic, the steady thud ringing out into the kitchen. Quiet, for a fleeting moment. But the worry, it sticks ; despite his better judgement. Before he changes his mind, he clicks open his phone to call you. It rings out – you don’t pick up.

The urge to call again is surprisingly troublesome, so he shoves it down with a piece of tortilla. It sits in his chest, regardless.

~~~

You trudge into the apartment. Squelch seems more accurate, sopping wet as you step out of waterlogged trainers. It was an inopportune time to wear jeans and forget a jacket – and you fight the urge to wring out onto the wooden planks. Miguel would kill you; the place was already falling apart, and water-warped floorboards might just be the last straw.

It’s thundering outside; a torrential downpour you’d just been dragged through. Dragged, half-running through streets-turned-streams, with nothing but a tank top and hoodie on your back. And you must look a sight , eyes bleary and slick with rainwater. The bag heavy on your back goes first, slipped off your shoulder and on the floor next to the coffee table with a thunk . You’re unzipping the flimsy canvas, inspecting its contents. A soaked through textbook, clumps of loose paper. You’re ready to cry when you see what's happened to the pages of your lab book; bleeding ink that’s only half-legible. But it’s the state of your laptop that makes your chest really heave and knees weak.

It’s slick with rainwater, and the sandwich you’d forgotten to eat, smeared across its fans. Caked on, more accurately; an odd sludge that you try your best to wipe away. You put it on the coffee table and your hand shakes as you press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. 

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands between the coffee table and the couch. Everything was on there: photos from senior prom, end of semester projects – your whole life. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a scream.

Miguel peers from the kitchen, watching your silent breakdown. Quiet, and so still, with only the slight shake of shoulders to tell him that something is wrong. He glances at your half-opened laptop. He’d eaten already, clearing up what remains of his dinner and this is the sight he’s greeted with: the lady of the lake, lain between the reeds. 

He shakes the image out of his head, and walks over. You feel a tentative prod, and look up.

“...I called you,” He says lightly, scratching at his neck.

You blink up at him. He thinks you look like a painting, watery and forlorn, framed in the yellow light of the soft bulbs.

“I was busy,” It’s not said with malice, nor as lilting as your usual sarcasm. Plain, simple. Busy. Your head slumps back into the little hollow you’ve made with your arms.

And so he sits, shoulders brushing against yours. He’s frustratingly patient, presence warm and comfortable despite… well, despite everything. 

You can’t help it. Popping back up, you state, “You never call, though.”

“You’re never this late home.” Home. The word is heavy, knocks you onto your heels.

“So?” You shrug. “Could’ve been out with friends, or at a club–”

Laughter slips out like apples loose in a bag, spills onto the floor. Crisp, sweet; but you glare at him all the same. 

“You don’t have friends.” He says it with the remnants of a smile, teasing. A challenge, and you’re more than happy to accept. 

“ Not true , fuckface.” It is. You'd lost track of most of your friends after moving – and all the ones you made here? Your friends were Jamie's friends, and they chose him  in the divorce. " You don't have any friends."

"I do ."

"You don't." It's your turn to scoff. "It's a Friday night and you're in here, washing up and planning to go to bed at a reasonable time."

"I'm an adult, doesn't mean I don't have–" 

"The ones you fuck don't count." And then you pinch the bridge of your nose. "God forbid, if that's how you treat your friends…" 

He laughs, properly, and you feel it in your chest too: the kind of laughter that bubbles like little breaths rising to the top of a lake. 

“M’serious.” He says it in between gasping breaths and you try to steady your own giggles. "And, I have a friend who could take a look at your laptop, if you wanted."

His eyes flick over to the crime scene besides you. It's sweet, but.. "It's gone, Miguel, I know. You don't need to… try and make me feel better."

" Chula ," He flicks the deep lines forming at your brow. You look up and he says, softly, "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to get you off of the floor so I can mop up that puddle."

With the way he says it, with that little smile, you don't believe him. 

Now he's got your attention, he says, "You could've skipped that 9:00am. Or just been late. Don't think it would've mattered."

"Maybe." You shake your head. "M'not the best student. I'm blindingly… average. Just wanted it to be different, this year." 

Your voice crackles, leaves something in the air he can't quite name. Quiet, again, except this time it's thicker. Smoke, ash, rolling clouds of melancholy in the little front room. For once, he doesn't know what to say. 

You've got your head back on the sofa now, with a deep sigh. You look at the ceiling, and he's looking at you. It's the first time he's able to really study your features, trace the outline of your lips and sloping cheekbone. Your lashes, damp with little droplets of water, look crystalline in the light. Sparkling. Like the paintings depicted in the hefty book sat on his coffee table. He's read that one, twice , cover-to-cover in a fit of… insanity, maybe. He's not a man of frills and fancy, didn't really get it; nor why Gabi had given him the book in the first place. It felt like a filler piece, something to put on the little table and forget about, or to prop up a wooden leg. But that's not how his brother works, frustratingly convoluted. It's stupid, Miguel thought. Everything had to mean something , or what was it good for? 

But looking at you, here, like this ; it clicks. Reaching over for the book, he leans it against the flat of his thigh. And you see it in the corner of your eye, watching as he flicks through the pages. Filled with art, it's the kind of thing on a table in a model apartment: a space-filler in a false home. When you first came here, the starkness and severity of the space had stuck. To you, the book had only reinforced it. Who was Miguel? A serial killer for all you know, stocking fluff pieces and coffee table books; only pretending to be human.

Finally, he stops, finger over a specific place. A double page spread, of surprisingly good quality. 

He clicks his tongue. " This one. "

You follow his finger. A woman in a lake doesn't do it justice. It's beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything to you.

" Ophelia, John Everett Mills, 1852 ." He reads out the little label at the bottom of the image. "Like from Hamlet."

You shrug. "I don't…?"

"Well, she's in love with Hamlet, and then her father's murdered, Hamlet fucks off; and she's left heartbroken, goes mad because of it , arguably–" 

"I've taken tenth grade English, Miguel. I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"She drowns herself. Also arguably, to be fair," He chews his lip, thinking. "Slipped off the bark of a willow tree, into a brook. Incapable of her own distress, or something. Drowns. Do you know how horrible drowning feels? How violent? And yet–" 

He taps the page, and you come a little closer. Beautiful. She's beautiful. 

"I'll admit it, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare. Gabi – my brother – is way better at this stuff than me. Drama and intrigue and–" He gestures vaguely. "– love . That's why he likes it, apparently. And I… I know someone who really liked this page; I think it was the colours, or the flowers…? She said it looked like a photo, and that the woman looked so pretty in the water."

He pauses, dead-eyed. He's rambling, only taking a breath to compose himself." I… didn't have the heart to tell her that Ophelia, in this painting, is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. Dragged through still water, sentenced to death by her passivity and grief – but you wouldn't know it."

Unconsciously, you trace the outline of her hair with your finger; swirling locs that blend into muddy reflections. She's on her back and fully dressed; a beaded skirt billowing out into the water. On her back and looking up, like you were on the sofa just a moment ago. Oh. Oh . You blink at the image. Flowers, peppered around to frame Ophelia in her watery grave. It doesn't look like a grave from where you're sitting, but there's a body in the water all the same. 

There's a lump in your throat. Grief; the loss of 4 years of your life in a middling relationship, the aftermath of dead eyes and brilliant blue slashed from a canvas frame. Grief, rising to the surface like a bloated carcass. You thought you'd bound its ankles to cinder blocks and tossed it in a river long ago. 

"I'm probably overstepping. For that, I'm sorry, and I mean it. But I think there's something else. I..I hear you rattling around at night; and sometimes, when I look at you..." 

Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over. You’re hearing him but you don’t quite understand. Does he know? God, does he know?

"...it reminds me of this painting. You remind me of Ophelia .”

He sighs, turning to you.

“I know how it feels. And I think this shit is going to kill you, if you're not careful."

~~~

He doesn't talk about it. He runs off to start the shower, bundles you into towels and leaves you reeling. God, it's like you've been shot – barely a 10 minute conversation and he's cracked open your ribs to root around in what's left of you. He sees you; wades through the undergrowth and cuts through the bulllshit - he sees you. 

You couldn't even answer. That's what stings the most. 

You’ve settled on the sofa, cross-legged and still fresh from the shower. There’s a documentary on the TV; mindless background to Miguel clattering in the kitchen. He’s putting together some leftovers, even though you insisted that you weren’t hungry, that you’ve already eaten. Well , he had pointed to the gunk caked onto your laptop, wasn’t that the problem in the first place?

