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“What the fuck, O’Hara!” Your voice was a low growl as Miguel O’Hara, otherwise known as Spiderman 2099, stormed into the glowing lights of Spider Society’s HQ. Lyla was nowhere in sight, and you were keenly aware that when she saw the two of you appear with rage practically dripping off of you she wisely decided to be somewhere else. You chased after Miguel as he continued to walk, hands balled into fists as your face went red.
Miguel O’Hara had enraged you from the moment you crash-landed into the Spider Society. His attitude, his demeanor, and his harsh words for you as you got to know him made your blood boil. He was brooding yet confident, so sure of his every action that some prideful part of you wanted to take him down a peg by all means necessary. He may have been the unofficial leader of the Spider Society but all you truly wanted to do was to take him to the nearest universe for a brawl. Perhaps that would show him. But you held a begrudging respect for him as he lead thousands of Spidermen to capture anomalies to keep the multiverse intact. You could never do such a thing. So even while Miguel triggered the fight instinct within you, you followed him on missions and tried to follow orders. ‘Tried’ was the keyword. More often than not you adhere to the plan, just to your own accord.
“That was my goddamn anomaly in my own goddamn universe!” You yelled at his back as he continued to walk up to his platform, clearly ignoring the ever-increasing irritation in your voice. You were sure that he hated you as much as you hated him. You always tested his limits, toed every line that you could cross with every action, with every takedown. At team meetings before a mission you would make a snarky and quiet remark to the other Spiderpeople who would laugh under their breaths. For that, his hateful gaze was always reserved just for you. Despite his obvious animosity, Miguel continued to choose you for missions across the Spiderverse, and even at HQ. And while you hated him just as much, you delighted in the fact that he recognized your skill and precision. It was a terrible game the two of you played, crashing into each other’s egos until it became a duel.
“Jesus H. Christ, these two need to let it out. . .” You had once heard behind your back from Peter B. Parker as you had turned away from Miguel with a snarl post-briefing. Peter B. was an old friend, one of the first you had met out of your own universe but you still scowled at him. You wanted to take Miguel and claw the pride out of him and everyone knew that fact.
You shook your head as Miguel stepped on the platform and began to rise with it. He may have been the one with glowing red eyes (you had been on the receiving end of them many times) but you swore you were seeing too much red as you looked him up and down.
“Hey, motherfucker! I was not done talking!” Your heavy steps turned to a full-force sprint as you extended your hands toward the edge of the platform, translucent webs shooting from your wrist. You used your momentum and webs to sling-shot yourself toward the platform, fingers clawing into the edge as you hauled yourself to be at his level, a growl low in your breath. At the shake of the platform, Miguel turned around, head lowered with a splash of bright blood across his mask. The blood of your damn anomaly. Its blood should have been on you, not him.
“You sure have a mouth, Mimic.” Miguel’s voice is low and angry, and it set your emotions ablaze, a roaring inferno within your mind. Mimic, the damned nickname came out of his mouth like a curse. It was your nickname in the Society, a proper title for your specific ability of being able to mimic both the environment and other people around you. But when it came from him you wanted to shake him like he was a ragdoll. He could call everyone else their first names, Jessica, Hobie, Gwen, Peter B. but never yours. You were sure he knew your name, seeing it on enough briefings over the past months. You stalked closer to him, fist clenching and unclenching, your powers turning chaotic as one moment you seamlessly blended with the background of the command room, then to the anomaly he had just captured, and finally to a mirror image of him, before going back to your normal state. He could not see your full anger under your semi-reflective mask, but you are sure that he could feel it radiate off of you. You seethe for a moment before speaking.
“I thought that everyone had come to an agreement that the Spiderman of each universe has dibs on anomalies from their own universe? Or you know, am I just the exception to that like everything else that concerns your actions with me!” Your words come out in a furious rush and you feel a bead of sweat drip down your back under the suit. The actual fight was over a long time ago, but this fight was just starting.
“Clearly you couldn’t handle the…” You don’t let him finish, his tone matching yours in anger. He was nearly rattling with it. You found every point of irritation and punched them as hard as you could, always.
“‘Couldn’t handle’?!” You shriek, hating the way your voice sounds but seeing blood as he throws his shoulders back and laughs in a cruel tone. Suddenly he is much closer, leering down at you. You don’t know who moved first, or who will move next.
“I had it handled, thank you very much. I just needed approximately two more seconds until he fell into my trap, but no, no, big buff Miguel O’Hara needed to step in and get the glory that should have been mine.” Somewhere deep within your mind, you realized that this fight was pointless. You were running on adrenaline from a brutal fight where you had almost died, your own blood beginning to stain your suit. But you didn’t care. An agreement had been made and in your perspective, he had broken it. And as always, you would go down swinging to prove your point to Miguel. You pointed an accusatory finger at him, gazing hard at his face as he towers over you. His height, his heavy gaze, and the fact that he was covered in blood should have scared you and told you to back down. But it only added further fire to your veins.