He’s good at it; wraps you up in the blanket you always keep draped on the cushions, and hands you a full plate. Wordlessly, because you suppose he’s said everything he needed to. Dutifully, he takes care of you, without a word; the strain of cutting you open on the coffee table clearly too much to bear.

You thank him, and he settles on the armchair opposite, mug of coffee in hand. The gloom of the TV bathes him in light, cuts his cheekbones and jaw just so. One of your mugs in his lap, and he's in a thick knitted sweater. His hair kisses the tops of his lashes, but he brushes it away. You swallow thickly, and when he turns, you look away.

“...You okay?” He asks, confused.

You nod, unable to speak. He gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled up like crepe paper. You return it with one of your own. 

He sees you. Finally, you see him too.

_

_

_

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I’m so happy you were born

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: your birthday is coming up! But Dante has a mission he has to do, will he miss your birthday completely? Hurt/comfort, Dante is a great bf, so much fluff

You’re listening to some music while cleaning up Dante’s bedroom. He always tells you not to and he will “do it later” but later never comes. Plus you enjoy cleaning especially since you’ve been staying with him more recently.

Just as you’re finishing up making the bed you hear a crash and yelling coming from the office. You’re praying it’s not a wild demon wanting to attack Devil May Cry or someone wanting Dante to do a job and trying to trash the place because they didn’t like his answer.

You slowly make your way downstairs not wanting to get in the middle of anything but wanting to make sure everything is okay. When you’re at the bottom of the stairs you peek your head around the corner to look at the office. You don’t see anyone new there and don’t see the place torn up indicating there was no fight. You look down on the ground and see a pile of Dante’s work related stuff and him standing at his desk seething while on the phone.

You come to the conclusion that Dante’s mad at the person on the phone and threw the stuff that was on his desk to the ground. He normally is super chill about jobs whether accepting or declining so this is a bit out of the blue. You decide to stay in your hiding spot and listen in.

“I don’t give a damn if I’m the only one you got. I’m not taking the job!” Dante yells into the phone.

He’s growls at whatever the person on the phone said, “Find someone else.”

Dante then slams his hand not holding the phone on the desk, “I’m not doing a long mission! It’s her birthday next week and I’m not fucking missing it. I’m not doing that to her.”

Oh so he got assigned another long mission. You two have been together for about seven months but most of it you two actually haven’t spent much time together. He’s been sent out on many long missions which keeps you two apart for weeks sometimes even a month. You were so excited when you found out he didn’t have a mission on your birthday. Once you brought it up Dante made a lot of plans for your special day.

Hearing that he might miss the birthday celebration he planned shatters your heart. He has been so excited and kept most of the plans secret to surprise you. You get why he’s so upset and mad now.

A part of you also gets the other side. His job is very important and he is the best. Longer missions normally means a stronger demon. If there is a stronger demon out there causing trouble and pain to innocent people you want Dante to take it. But there is a selfish part of you that just wants you to yourself especially on your birthday.

You focus your attention back onto Dante and whatever the person on the phone made him stiffen. “You can’t cut my pay. You know I need the money…” he says while running a hand through his messy white hair. He’s obviously stressed so you decide to walk over and make your presence known.

You place a hand on his back and rub it up and down. He isn’t wearing his signature leather jacket so you feel all his muscles. He turns to you while wearing a frown. You don’t return the expression, you opt to give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “It’s okay Dante.”

His eyes widen and you can see the conflict behind them. You know he wants to be with you but he can’t turn down the job especially not when he’s getting threatened with a lower pay.

“Fine I’ll do it,” he murmurs while slamming the phone down. He places both hands on the desk and hangs his head. In his movement your hand disconnected from his back. You hold it in their air not knowing if you should comfort him or let him have a moment.

Dante lightly calls your name, “I’m so sorry. Fuck I’m so sorry.”

“Dante.” He doesn’t look at you. “Dante, please look at me.” He turns to look at you and you see just how exhausted he is. He’s been working so much recently and was suppose to have a couple weeks off to rest.

You walk over and place your hands on his cheeks trying to bring as much comfort to him as you can. “Dante it’s not your fault. I get it. Your job is important and you’re so good at it that you can take on anything. You’re helping so many people continue to live in peace, and I’m so proud of you.”

“But you’re so important. You’re the most important part of my life. I promised you and now I can’t even celebrate your birthday. You were so excited-“

You cut him off, “I’m not going to lie yeah I was excited and I’m upset now because of how everything played out. But again you’re needed.”

“Yeah by you.”

“Dante, we can always celebrate when you’re back-“

Now he cuts you off, “No it’s not the same. It’s doesn’t have the same spark and it feels off.”

You bite your lip, “Dante I don’t want to fight about this. The last thing I ever want to do is fight with you before you go on a mission. So let’s just forget about it? There’s always next year and your birthday.”

“Wait but-“

You give him a pleading look to not fight you on this. He closes his mouth and sighs. You rub your thumbs against his cheeks to soothe him. Dante leans down to connects your foreheads.

“I hate this,” he whispers.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” You know there isn’t much to say back but he isn’t holding you against you.

You decided to spent the rest of the day in bed cuddling. Dante has a vice grip on you. He doesn’t want to think how he won’t be holding you like this at this time tomorrow. He’s so mad. You’re sacrificing so much to be with him. He has so much planned and now he can’t do it.

You can tell Dante is not in the moment but you don’t want to bring it up. You don’t want to fight and you’d probably start crying because now it is really hitting you. You’re not going to be spending your birthday with the person you love the most. The day you and him (well mostly him) planned isn’t going to be happening.

You two mostly stay quiet besides some small conversations here and there. As you’re about to fall asleep Dante whispers in your ear, “I promise I’ll make this up to you.” And presses a kiss to your cheek.

You know he will but you also won’t be holding him to it. Anytime you get to spend time with him is special and great. So you don’t need a grand special day, you just need him.

You’re standing by the front door watching Dante finishing getting all his weapons onto his body. Once he’s done he walks over to you.

“Please be safe Dante.”

He puts a hand on the back of your head and pulls you into a quick kiss. “I promise. I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You place another quick kiss to his lips. Once you pull back he gives you a quick hug and heads out. Knowing if he looks back or stays a second longer, he won’t leave.

You quickly lock the door when he leaves and lean your back against it. You then let the tears you didn’t know you were holding in fall. You honestly didn’t think it was going to bug you this much. But you were so excited. He saved up so much money to be able to get a reservation to a fancy restaurant and even bought you a new dress to wear to the dinner. He also had the rest of the night planned after.

You wanted it. You want it so bad. It’s so unfair. Maybe you should have been selfish, you should have agreed with him and just let him not go. You should have begged him not to go. You knew he would have if you asked. He’d do anything you asked and you don’t want to take advantage of it.

You stay there sobbing until you drag yourself off the door and do random tasks. Cleaning, showering, cooking, and other things to keep your mind off of this situation.

You follow that schedule for the next couple days. It’s hard because it means you have to accept the truth and the truth hurts so bad. Especially when your birthday is tomorrow. You don’t even know what you’re going to do. You don’t even want to celebrate it anymore. You don’t want a cake, you don’t want presents, you don’t want birthday wishes, you just want Dante.

You walk into your shared room and head to your closet. You go right for some of Dante’s clothes since this is the closest you’re going to get to him at the moment. You then go lay on Dante’s side of the bed trying to soak up every scent of him you can. You bury yourself under the blankets and just hope tomorrow will pass quickly.

You wake up on your birthday really early. Today is definitely trying to play with you. Shouldn’t you have good karma since you weren’t selfish and had Dante go? You stare at the ceiling and contemplate what you should do. You feel like if you stay in Devil May Cry today you’re going to be so depressed all day. You end up deciding to treat yourself to the cafe down the street.

You get ready and head out. The walk is only about five minutes so you get there quickly. You decide to get a tea and muffin. You sit at a seat by the window watching people walk by. A worker brings out your order and you thank her. She nods and head off. You enjoy your muffin while you slowly sip on your tea.

The world really must be after you because all you’ve seen today is couples. In the cafe or walking by the window. The world really wants to remind you that you were suppose to be like that today but you aren’t.

You decide you can’t take any more of this so you knock back the rest of your tea and leave. You can barely hold your tears back as you walk back to Devil May Cry. You can’t wait until you can bury yourself under the blankets again and hide from this awful day.

Little did you know while you were out Dante bursted into Devil May Cry. He’s huffing and puffing with a bouquet of roses in his hand. He calls out to you but doesn’t hear you respond. He quickly strips himself of his weapons and places the roses on the table.

He goes to look around but doesn’t see you anywhere. You must have went out. That makes him a little happy because now he can surprise you more. Dante goes to take a quick shower then set everything up.

He got decorations earlier this week. He starts by hangs up a big “happy birthday” sign. He then blows some balloons and tie them to little weights he got. He is thanking he has extra stamina due to his demon side after blowing up all those balloons.

He then goes and grabs your gifts he hid in his armory. Dante got you a necklace with a red gem stone to match his own. He then got you a camera because you’ve been talking about how upset you were because your old one broke. He topped it all off with getting you some of your favorite treats and snacks.

Dante sets those up on the table in front of the sign then quickly runs to put the roses in a vase. He grabs the confetti he got and throws it on the table to add a little more birthday flare.

He takes a step back and looks at the setup. He is super happy with all it has turned out and he is so happy he finished the mission extra fast. There was no way he was going to miss this. Especially after he heard you crying after he left. He stood outside the door for a couple minutes hoping you’d stop crying. Sometimes he really curses his skillful hearing because hearing you cry shattered him. He told himself he was going to make this quick and celebrate your birthday.

Now he just waits for you to get back.

You’re almost back and you are barely holding it together. You feel some tears slip out. You keep your head down until you get back.

You get back to Devil May Cry and go to open the door. You realized it’s unlocked. You mentally slapped yourself for forgetting to lock it. You open the door and are greeted with a decorated room with your boyfriend standing in the middle.

Dante’s smile widens when he sees you. “Happy birthday!!” He excitedly says.

You stare at him with your jaw dropped. “Dante, is that really you?”

He smiles lightly and shakes his head, “Yeah it’s me baby. I’m here.”

Dante opens up his arms and you drop your purse and run over to him. You jump into his arms wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and legs around his waist.

He quickly returns the tight hug. He places a hand on the back of your head to place yours into his neck. You cry into his neck, “You’re really here,” you choke out.

“Yeah I’m here baby. I couldn’t just miss your birthday.”

You squeeze him tighter, “Thank you but how?? I thought the mission was suppose to long?”

“Yeah it was but I got rid of the demon quickly,” he said all cocky. “Wanna open your presents before you get ready for our reservation?”

You pull your head out of his neck, “You got me gift!?”

He looks offended by your question, “Of course I did! Why wouldn’t I?” He lets you down but grabs your hand and walks you over to the table.

Dante stands behind you and wraps his arms around you, “Go ahead, open them.”

You start with the biggest bag and pull out a bunch of snacks and treats. “Ohh!! We have snacks for a movie night!”

He laughs at your reaction but guides you to the next gift. You then unwrap the rectangular shaped box and see a camera. Your eyes widen, you’ve been talking about getting one but only brought it up once or twice. He’s been really paying attention. That warms your heart, “We are going to try this out tonight.”

“Whatever you say baby,” he says after kissing the top of your head.

You go to the little box and unwrap it. You see it’s a little jewelry box. You open the box and see a beautiful silver necklace with a red gem stone. It reminds you a lot of his, did he get you this so you two can match? This also must have been so expensive.

“Dante this is all amazing and I can’t thank you enough. But wasn’t this all expensive?”

“Nothing is too expensive for you. I don’t mind, I want to spoil you.”

You spin around in his hold and pull him down into a soft and slow kiss. He tightens his grip on your waist and keeps you close to him. You break and smile up at him, “Thank you Dante. I love you so much.”

He smiles back down at you, “I love you so much too baby. But now it’s time to get ready!”

You laugh at his excitement. You grab your new necklace and head to your shared room. You go to put on the new dress Dante also got you. It’s a long red dress with a slit going up your right leg. You’re having a hard time zipping up the dress so you call Dante.

He walks in and whistles, “Hot damn. You look gorgeous.”

You flush at his comment, “Thank you, but can you help me? I can’t get the zipper.”

Dante walks over and stands behind you. You feel his warm hands on your lower back. You got some of the zipper but couldn’t get all of it. You feel the zipper going down and you roll your eyes, “Dante, up not down.”

He lets out a deep laugh, “Right I knew that.” He then zips up the dress and kiss your bare shoulder. “There you go,” he lightly whispers.

He goes to walk away but you stop him, “Can you help me put the necklace on too?”

He nods and holds out his hand to grab the necklace. You place it in his hand and he goes to stand behind you again. You pull your hair out of way so he can easily clip the necklace. Once he’s done he moves your hair back.

You step away from him to go look in the mirror. You are so glad your little cry session didn’t mess up your makeup too much earlier. You just need to touch up your mascara. You quickly do that and then get a good look at yourself. You look great! You can’t wait for Dante’s reaction to the final look.

You walk back downstairs and see Dante sitting on the couch. “Dante.”

He looks up and stares. He gets up and slowly walks over to you. He holds out his hand and you take it, he has you do a little spin. This has you beaming up at him.

“God baby, you look so fucking breathtaking. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

You squeeze his hand tightly, “Thank you! You look very handsome too.”

He laughs again at your compliment, “I’m not wearing anything different or new.”

“I know but you’re always handsome, especially when you have that smile on your face.”

He brings up your hand to kiss your knuckle, “Well thank you. You ready to go?”

You just give him a simple nod. He leads you out of Devil May Cry and to a car parked in front. “Uh Dante where did you get this.”

“Oh Enzo let me borrow it. It’s the least he can do for almost making me miss today.”

You two get into the car and he takes off to the restaurant. He places his hand on your thigh rubbing it and down your leg.

The drive was pretty short. Dante quickly finds a spot to park then gets out to lead you inside. When you get to worker they ask for the name and Dante says his name. You two then get lead to your table.

While you two ate, you and Dante talk about his mission and what you “did” while he was gone. When you’re almost done you ask Dante, “So what are we doing the rest of the night? You had this big plan.”

Dante smirks, “Now why would I tell you? That ruins the fun.”

You roll your eyes but decide to go with the flow. He’s been doing great so far, you bet it’s going to stay this way. When you two finish eating Dante pays then leads you back to the car.

Dante pulls out of the parking spot and heads in the opposite direction of Devil May Cry. He drives to the edge of the town and up this uphill terrain. Once he’s at the top he makes sure the back of the car is facing the view.

He parks the car then turns to you, “Stay right here and don’t look back. I’ll come get you in a minute.”

“Okay.” He leans over and kisses your cheek then hops out of the car.

Dante opens the trunk then flattens the back seats down. He then sets up the blankets and pillows he brought in the back. After he gets it perfect he then focuses on the cake box that was back there too. He lights the candles then goes to grab you.

He opens your door and holds out his hand, “Take my hand but close your eyes until I tell you to open them.”

“Okay but you better not let me fall.”

“The only falling I’d let you do is falling for me,” he smirks.

You smack his arm and he just laughs. You take his hand and close your eyes and let him guide you. You walk to the back of the car. He stops you for a second then grabs your hips and lifts you up. You quickly grab his shoulders and hold onto him tightly. He places you in the truck then lets go of you. Dante then grabs the cake and stands in front of you.

“Okay open your eyes.”

You open your eyes to see him standing there with a cake in hand with a bunch of candles. The cake has a cute design with your name and “happy birthday” written on it.

You look back up at him and he’s smiling at your reaction, “Happy birthday baby, make a wish.”

You think for a second about what you want. You then realize what you want. You want this every birthday. Just you and him doing whatever. You say your wish then blow out the candles.

Dante then hops in the trunk beside you and hands you a fork. You two dig into the cake and enjoy the night sky.

“Dante,” you call out to him.

He is stuffing his face full of cake so he makes a humming noise to let you know to continue.

“Thank you for making this birthday so special. It means a lot to me you worked quick so you could surprise me and celebrate my birthday. Thank you for all the incredible gifts and memories. I’ll cherish these always. I love you beyond words Dante.”

“No need to thank me this much. I’m just happy I could make this day so special for you. Seeing you so happy makes me so happy. I’m so happy you enjoyed your birthday with me. I love you so much, you don’t understand.”

You two both lean in to share another kiss. This kiss is messy and not in a heated way. You both have frosting on your lips which is smearing over the both of your lips and chins but you couldn’t care less. You have your favorite person with you and that’s all that matters.