“You did not, mocosa. Two more seconds and your head would have been caved in. I saved your ass, Mimic.” He stared you down and you straightened your spine, lips curling back into a scowl. What little Spanish you had retained from your college language courses did not help you as he spat vehemence into the word. You mentally reminded yourself to ask Lyla about what the word meant and use it as another reason why you might just murder him at some point.
He might have been right. Your universe’s Rhino had been barreling at you with full speed and with two seconds more would have been wrapped in sticky webs to the point that he could have never removed all of them. But there was the chance that you underestimated his force, his velocity, his unwieldy head. You were one of the few Spiderpeople that was bad at math. But still, it could have worked and maybe everyone could have walked away with less blood on them.
“That is an if, O’Hara! You showed me up on my own turf, my own streets! What if I did that in Nueva York? I am sure that you would want to just rip me a new one, asshole.” Spitting the words, you poke at his chest once more, the muscles twitching beneath your fingertips. You met his gaze with stubborn defiance, nearly ready to put some strength behind your fist to just punch him. Maybe that would make you feel better, knocking some sense into his enormous ego.
But your eyes went wide as he tore the mask off of his face, his hair disheveled and his blood dripping from a cut lip. His eyes were edged in glowing red and you swore that you saw fangs as he began to speak. If you were not so pissed off you would have called him handsome, just to see him scowl at you.
“Better for you to be embarrassed on your own streets than fucking dead on them for all your world to see.” His voice was a growl and this time you clearly saw fangs as he looked down. He took a step forward and for once, you silently took a step back.
“I have to deal with every universe, every Spiderman, the punk on 1610 fucking things up for everyone, and you…you.” His voice comes out low and he moves forward, his shoulder broad and his claws slowly emerging.
“Always complaining, always saying something back, always disobeying orders, always making your own plan behind my back. I should send you back to your own universe and make sure that you can never come back.” When did he get so close? You can feel his hot breath on your face, and look back in his red eyes. His stare is heavy and dark, threatening to consume you whole. He snarls, nearly snapping at you like a wild animal, toxin dripping from his fangs. With this, you suddenly realize that you had perhaps gone too far, but as his threat hangs in the air your voice strikes first.
“You wouldn’t, O’Hara. You need-” Your voice is cut short as one of his hands rips your mask off and throws it to the ground. Your senses react fast, latching around his wrist before his claws can wrap around your throat. For a moment, the two of you stand there, locked together in some deadly embrace. Your supernatural strength surges against his and as your blood roars in your ears and your face goes red, you know that something has just changed.
“I don’t need you.” Miguel’s voice is a snarl and you can smell the blood on the lips, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It makes your sense go wild, pupils dilating as a chaotic rewire sets a new kind of feeling low in your body. Miguel O’Hara was the thorn in your side, but you loved his pain. You ponder the realization for the briefest of moments before he surges forward, his lips cruelly meeting your own. He bites at them, harsh and sharp, relishing in the gasp that you let out as he devours you. His hand slides from the side of your head to the back of it, pulling the hair there to tilt your head to him. The pain is a pleasure as you return his kiss, angry and vicious as you tear at his lips. Your own sharp teeth make the wound on his lip worse and you taste blood on your tongue. He immediately pulls back, his hand gripping your jaw to hold you in place. As he pulls away, a smirk begins to form on your lips, swollen but a tinge redder from his blood.
“Puta mocosa.” He spits the words in your ear and your chest rumbles with laughter at his outburst. Laughing at him was not the wisest reaction, but you have never been the most sane Spiderperson. His mouth trails from your ear to breathe heavily down your neck. You shiver, still held in his grip as his fangs brush your sensitive skin.
“I don’t fucking need you.” His words are low and he speaks to himself as he bites a bruising kiss into the flesh of your shoulder. You nearly crumble in his grasp as he pulls at your suit to accommodate his mouth. Whatever anger was in you has transformed into wrathful lust, cruel and wanting. You are sure he knows. Heightened senses tell you that he feels the same way, blood rushing and mind lost in a haze of desire. You gasp as his tongue laves over the dark mark, a flush settling over your cheekbones. This time a dark huff of a chuckle rumbles from his chest.