After you two had your fair share of cake and watching the stars you two pack up and head back home. The car ride back you’re almost falling asleep. You force yourself to stay up though so you can spend all the time you can with Dante. You know he’s not going anywhere any time soon but you still have a little fear that this was just a dream and he’s not actually going to be here when you wake up.

Once you’re back you head straight to your shared bedroom and get ready for bed. You get done at record speed because you just want to go to sleep.

Dante is already in bed curled up under the blankets. When he sees you coming to bed he lifts the blankets for you and you dive right in. You cuddle up next to him and instantly fall asleep.

He chuckles a bit and kisses your forehead, “Goodnight and sleep well.”

After a few minutes of silence and he knows for sure you’re asleep he murmurs out, “I’m so happy you were born.”

Morning talk with SingleDad! Miguel O´Hara

This is the next part of the series of SingleDad Miguel, hope you like it. I appreciate every comments

It is well known that Miguel has terrible sleep hygiene. He lasts whole days without sleeping and when he has the opportunity to do so, he does so in an uncomfortable chair in his laboratory. He doesn't always manage to get home to have a well-deserved rest, many times he is caught up in things at work or finds himself in some dimension dealing with some anomaly and not to mention possible time changes between dimensions.

They are the worst.

But for Miguel the most difficult thing is to see how little by little he is losing his daughter, he is not always in the best conditions to take care of Gabriela and that is something that little by little kills him inside. Despite the fact that Gaby has made it clear in multiple times that she doesn't mind that her dad can't always be there for her as long as you're present.

For Miguel and Gabriela your arrival was more than a blessing, many would think that they are exaggerating but it is the truth, Miguel felt that he was failing as a father and he felt that he should do more for his daughter, he knew that he had to ask for help but O'Hara was a proud man.

"Of course I can take care of my daughter, have a stable job, protect my city and why not, also safeguard the multiverse and go to my daughter's training sessions on weekends."

Everyone could see how the world was coming down on Miguel, except him.

After you met him at that party, you began to hang out and when you realized the big problem he had, you offered to help him a little, you didn't have superpowers and you weren't a genius, but for Miguel you always had the power to make him feel better about himself and you always managed to keep Gaby happy, and, if Gabriela was happy he was too.

So when Gabriela found out that you would live with them, she was so happy that she kept telling you what their weekends would be like and how they would spend time together non-stop.

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Today was one of those rare days when Miguel could spend the weekend at home with his little family. The night before, he had promised Gaby that he would take her to school next day. Today is the other day and Miguel had fallen asleep making Gaby late for school.

Those mornings were chaotic but without a doubt you would never change them.

After Miguel memorized all the commands and instructions that you left in the refrigerator, he took Gaby and put her in the car, starting the car in record time.

During the journey to school they were silent, probably both were still half asleep, neither of them managed to comb their hair. Miguel was the first to break the silence.

"So... how do you feel with her at home? you are happy?" Miguel asked as he leaned his head towards his daughter waiting for an answer without stopping to see the road.

"I really like having her around, also, her food is very tasty. More than yours." Gabriela said between laughs. She liked to tease his dad from time to time. He took food very seriously, it was his way of showing his affection when words did not allow it.

"More than mine..." Miguel repeats in a low voice "Okay, it doesn't bother me. I didn't want to cook anymore anyway." And the drama begins. "It's not like cooking is our favorite thing to do together. No, not at all."

"Just kidding, I like your food, but you have to admit that mom's food is good. You always fall asleep on the couch after eating what she makes" Gaby had the biggest smile he had ever seen.

"Mom? Since when did you call her mom? What am I missing?" Miguel stopped the car at the red light, turning to see his daughter.

Gaby's cheeks were a little red. "Well... I started calling her that after it slipped out by mistake at one of my soccer practices. She said it was fine as long as you and I felt comfortable."

"Mom huh? And what do you think about that? Would you like her to be your mom?" Miguel's tone was definitely serious.

"Yes" Gaby didn't hesitate for a second to answer, it's as if she had already had this conversation in her head over and over again and in none of them would she have said no. Every time she thought about it, you always showed up, at her training sessions, at her school events, God, even she had already thought about how her first mothers day would be with you there at her festival.

"I think she's good for you Pa and if she's good for you and makes you happy, so am I." At that moment Gaby was speaking from the bottom of her heart. "Besides, you're getting old, you're lucky she noticed you" And there it was, the usual Gaby was back, bothering her father in the most affectionate way possible, in the only way a daughter like her and a father like him could show their affection.

"First of all, how dare you. Second I'M NOT OLD, it's the stress. What makes you think I'm old." Miguel kept driving as soon as the light turned green. On the other hand, Gabriela was laughing. "Well, the other day I heard you tell mom that your back and knees were starting to hurt. That's for old people"

"For the sake of my health, I'm going to ignore the fact that my precious daughter called me old. What I mean is that if I ask her to marry me, would you be okay with that?"

"Definitely, if life had given me to choose who my mother would be from the beginning, I would choose her, in this and in all universes. If one day you two separate -I hope not- I would choose to go with her. I think that that makes it clear what I think."

Miguel remained silent for a while, getting closer and closer to the school entrance. "Well, I think the decision has been made" Miguel said as he accelerated.

"You just passed the school entrance" Gaby was confused "Where are we going?"

"To the mall" Miguel just shrugged his shoulders as if it were something obvious

"For what?" Gaby only saw how her school was moving away from her sight

"To buy an engagement ring"

"That's good because I was going to tell you that I forgot my backpack at home"

"AY GABRIELA!"

"AND YOU LOVE THAT, RIGHT?"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DANTE

Pov: He feels different after his demonic awakening and you confort him ❤

I hope you like it! 💛😌☝

It had been a week since Dante had his demonic awakening.

During that time, he'd been quite distant from you, as if he didn't consider you worthy of your attention.

You decided to talk to him.

You walked over to where he was staring out the window of his shabby apartment and wrapped your arms around his waist, making him smile.

"Hey, baby," he whispered, his husky voice making you shiver, as it always did when he spoke to you with that tone so gentle yet firm.

"Hey," you murmured, placing a kiss on the back of his neck. "Hey, we need to talk."

He turned quickly, thinking he'd done something wrong that had caused you to get angry with him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking at you intensely. "Is this about the hunt the other day?" Next time I promise not to kill those demons so quickly and leave a couple for yourself.

"It's nothing like that," you murmured. "It's just that since you had your awakening, I've noticed you've been distant with me, different," you explained. He tilted his head to the outside before looking at you again. "You know you're still the same, right?" He nodded silently. "And you know that I still love you, right?"

"Even though I occasionally transform into a demon with huge red wings?"

"Even so," you smiled. "Besides, I…" You stopped due to the embarrassment you suddenly felt. He smiled crookedly.

"What were you going to say, precious?" He whispered, placing his hands on your hips to pull you closer to him.

"I…" You swallowed hard. "I was going to say that I like your wings." He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

"Oh yeah?" "He asked. You nodded. "Why?"

"I don't know… maybe it's because… they make you look bigger than you already are."

"And you love that, right?" He murmured, turning you so that you were now leaning against the wall. "Do you like feeling small compared to me?" He whispered, smiling crookedly. "Next time I transform, I'll wrap my wings around you," he promised. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," you almost gasped. "But now I want you to kiss me."

"Not so fast, darling," he smiled, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. "I'll have a little fun with you first."

The Other Woman

(Part 2 FINALE)

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Synopsis: Miguel had left Y/N for another version of his old wife in hopes of getting his old life back. To only realize the mistakes he’s made.

Link to Part 1

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!reader

Warnings: very heavy mental health, ANGST LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, ALL OF THIS IS ANGST, mentions of death/almost dying, long term establish relationship, cheating, swearing, therapy, physical fight, blood, feral protective miguel?

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A/N: hello again! this one is more heartbreaking and longer than the first part oof… Very low dialog up until closer towards the end! wanted to just get through telling the story itself and the emotions. It’s just a very heavy storyline!! I want to say thank you so so much for showing so much support for part 1 i had no idea it would receive that much attention :O !! i wrote this out kinda fast as i didn’t want to loose the momentum of the idea. so apologies for any mistakes! all feedback is greatly appreciated ~

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You used to make Miguel coffee everyday, with one cream two sugars, and he would nag about how he hated the taste. It was to your liking, not his. As you would sneakily take sips out of his mug while working next to him. Why didn’t you just get your own coffee? You claimed you could never finish it and just wanted a taste out of his. Miguel would roll his eyes at you every time he caught you but he adored it. He had secretly grown to love the way you made it and had become his only way of making coffee after meeting you.

Now as this version of his older wife made it the way he is suppose to like coffee, bland and straight, he found himself bothered by it. Going as far to correct her even though this was what he had been claiming to have missed so much. He was now seeing himself teaching someone else how to love him like you did…

He was only a shell of the man he was when he had Gabriella. Even though the copy of his old wife has her same personality, the relationship couldn’t be exactly how it was before because he had changed so much. You had helped him become whole again. His tastes and likings had all switched to everything about you. The charm he found in his old wife doesn’t hold a light to you now and he was getting frustrated. He had wanted this so badly. He felt like those babies who whine and cry wanting to eat a lemon and once they get their way they realize the sour truth.

Miguel never truly realized what it was like to loose you until three weeks after he told you the truth. Over the years the idea of losing you terrified him but he only ever thought of it being in death. He never considered separation when everything was perfect for both of you then. There were times he believed that you were made just for him and he treated you like his queen. Which you truly were to him in his spider society. Why would he ever throw that away? Look at what he did.

He gave himself every excuse in the book before you knew he was cheating on you. ‘This is only for research.’ he would think every time he found himself back in that universe. As everyone knew he was so serious about his work, obviously this is just him getting to know more about certain universes and canons. Lyla was the only one seeing straight through him knowing where he was actually going. Things kept tumbling and the more he found out about the place and spent time with her the more his grief and yearning returned. It was all just there, so reachable.

There was a time his mind tried to snap him back out of it while cheating on you and made him realize the guilt. The first time he kissed this woman you were there in his mind. He came home right after and held you without saying a word. You never questioned him, just showed him comfort as much as you could. Lightly stroking his back, you never over stepped or pushed him when he was vulnerable with you. He only closed his eyes and held onto you tighter processing how you were always too good for him. He was converting to living two different lives; his old self during the day and then coming home to you. He didn’t want to let go of either at the time.

Once he found out he could safely have Gabriella again was when he became distant with you. The shame of using you for research made him become stoic. He didn’t want to admit how wrong he was treating you. All while you were always being so loyal and trusting towards him. Things were slowly slipping through the cracks and he knew he couldn’t up keep it. He wished he could have had that conversation with you so much differently but it was over. Now he had his old life back, a dream he had his mind set on.

He ignored the shakiness in his hands when he returned to her after letting you go. ‘It’s all for the best.’ is what he would repeat in his mind as a mantra. His new girlfriend truly had no idea who he really was or what his background was. Miguel continued to feed her lies to the point where he even started believing them himself getting too lost in avoiding what he’s done. He believed he was happy as he spent time with her.

When she got too close to finding the truth after finding his wedding ring in one of his pockets, he set her off course from it by revealing his spider identity and taking her to HQ. This was the day that everything felt like it was crashing around him. Being reminded of his marriage, having to face his friends with his new lover, sharing his personal spider life, his work with someone who wasn’t you. He excused himself rushing to an unused office room while his chest was tightening. Pupils dilating as he realized it was his first time having a panic attack.

Nevertheless he continued to push it all aside and act completely normal with his girlfriend. He was feeling your absence the most while working. You had became an extension of him. He had trained you from scratch and you helped him build this society he has now. You knew the ins and outs of everything and fought perfectly alongside him. Now that he was on his own he let his girlfriend be there for him when he got stressed, but there always was a knot in his stomach he never could get rid of.

The more his mental health ate at him late at night the more he considered searching out for you. There was no closure between both of you and he never got to listen to how you feel. What was your opinion on all that happened? Do you hate him?

He wanted to speak with someone so badly but he dug himself in a hole too deep. You were gone, he was lying through his teeth to this poor woman he’s kept for some fantasy, he felt too ashamed to say anything to his friends, he would rather die if all his workers found out how big of a piece of shit he is. Anytime Lyla tried peeping a word that wasn’t work related he would snap. He had pushed everyone away and now he just felt alone.

Regardless he would wake up in the morning and swallow all his dark feelings. He would remember his grief of when he lost his family and it would put him back in the moment. He has another chance. He was happy with the direction he was going in now.

Right?

—

The day he found out you were at HQ he felt his heart stop. He was mid mission trying to call for Lyla but she wouldn’t answer. Frustrated he tried looking into what was happening only to see her busy having a conversation with you. It felt like something took over him when he opened a portal in less than a second. Without thinking nor wasting a heartbeat he rushed back. Just a glimpse of you, maybe just to hear a word out of your mouth. The feeling of having you back in HQ was making him ignore all his insecurities. How he would coward at the thought of trying to reach out to you before. You were in his home, your home, and the thought drove him wild.

You were already long gone though. Lyla stared at him not saying a word. The quietness in the room making his ears ring but his thoughts were screaming in his head. He stood there frozen still trying to recollect himself. He was the one that left you, what is wrong with him?

Again he went back and forth in his own head trying to convince himself ‘You wanted this.’ but if he did why is he feeling like someone just killed a puppy in front of him? Why is he here fighting with his self if this is really his dream? Why did he try chasing after you? The wounds of his past grief were too deep. He never took the time to properly heal and now look at what he’s become.

“Miguel, what’s this?” He was startled turning around seeing his girlfriend holidng your watch and skimming through the divorce paperwork addressed to him.

There was no more hiding, no more lying. He swallowed hard even though his throat was dry. He let everything he had kept away rise to surface. It hurt him to see the beautiful face his old wife shared contort into such anger and pain while finding the truth.

She didn’t stay, but for some reason he wasn’t upset. Though he longed for his daughter, he knew it would have never been the same now. He finally closed the door on his past. His heart had made the choice this time but it’s too late. Now grasping onto the divorce papers left by you, emptiness spread through his soul.

—

You on the other hand did not find yourself crying by yourself on a rooftop for long. The shift in the air from your arrival alerted the local spider-man immediately.

“It didn’t work out, did it?” He crouched down next to you as he noticed your watch gone and your missing wedding band.

Peter Parker knew both you and Miguel. Your husband had come to do many rounds of research in this universe when he took you. Eventually offering this Peter a spot in the society, which he politely declined due to just being busy enough here. You both never spoke much but always had an appreciation for each other.

“Do you need a place to crash at?” He continued while trying to get you to look at him. Reaching his hand towards you.

You had absolutely no one and you had been gone so long you couldn’t even go back to the little you had. When you met Miguel you didn’t hesitate to never look back and now it filled you with regret. How naive were you to put all your trust and reliance on him.

You took Peter’s hand. You were ready to start your own life and be your own person now.

—

Peter Parker was nice enough to let you stay with him as long as you needed it. You both had became ‘besties!’ as he would love to poke at you. The first month with him you were a disaster really but he showed you how he liked to cope using his spider abilities.

The first thing he helped you with was getting a new suit. Your old one resembled too much to Miguel’s and you felt suffocated every time you put it on. Peter had taught you to use your current emotional pain on whichever sad little villain was making trouble out in Brooklyn that night.

“Come on, we got multiverse spider-woman helping me keep these streets clean now!” He would taunt at the men while watching you easily take them out a little bit too aggressively. His feet kicking up and down while he sat on the side of a building watching you. The crime rate did go down a bit once word got around how strong your punch was. Peter’s just happy he can now spend some nights to himself.

You got yourself a job at the mart on the corner to help cover bills for Peter and save up. You were grateful enough the owners never batted an eye when you would disappear during a shift to either suddenly go cry uncontrollably or beat the shit out of someone at a nearby robbery. Next thing you were enrolling yourself back in university, wanting to finish that degree you never did.

It wasn’t too long that some of your older spider friends would stop by to check in on you. Seeing them was difficult sometimes, you were internally itching to ask about Miguel. Things were going okay for you on a very slow path of breathing step by step. You never wanted to feel that hurt again and so you very well pretend like Miguel didn’t exist if you could.

You couldn’t ignore the hurt resurfacing when you passed couples on the street. Or when you found yourself going to fidget with your wedding ring just to remember it’s gone. You can’t just move on from a relationship that was so deeply apart of you and lasted so long. You gave everything to him and it will take you much time to get yourself to build trust again.

After two semesters, you finally had your graduation. All the things you learned while in Earth-928 paid off as you barley had to study. Passing top of the class, you immediately got an offer for an internship opportunity with Alchemax and was able to get an introduction tour of the building beforehand.