“So this is what will shut you up, little Mimic.” His fangs press into your neck once more and you resist the urge to press into them, the dark part of you enjoying the sense of danger. But the nickname propels your anger to the forefront once more, tilting your head forward to bite the shell of his ear. He jerks away with a growl and even your heightened senses cannot stop him this time as he takes one of his hands and shoves you onto the table of the platform by your throat, the other hand coming to pin your sternum as well. The holograms on the table crackle and disappear at the sudden movement as you choke on your breath, writhing but not quite fighting back and he leans over you once more. His dark eyes rake over your body, taking in every curve and line before removing the hand from your throat to pinch roughly at one of your nipples through your suit. Despite what strength the suit had, his hand is cruel but you are nonetheless keen on the pleasure, eyes rolling back as he holds you still with his other hand.
“You infuriate me…” Miguel says with a snarl and he takes one hand to slither beneath the seamless edge of your suit, coming to grasp your chest with his warm hands. Because of this, a moan slips between your gritted teeth. A sharp smirk appears on his face at your quiet moan, all too happy to finally begin to break you down. He ups his ministrations as his other hand trails down your stomach.
“You…you seem to enjoy it.” Your voice is broken but still edged with pride as you wrap your legs around his narrow waist. You throb against the hardness of his dick and while he has your upper half pinned, your hips grind against him in an effort to prove your point. If you could piss him off to this point again, you certainly wouldn’t mind. For the briefest of moments you see pleasure wash over his face, his hips stuttering against yours. You bite back another moan at the feeling, only wishing for more. But he regains control of himself, both of his hands coming to grip your hips, his claws digging into your flesh as he forces you still. No words come from him as he presses a harsh kiss to your lips once more, forcing them apart as he devours you wholly. There is a strange taste in your mouth as his fangs graze your lips, the taste strong and bitter. But it disappears as he kisses you like a man starved, a pleasant thrum coursing through your nerves as the taste settles on your tongue.
“I should fuck some sense into you, mocosa. Show you how to fucking listen on my cock. I bet you would listen then, huh?” His words are sinful as they meet your ears and this time you crumble. If he asked now, you would let him do just about anything to you, a sense of desire running through you that no other person had ever elicited from you. You were so caught up in his filth that you do not feel his fingers traveling lower and lower, coming to the place where your body aches and wants.
“You’d only listen because you could only think of me pounding in and out of you, feeling me stretch you out with my dick. Maybe I should do this before every mission we go on, then you’ll stick to my plans.” You can’t even comprehend thinking about multiverses and anomalies when he is speaking to you like this. If someone asked, you would kiss the stability of the spider-verse goodbye if it meant him fucking you. He had awakened some dark desire and you wanted more than him, in any way that he desired. Your egotistical side screamed at your surrender, but the side that relished in the pleasure won you over faster. His claws became fingers as they slipped into the heat between your legs, quickly becoming wet and slick.
A low chuckle emanated from him as you moan, his finger deftly exploring your folds for every spot that made your voice hitch. With a swirl of his fingertips on your throbbing clit, you fold inwards, hands coming to scratch at his biceps and shoulders, the pleasure rising higher and higher from the base of your spine. You had never felt more turned on in your life as you threw your head back, his hungry eyes taking in your expression as the feeling tightened and tightened with each swipe of his fingers. But just as the pleasure was about to crest into something truly shattering, he pulled his fingers away. Your expression turned from bliss to rage as you stared at his face once more, a hand coming to pull at his luscious hair so that he’ll touch you again.
“Tell me, little Mimic, tell me you’ll fucking listen to me and I’ll give you what you want.” There was a wholly devilish look on his face and you snarl, chasing the pleasure as your hips rock against nothing, his hard body too far away to grind on. He simply holds you there as your writhe, fighting an internal battle to surrender to his cocksure attitude or not. But the hunger for pleasure triumphs and words fall from your lips, high and desperate.
“I’ll-I’ll listen…I swear-I’ll listen.” He captures your lips in a hungry kiss a second later, swallowing a shocked gasp as two of his thick fingers press themselves into you. Your walls clutch at his fingers as they begin to thrust in and out of you and all you can hear is a litany of your own sounds, the sweet notes of your moans and the sound of his fingers in your cunt.
“Good girl…good fucking girl…” Miguel says and you can barely hear him over the haze of your own desire, muscles tensing as pleasure settles deep within you. You shake against him, grinding against his fingers as his thumb comes to ever-so-slowly circle your clit. Crying out, your nails dig into the fabric of his suit, beginning to scratch down the length of his back as you struggle against the oncoming wave. He was way too fucking good at this, playing your pleasure like a damn instrument to the point that you were only seeing the darkness behind your eyes. Whatever anger you had for him was long gone, and as Miguel wrenched the pleasure from you, his wrath had disappeared as well. What remained was animalistic desire, reflected in his glowing red eyes.