What you hadn’t realized was that Alchemax had been looking for that girl who snuck into their offices a couple years ago. Who made another dimension’s spider appear and then went missing herself soon after. They had kept as close tabs on you as they could and how foolish you were to think your little break in wouldn’t come back to bite you. The moment you stepped foot back in their building, it was over for you.

—

Miguel had spent a whole year in much deserving therapy. Nothing could stop the embarrassment he felt when Peter B signed him up with HQ’s best spider-therapist after 3 months of constant out bursts. No one could come near the man when he felt like he had lost everything. Those first initial months were difficult for everyone around him.

Therapy did help, he hates to admit it, but it was a very rough ride. He finally was able to understand his deep inner term oil and heal his issues but moving on from you? No, he could never.

You were the only one who had sincerely stood by his side, always rooting for him. He never fell out of love with you despite of everything that he did. He just pushed everything down too deep and was blinded by obsession. Till now he could never deny that he still loves you. Maybe if he just would have went to therapy years ago instead of acting out on unsolved grief none of this would have happened. The guilt always making him toss and turn at night.

He would have big temper tantrums when he would find his coworkers going to visit you time to time and not sharing any details. He needed to know if you’re okay. Did you already move on? He longed to find you and speak with you but he knew he wasn’t ready yet. He was so self destructive and this was what he deserved.

Everyone avoided him completely when he overheard someone saying you were living with Peter Parker. Fighting crime with him and having a cute little home life. Peter followed you around now like a puppy. Miguel did not take the news well at all. Let’s just say, the large bill replacement for his monitor screens was what snapped him out of that rage.

He also wanted to strangle Hobie Brown every time he saw a glint in his eye when your name was mentioned around. Yet Miguel couldn’t hate the kid either, as Hobie was one of the people to try help repair the damage he did to you. How badly he just wanted to hold you and shield you in his arms from any other people taking you from him as if he wasn’t the idiot to let you go in the first place.

Everyone’s big, powerful, scary boss was really just a grumpy, wallowing-in-self-pity, sensitive, lonely man now. Mention your name too much to him and watch him start crying or take it out on whatever he could find nearest to him. He would some nights scroll through your wedding photos while listening to your last tracked log with Lyla. Your words cutting through him deep like long sharp knives. How he urged to go tell you it was all wrong and how guilty he was for making you feel like this.

Despite it all, he still believed in being the best of the best. He used his work to distract himself from his sorrows, to become numb. Even though his divorce paperwork were set next to him on his desk to remind him the pain. He never signed it.

—

“We can’t tell him!” Jessica gritted through her teeth. Small group of spider-people were hovered around Lyla taking in the new found information.

“Her canon events have always been uncertain, we can’t just stop and fix this one?” Gwen Stacy suggested in hopes.

“We have never prevented a canon event of hers or the people involved in it. It could be even more dangerous than a regular canon.” Peter B spoke grimly.

“When ‘as danger ever stopped us?” Hobie spoke up.

“Everyone get your gear.” Lyla added to the stress of the situation.

—

You couldn’t open your eyes properly with a strong blinding light being held above you. Arms and legs secured on top of a metal surgical table. You could feel the warmth of blood scattered on certain parts of your body, slowly starting to dry. It was a mix of yours and the people you had tried fighting through to get out of here when you realize the trap you were reeled into. Different people in lab coats poked and pried all around you while you were tied. Your mask was thrown on another table and your suit had large gashes across it.

Soon you also could feel the presence of Peter Parker being brought to the room, thrown slumped in the corner breathing heavily. They had gotten you too good. They knew everything and had planned this so detailed.

“Now you’re going to help me open the multiverse.” Kingpin loomed around you. All you could feel was searing pain as a laser aimed right at your chest.

—

Miguel was already staring out the window to the glowing night lights of Nueva York when he saw a big hole appear in sight of the skyline. His eyebrows furrowed while he was trying to process what he was looking at. It wasn’t a second later when all alarms started going off in his office.

“Qué carajos?” He exclaimed seeing the alerts of a possible universe collapse. “Lyla! Why wasn’t this being taken care of already?”

“I already sent people.”

“Then what are they doing?” He yelled. His confusion and anger only furthered when he saw a red alarm for a canon event.

“Canon event?” He whispered to himself. He always knew when these were happening, there were none scheduled for today. There was no way he would let one passed him, it’s not like this could magically appear? His jaw dropped in realization… a new canon event.

“Lyla, tell me the truth. Why wasn’t this reported to me?” He made the atmosphere turn cold. She knew he already figured it out.

“A new canon event was received this morning being given to Peter Parker. Of Y/N L/N’s death.” The words from Lyla made Miguel’s body go still. His eyes raced side to side while he processed it.

“No!” He roared, a fist slamming into the nearby desk. His massive strength breaking it in half.

“Boss, you can’t go on this mission only using your emotions.” Lyla warned. However Miguel was already half way stepping through a portal to find you.

He appeared, watching his team struggle to shut down the machine causing the collapse. Outnumbered by the amount of Alchemax puppets. A different kind of rage filled him as he saw you, for the first time in a year, suffering. Miguel was never one to act reckless while on missions but he had no plan here and just ran off the pure adrenaline the fight or flight had hit him with.

His claws tore into the backs of his enemies as he jumped beast-like across the room. Not hesitating spilling blood across the wall while he took everyone down as fast as he could. His team could only watch wide eye with an unsettling fear as they saw Miguel lose himself to his spider sense. While he fought they took the opportunity to take apart the machine.

Miguel was panting heavily, pupils blown wide glowing red, and fangs dripping with venom as the room slowly silenced. Kingpin laid on the floor slowly trying to drag himself after being beaten to a pulp. It was over. Peter B stopped him from doing anything further. Knowing Miguel would kill the man, Peter B let the team finish up to give Kingpin to authorities. Miguel turned frantically to look at you seeing the other spiders step away. Peter Parker was hunched over you in tears. Miguel fought the urge to snap at Peter and grab his hands off of you.

Your vision was too blurry and everything felt like it was burning. A shape that seemed too familiar came into your peripheral vision and you tried to push yourself up.

“Miguel?” Was the last thing you croaked before slumping back passing out. Miguel catching you in his arms before you could hurt yourself further.

“It’s her time.” Jessica spoke behind him. Yet he was refusing to let go. He had never defied the way the timeline worked since he created his society. He would never break the rules and you both had promised each other before not to. If there was a situation like this you both agreed to save the universe first. How stupid was he to think he would listen to that now facing it in-front of him.

He never got to tell you what happened. He never got to apologize. He never got to tell you one more time that he loved you. Even if you in result just spat in his face, at least he was able to talk to you one more time. You were never a placeholder or someone to fill a hole in his heart. His whole heart belonged to you and he couldn’t let you go thinking you didn’t mean anything to him. No matter the consequences, he needed to tell you.

“Call all the teams to control the damage of a possible universe collapse.” He turned to Jess with Y/N tightly in his arms. The spider-people watched speechless as he opened a portal and disappeared.

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

Two weeks you laid motionless in the HQ’s medbay.

The clean up after breaking the canon was a little intense. They were able to get it under control as the event started to fade from your timeline once you were returned and starting to heal in Earth-928.

The spider society would remain silent near the medbay. The lights always being dimmed and hushed whispers between staff to not bother the distressed O’Hara. He refused to leave.

Your Peter Parker had now joined the team, much to Miguel’s dismay. Everyday your friends would come in and check to see how you were. Some telling stories about their day or any gossip updates you missed, in hopes that it would get you to wake up. They would ignore the gloomy Miguel who was basically glued to the seat next to you not saying a word to anyone.

At night Miguel would play with your fingers and softly stroke your hair all while pleading “Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. Por favor mi alma.” He knew it wasn’t his place to beg this after what he did, but he didn’t mind the words falling on deaf ears.

Miguel hadn’t eaten in days, he felt too nauseous from anxiety to even try anything. Pavitr had done the favor to bring you and Miguel’s favorite empanadas from a small street vendor downtown. Hoping to get Miguel to at least try the food before he ended up in a hospital bed next to you due to starvation.

You started to blink open your eyes, spots surrounding your vision. You could hear a soft breathing to your right side and you slowly felt your sense come back one by one. It felt like you just had a really rough nap.

“Oh my god that smells so good.” You moaned, sitting yourself up to try to look at where the smell of food was coming from.

You were met with a wide eyed Miguel holding a box of empanadas. His jaw slacked open acting as if he’s seen a ghost looking at you. Confusion hit you first for a second and then you start to panic.

Why was he here? Why was your ex-husband sitting right here? You started to push away from him and Miguel caught on to your panic.

“No, no, no mi amor stop.” He tried calming you. “You’re hurt, you’re going to open your stitches.”

You suddenly remembered everything that happened right before you blacked out. At that moment you forgot the hurt you had towards your ex-lover. Gathering yourself you just stared at him. “I’m suppose to be dead.”

Tears rimmed your eyes. Why did it feel like life just hated you so much?

Miguel engulfed you in his arms as you started to cry. You didn’t care right now. You had ached for this feeling again, so alone, with the comfort Miguel used to bring you. Just for a moment you could pretend like how it was before.

“We can’t do this Miguel.”

He knew what you were thinking. He didn’t want to let you leave his arms yet, as he let his self hold harder and push your head closer into his the crook of his shoulder. The tickle of your breath on his neck, he just wanted this forever.

“She left. Almost a year ago.” He let out to you. A big weight coming off of his chest. You pulled back from him and looked up into his eyes while you watched him avoid your gaze. You felt bad to say you could feel a bit of satisfaction bubbling in you.

“Good, she deserved better.”

“So did you.” Miguel sighed playing with his hands. Your eyes widened when you saw the ring still on his finger. He let you stare. “I-I could never. I couldn’t.” The emotions struggle to come out of his mouth. You understood him though. You always did. Placing your hand on top of his you just nodded.

“Please stay here.” He whispered.

Miguel had broken you in so many ways. Yet he almost ruined another universe just to keep you alive. You both needed time to talk and coming out a coma right now isn’t good timing.

“I finally became my own person when I went back in my universe. I enjoyed my independence.” The words pelleted at him. He could only hold his breath as he waited for you to continue. “I’ll stay… but not for you.”

It wounded him deeply; but he deserved it. This place will always be a home for you even if he wasn’t apart of it. Before he can tear his gaze and turn away, you reached out to hold his face close to yours. Your fingers gently rubbing on his cheeks as you slowly look at him properly after so long. You let your thumb smooth over his frown lines and he leaned into your touch closing his eyes.

“Let’s give us time.” Was the words you blessed that opened every door of hope he could find. He would take it, he would absolutely take it. He has to fight for you, he has to prove to you. He would do anything but for now he’ll be on his best patiently waiting for you.

Both of you sat comfortably without speaking, only the faint background beeps of the hospital monitor making up for the silence, while passing small glances. For once both of you felt a missing warmth you didn’t realize you needed. Sharing empanadas with each other, just maybe it will be alright…

—————————————————

The end!!! Thank you so so much for your time in reading my story. i really really was so happy with all the comments and feedback on pt 1 it really meant a lot!!!

i hope this was ok ~ i apologize for how long it was i was thinking of doing another part but just wanted to finish this up. I was in such a conflict how to end this. i hope it wasn’t too cliche or anything i’m just a sucker for very wanty needy dramatic stories. It’s a hopeful ending tho~ i couldn’t pick with just happy or sad.

So many of you had tons of amazing suggestions which I appreciated so much. I was such a mess trying to figure it all out. Many of you wanted to see Y/N move on with another person but I ended up going this route. I used Peter Parker as an obv character in y/n’s universe but it’s not tied to any specific one and you guy can think of him more to your liking if you want to!

If any of you would like a small drabble or imagine of another route of this story or just anything angsty/possessive and rarwrarwbarkbark miguel. I’d be glad to help lol!! My request box is wide open~ i had so much fun writing this!

—

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Izuku holding you sweetly in his arms, kissing your face and whispering sweet things to you after he found you relapsed and self harmed..telling you you're going to be alright. His hand gently caresses your back as your face is snuggled into his chest

"you got this.. you were doing so well,and im so proud of how far you've come. You made amazing progress,you're so strong..even after you relapsed

He whispers to you in a calm and soothing tone while making sure you're comfortable in his arms,not planning on letting you go soon

"please don't try to hurt yourself ever again,I don't think I could handle more of this,I care too much about you"

He places another kiss on your forehead, pulling you in closer to him, holding you even tighter

"I love you so much..you know that right? You're so amazingly strong. You're my everything and you mean so much to me..you're so loved"

How you accidentally made Dante look like a hero again

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: All you wanted was to outsmart Dante and prove he was setting you up for demon attacks in order to get closer to you. Instead, you ended up buried under library rubble, fighting off scorpion demons, and getting saved by him — again. This is why you have trust issues.

Warnings: swearing, kinda enemies to lovers dynamic, I just love Dante y'all need to have mercy with me lol

You’re starting to think you’re cursed.

That’s the only explanation for it. How else do you keep ending up in demon-infested alleys, haunted casinos, and - once - dangling upside down from a stolen motorcycle, twice in the same week? No average person deserves so much distress.

But even worse: every time - every damn time - there’s Dante.

Bursting in like he’s auditioning for an action movie. Guns blazing, coat flaring behind him, a cocky smirk plastered across his stupidly handsome face.

God, how much you hate that guy.

…do you?

"Oh no," you mutter under your breath when you spot him swaggering through the chaos yet again.

"Not this asshole."

"Miss me, babe?" he calls, spinning his sword once before cleaving a demon in half like it's no big deal.

You barely dodge a flying claw, pretty used to almost dying by now.

"Dante, why are there hellhounds in the laundromat?! I just came here to do my laundry!"

He winks at you like this is all part of some grand romantic plan.

"You know. Crazy city. You never know what’s gonna happen. Nice panties by the way, wish I could see them up close."

You stare at him, sceptical to say the least, as he shoots a demon that was two inches away from biting your head off.

"This is the fourth time this month. And every time you're 'coincidentally' nearby!"

He strolls over, casually beheading something with his sword like he's just stretching his legs. How many times have you seen this already? Probably like a hundred times.

This month.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, sweetheart."

You gawk at him. No, the thing he calls fate can’t be an accident. There is literally no way in hell that you get attacked even more often than himself. There has to be another reason. Could it be that…?

"Are you setting this up?!"

He gives you a look, all fake innocence and devilish grin.

That bastard.

"Who, me? Nahhh. Demons just have a thing for damsels. Lucky for you... I'm a professional knight in shining armor."

A piece of ceiling collapses dangerously close to you. You flinch for once. Dante doesn’t even blink, just throws an arm around your waist and throws you out of the way with way too much enthusiasm.

You land on your back with a grunt, staring up at the cracked ceiling and wondering what life choices led you here. Where did you take a wrong turn to deserve this? Being liked by a hot guy is all fun and games until the name of that jerk is Dante Sparda, apparently.

Dante leans over you, upside-down, grinning like a maniac.

"You good? Need mouth-to-mouth?" he offers helpfully.

You shove him off you, the heat of his body almost devouring you whole.

"I’m getting a restraining order."

"You say that, but then who’s gonna save you next time you almost get eaten by a possessed vending machine?"

You open your mouth to argue - and realize you have no idea how to deal with possessed vending machines. You groan, burying your face in your hands.

“Maybe you’re the one who possesses everything around me…”

Dante pats your head fondly like you’re some kind of beloved but very dumb kitten.

"You mean like your thoughts? Most definitely, yeah. But don't worry, babe," he coos cheerfully, "I'll always be there to save your pretty little ass."

You’re pretty sure that’s supposed to be comforting. Instead, you start mentally drafting your will.

“Get off me now, I need to get going jerk. And stop staring at my panties”, you hiss through gritted teeth while getting up, packing your things and leaving.

No, this isn’t an accident, not your fault by any means. Dante is the one who sets all of this shit up.

“That fucker…”, you mutter to yourself, slamming the door shut in fury.

You can’t do this anymore, can’t take seeing a demon each time you leave your house. You’ll have to teach him a lesson.

Yes, there has to be a way to stop this madness once and for all.

“I’ll catch you mid-act, Dante…”

You hatch a plan.

A pretty simple one: bait Dante into showing up, catch him red-handed, and finally prove he's arranging all this chaos.

You pick the most boring, demon-unfriendly place you can think of: the public library. No shady alleys, no creepy neon signs, no way in hell anything supernatural is hanging out between the tax law section and the dusty romance novels.

You text him a fake tip, something about "possible demonic activity" near the library, totally urgent, definitely needs his professional attention.

Then you sit back, tuck yourself into a corner with a stack of books, and wait.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. Thirty.

No Dante.