Your mouth moved, rambling desperate pleas of ‘more’ and ‘please’ that his feral side delighted in. You went from gripping his back to the sides of the table as his wrist worked faster and faster against you. You were so close, pleasure rising like a tidal wave through your nerves. The only thing you wanted was to cum and bask in the feeling. But the sensation stopped as he pulled his fingers from you. The anger came back from a moment, your lips beginning to hurl a truly foul curse at him. But your mouth hung open as his tongue dipped between his fangs to taste yourself on his fingers. His tongue was filthy as he cleaned himself off slowly, a low purr of pleasure in the back of his throat as he closed his eyes. They snapped back open to gaze at your dumbstruck expression, laughing lowly under his breath.
“Surrender tastes good, princesa.” The words made your toes curl and your hips arch, betraying how desperate you looked, splayed out on his command center for his pleasure. His lips come to kiss your nipples and down your stomach, and you moan at the sensation. A few moments later, he rose to push the lower half of his suit down his legs, revealing his sizable dick, flushed red and straining upwards against his muscles. Your eyes zeroed in on it as he stroked it lightly, a smirk on his face as he gazes down at your lustful expression. Maybe, just maybe, you would listen to his stupid voice more if you got to experience that inside you more often.
“Do you want something?” His accent was heavier as he jerks himself off, eyes staring hungrily at the space between your legs and the blissed-out expression on your face. You nod shortly after his question, the horny side faster than the logical brain can stop. He laughs and strokes himself a little faster, clearly enjoying your cock-drunk lust.
“Say it, chica guapa.” The words come from his lips slowly and you bite your lip, looking between his dick and his face, processing what he wants from you. By then your decision is already made.
“I-I want your cock, Miguel, please.” Your voice issued your own damnation and before you could beg once more, he lunged forward, his dick pressing into you with one smooth thrust. He seats himself inside as you cry out in pleasure, no sense of pain as he lets out a low moan, feeling you gush around him.
"Fuck-you’re tight, princesa, jesus, fuck.” His words trail off in your ear as your legs wrap around his waist, the two of you enjoying each other for a brief moment. But the moment does not last long as his hips pulled back to thrust into you, another cry bubbling from your lips. He did not take long to set a punishing pace, his hands gripping your hips to push harder and faster. His claws dig into your flesh but the pain is a fragment compared to the feeling of him pounding inside you, turning more animalistic and brutal by the second. For each one of his harsh thrusts, you matched with your own, your nails drawing blood from under his suit and teeth tearing at his lips as you kissed him. His lips consumed your moans and cries of his name as he moved faster and faster. The sense of pleasure tightened in the base of your spine once again, spreading higher and high as his dick pressed the spots within you that made you see white.
“Good girl…you’re so pretty wrapped around my cock…fuck, I love what sounds you make, princesa…beg for it, pretty Mimic, beg for it.” There was a near-constant stream of filth that came from his mouth as he fucks you, his own pleasure making him harder, especially as you moaned and squirmed against him. The feeling rose again, your muscles tensing as a high roared forward. Your walls squeezed around him like a vice and with that feeling, he knew that he could not go on for much longer. And judging from your keening cries and the tightness he pushed against, you wouldn’t last either. With a quick twist of his wrist, Miguel’s thumb gently caressed your clit and you instantly came, a flash of white behind your eyes as you strangle his dick, pleasure blooming through your veins as your back arches. You stayed suspended in the blissful feeling even as Miguel’s thrusts pounded faster and faster, fangs sinking into your shoulder once more. He came in you tasting your lust and blood as his hips stuttered and left bruises in their place. You cry out once more as he grips you, feeling the hot flush within you as Miguel leaves his mark on you and in you.
For some time the two of you are locked in some primal embrace, sinking into sated pleasure before Miguel pulled out, leaving clear evidence of your fucking as cum dripped down your thighs. His gaze was still heavy as he looked at your body, slowly moving your cramped muscles to stand, coming to brace yourself against the edge of the now ruined table. With a rather gentle laugh, he steadied you, a rare moment of kindness that surprised you. You offered him a lazy smile in return, pushing hair out of your face and slowly pulling your suit back on, covering the makings that made it clear you had been just fucked within an inch of your life. As the suit settled into its place, you watched as he did the same, admiring every inch of his body before it disappears once more.
“Does this mean that if I continue to be an asshole to you we can do this again?” A wolfish smile appeared on your face as you pulled yourself to stand, watching as his expression quickly changed with a shake of his head. Now exasperation was written all over his handsome face. He slicked his hair out his face and turned to you a few moments later as you quietly giggle at his look. Your eyes were met with a devilish smirk as he grips the back of your neck.
“If you start to listen and learn, sure, princesa, sure.” As shock crossed over your face, he kissed you again, full of want and just a hint of anger that had led to this overall good event. In your books, you called this whole situation a victory, especially since you could look forward to sleeping with Miguel O’Hara again.