You start to relax. Maybe he finally got the hint. Maybe he's actually busy for once. Did your words from yesterday finally stir something inside of his brain?

And that's when the ceiling caves in.

You shriek as a massive scorpion demon crashes through the roof, scattering books and terrified civilians everywhere. Librarians are running for their lives. An entire row of encyclopedias explodes in a puff of dusty chaos, taking your sight while you desperately try to crawl out of the scene.

Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen. That definitely wasn’t written on your bingo card for today.

"What the hell?!" you shout, diving behind a bookshelf just in time before a whole fucking shelf bumps onto the ground next to you.

"HEY BABY!" a too-familiar voice yells from somewhere in the smoke.

You peek out and see Dante standing atop the checkout desk, dual pistols in hand, grinning like this is the best day of his life.

"Miss me?"

You stare at him, speechless. No, this has to be a dream. This was supposed to be a trap, you set him off in order to finally find him guilty. And now this?

"HOW?!"

He jumps off the desk, unloading a round of bullets into the demon's face like it’s a casual Tuesday.

"You sent me the text! Good instincts, by the way - I was gonna ignore it, but then I figured, ‘Hey, if my girl’s around, probably gonna be some action.’ And look! Action!"

You dodge a flying claw and seriously consider strangling him with a library card cord.

"I SENT YOU A FAKE TEXT!" you shout over the sound of gunfire.

"THERE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE A REAL DEMON!"

"Aw," Dante replies, kicking a demon minion into a copy machine, "you’re so modest. You’re like a magnet for this stuff."

You have no time to argue. The giant scorpion is bearing down on you. You grab the nearest weapon, a hardcover dictionary about curse words in Spanish, and hurl it at its head. It bounces off harmlessly. Yeah, what a surprise, actually.

Dante whistles low, impressed.

"Good arm, babe. But here - lemme show you how it's done."

Before you can blink, he’s in front of you, sword flashing, doing some ridiculously show-offy spin move that absolutely wasn’t necessary but looks cool as hell anyway.

The demon collapses with a final screech.

Silence falls over the destroyed library.

Books smolder, paper flutters in the air like sad confetti. Somewhere, a printer makes a pathetic beep before dying.

You sit down heavily on the floor, dazed.

Dante strolls over, all proud, offering you a hand up.

"No need to thank me. It’s kinda my thing."

You stare at him, mind still processing what just happened. Your mission failed – miserably, so say the least.  

"I literally TRIED to set you up."

"And look how well it worked!" he declares brightly.

"You lured out the bad guys! You're a natural at this demon-hunting stuff. I'm so proud."

You want to punch him. You want to kiss him. You want to punch him then kiss him.

Instead, you let him pull you to your feet, dusting off your scorched jacket.

"I'm never texting you again," you grumble.

"Sure you will," Dante coos, flashing that stupid, charming grin.

"You can't resist me."

You open your mouth to argue - and immediately get tackled to the ground as a second, smaller demon leaps from the wreckage.

You land with a painful thud, pinned beneath Dante’s weight as he shoots over your head, finishing off the last monster.

When the danger’s over, he stays there for an awkward beat too long, smirking down at you.

"See? Told ya. Always there to catch ya when you fall."

You groan, covering your face with your hands while absolutely hating how good his body weight feels on top of you, how surprisingly good that asshole of a man smells.

"I'm going to die of second-hand embarrassment."

"Nah," Dante retorts confidently, getting up and pulling you with him again.

"If anyone’s gonna kill you, it’s gonna be something way cooler. Like a demon. Or a possessed espresso machine."

You squint at him.

 "You’re not gonna let this go, are you?"

He slings an arm around your shoulders like he owns the place, like the ablaze library isn’t his fault at all, and leads you toward the exit.

"Nope. You're stuck with me, sweetheart."

You sigh.

Maybe getting a new phone and a new name wouldn’t be the worst idea.

…Or just giving in.

Bakugo doesn’t notice it at first. Not until one morning, when he walks into class and sees you sitting at your desk, head resting on your arms. You look tired. More than usual. Dark circles under your eyes, the slight puffiness, like you had been crying.

Something twists in his chest. He likes it.

He doesn’t know why, but the sight of you like this, vulnerable, affected, satisfies something deep inside him. It means you still care. That even if you’ve been ignoring him, even if you’ve been acting like you’re fine, you aren’t.

And that means… you haven’t moved on.

The thought settles in his mind, dark and selfish. He should feel guilty. Should feel bad that you’re clearly hurting.

But instead, he feels something close to relief.

Because it means you still think about him. That even after everything, he is still the one lingering in your mind. Not anyone else.

Him.

And for now, that’s enough.

But then—

"Are you okay?"

Midoriya’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

And just like that, the relief turns to rage.

Bakugo watches, eyes narrowing, as Midoriya crouches beside your desk. His brows are furrowed in concern, his voice soft, too soft. And you? You look up at him, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just didn’t sleep well."

Liar.

Midoriya doesn’t believe it either. He pulls something out of his bag, his notebook. "Here, I copied the notes from yesterday. You missed a lot."

You blink, surprised. Then, a genuine smile blooms across your face.

And Bakugo hates that.

Hates the way Midoriya makes you smile. Hates the way he’s looking at you, like you’re precious. Hates that you’re letting him.

It doesn’t stop there.

At lunch, you sit with Midoriya and the others instead of the usual squad. Bakugo doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Except he can hear you laughing. Can see the way Midoriya nudges your tray closer when you barely touch your food. Can see how you lean into him when he whispers something to you.

And worst of all, he sees the way Midoriya looks at you.

It’s the same way you used to look at him.

The rumors start soon after.

"Did you hear? Midoriya might like her" "I mean, have you seen them lately? They’re always together." "Honestly… kinda cute, don’t you think?"

The words slip through the classroom like a slow-moving poison.

Bakugo isn’t even trying to listen, but the whispers reach him anyway, each one pressing into his skull like a dull, persistent ache.

His fingers twitch. Then curl. Then clench into fists so tight, his nails bite into his palms.

Why does it bother him?

Why does his jaw tighten every time he sees you together?

Why does it feel like a punch to the gut when you walk into class and don’t even look at him?

Why does it piss him off so much when he catches Midoriya blushing because of you?

—

The breaking point comes on a normal day.

Bakugo’s already irritated, he doesn’t even know why anymore. Everything just pisses him off. The way Kirishima laughs. The way Denki’s chewing too loud. The way you are standing so damn close to Midoriya near the lockers.

Then, Midoriya reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small gesture. Barely anything. But it makes something in Bakugo snap.

Before he even realizes it, he’s grabbing your wrist, yanking you away.

"We need to talk."

You stumble but quickly regain your footing, yanking your hand out of his grip. "What the hell is your problem?"

"What the hell is yours?" Bakugo snaps back. His eyes are burning. "You and Deku. Why the hell are you always with him?"

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I don’t see how that’s any of your business."

"You—" He grits his teeth. "You don’t even wait for me after training anymore. You don’t—"

And that’s when you laugh.

It’s bitter. Cold.

"Bakugo, are you serious?" Your voice is steady, but your eyes, there’s something sharp in them. "You knew I liked you, didn’t you?"

He freezes.

You tilt your head, studying him. "You knew. And you let me believe I had a chance."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Did you ever care?" you whisper.

Bakugo doesn’t answer.

Can’t.

Because the truth is sitting in his throat like a stone, too heavy to swallow.

You watch him, waiting. Just hoping a little that maybe, just maybe, he’ll say something that makes this all worth it.

But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, fists clenched, teeth grit, jaw locked too tight and, nothing.

And that’s when you know.

You exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. More like… exhaustion. Like the last bit of hope you had has finally withered away.

"That’s what I thought."

You turn to leave, but for a second, just a second, you hesitate. Like you’re waiting. Like you’re giving him one last chance.

But Bakugo stays silent.

So you exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. Just exhaustion. Then, you walk away.

Bakugo doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t say a damn thing.

Just stands there, watching as you disappear down the hall, watching as you walk out of his reach.

And this time, you don’t look back.

This time, you won’t come back. Part 1

Lmao I love how Adam fought the radio demon, the princess of hell, and Lucifer himself, but in the end the one to put him down is a two-foot tall cyclops with a knife and blood lust. Him, the first man, DickMaster, descender of all men, inventor of sexism, getting killed by someone who was (assumedly) a 1950s housewife is just poetic. Good for her honestly. I know some theorize she may have had an abusive husband, and if so Niffty I’m so happy and I hope that cathartic for you.