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“Totally unfair to swear on something you don’t have, dude.”

“What ‘chu mean ‘don’t have’?” Noah turned to look back at Mirage in confusion. “I gotta heart.”

“Literally and metaphorically, of course you do,” Mirage smiled at his odd compliment. “But a spark isn’t a heart though.”

“Just a catchy replacement for the word to use in human sayings?”

“No, no, it’s…” Mirage trailed off thinking of the best way to explain. “It’s kinda like an organ, I mean, it’s a physical thing.” He started pacing around the room, gesturing as he spoke, “But it’s… Well, I guess you could probably call it a soul I guess.”

That caught Noah’s attention and he spun around in his chair to face Mirage, “A soul? I thought you guys are robots.”

Mirage gasped in mock offense, “Alien robots, babe. I’m sure I’ve mentioned being techno-organic before.”

“Well, I know you’re alive so you gotta have something,” Noah paused, “But I don’t know. I guess the idea of a soul just never registered.”

“I guess if you don’t have one that’s physical, you wouldn’t think much of it, would you?”

Noah shook his head. “That’s pretty cool though, knowing it’s there, that you’ve got one and all that.”

“I hadn’t really thought of it, but I guess it’s a better alternative to just hoping you have a soul.”

“We have brains, and I’m no philosopher or whatever, but maybe that’s a human soul.”

“Mmm,” Mirage squinted his optics, “I’m no scientist, but I don’t think so. We’ve got brains.”

“Oh so you guys get brains and sparks? Pretty unfair if you ask me,” Noah teased.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mirage waved him off. “You wanna see it?”

Noah’s eyes went wide, “You can do that?”

“Dude, why would I offer if I couldn’t do it?”

Noah blushed a little in embarrassment, but brushed it off, “Fine, show me then.”

Mirage crouched down to be closer to Noah’s height. Noah watched in awe as pieces of Mirage’s chassis moved away to expose what was beneath, and he was face to face with a bright, glowing orb.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’? You say that like it’s boring.”

“No, no, no, I didn’t mean-”

“I’m just messin’ with ya,” Mirage laughed.

Noah rolled his eyes before leaning closer to get a better look. Mirage quietly admired Noah’s curiosity and intrigue as he observed Mirage’s spark. He had an idea that Noah might like.

“Wanna touch it?” Mirage asked.

“Oh,” Noah took a step back. “I don’t know, I don’t wanna like, fuck it up or anything.”

Mirage broke out in laughter, “I promise you can’t fuck it up. It’s not gonna hurt or anything like that,” he paused, “Well, it won’t hurt me.”

“But it’ll hurt me? You tryin’ to get rid of me?” Noah chided. 

“No,” Mirage exclaimed. “Probably not,” he whispered.

Noah heard him but chose to ignore it. His curiosity outweighed the potential danger, and while Mirage could be reckless, Noah didn’t think Mirage would suggest this if he really thought it was dangerous. So he reached out, but before touching it, he looked up at Mirage for confirmation.

“Go on,” Mirage urged.

Noah’s fingertips met the glowing orb and his eyes went wide. It felt staticky and warm, sending tingles up his arm, but it didn’t hurt. Noah chuckled and wiggled his fingers in exploration. The sensation caused Mirage to hum.

“What does it feel like for you?” Noah asked.

“Nice,” Mirage said in a soft tone. “It’s nice. Especially ‘cus it’s you.”

Noah smiled, “Yeah, I guess you don’t let just anyone put hands directly into your chest,” he laughed.

“Nah, but you get a pass.”

Humming in response, Lyla's smile only grows at the hint of concern crossing Miguel's face. "Sure." She shrugs, disappearing from his view whilst he returns to work.

Oblivious to the goings on, Peter strolls into Miguel's office with Mayday in his arms who continues to babble in his embrace. "I know, but I'm sure the big guy knows, Mayday." Peter explains quietly, hoping to see you perched on the platform with Miguel. Yet, you're nowhere to be seen in the room.

"Looks like you've got another visitor." Lyla chimes in.

Miguel groans internally, turning around as the platform slower lowers to reveal the sight of Peter B Parker and Mayday, who is hanging upside down in Peter's arms.

"What do you want?" Miguel doesn't bother to disguise his annoyance, even as Mayday reaches out for him.

Pulling her back, Peter averts his focus from Miguel's scowl. "Oh you know, Mayday was hoping to see Y/n. Overdue a game of hide and seek." Peter chuckles, only to be met with silence in response. "You seen her around?"

"She's not here, Peter." Miguel states, walking back to his platform and returning his attention to work.

Not quite convinced, Peter lifts his head up past the platform, noticing a stream of light to the left of the platform. "Well, worth a try." He calls out, tuning his ears to try and hear something, anything. And then he hears it. "I'll see you around, Miguel!"

Walking out of the office, Peter smiles to himself, only to be interrupted by Hobie and Gwen. "Well, where is she?" Gwen asks with a huff.

Hobie shakes his head with a half smile. "He ain't sayin." Hobie remarks, throwing his arm over Gwen's shoulders. "Come on, Gwen, best we leave 'em to it, yeah."

Back inside Miguel's office, he remains in front of the screens of amber, watching the various worlds until he hears the sound of movement to his left.

Checking the surrounding areas of the room, and the cameras around HQ, Miguel steps away from the screens to the small door on his left. "Hola, mi amor." Miguel whispers, cracking the door ajar to reveal you curled up in a twin bed, an eye mask covering your eyes and mouth ajar, snoring lightly. "Y/n?" He gently rubs your exposed shin, only to be met with a kick and a groan of you waking up.

"Miggy?" You mumble, lifting the eyemask up only to squint immediately at the angelic glow forming around Miguel. "'M still dreaming, aren't I?" Yawning through your question, Miguel shuffles into the room to sit on the edge of the bed.

"How's your head?" Miguel keeps his voice low, helping you sit upright before passing you some more water.

Taking a long sip, you sigh as the glass leaves your lips. "Never had any complaints." You joke, resulting in Miguel rolling his eyes whilst you chuckle to yourself. "It's a bit better, think the worst of the migraine is over."

"Tu quieres quedar, la monada?" Quick to slump against Miguel's lap, you hum in response, muttering something under your breath. "Que?"

"Heard you talking to the others." The mumble is more coherent this time, and Miguel nods. "Thank you, I'll make it up to Mayday tomorrow."

"Only when you're ready." Miguel strokes your hair from your face, removing the face mask hanging from your forehead. "Go back to sleep, okay? I'll check on you in a bit." He leans down, kissing your temple before helping you back to lying down.

As Miguel rises to leave, your hand shoots out to grab his. "Can you stay for a bit? Just 'til I nod off again?" Your pout was almost irresistible, something you knew and often used to get your way when it came to the big boss, much to his own dismay.

"I'll keep my eye out, boss." Lyla comments, appearing beside you, and smirking at you with a knowing nod.

"Fine." Miguel admits defeat, lifting his arms up for you to bury your face into his chest. "Ten minutes, Lyla, si?"

Checking her watch, Lyla nods before disappearing once more, and Miguel can't help but allow his eyes to close, just for a minute.

"Ugh, they're so cute." Lyla takes a photo, knowing somewhere in Miguel's heart, he'll love having this moment immortalized for all to see (well, maybe just you.)

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Miguel hadn’t come home in weeks, and it was with a guilty pinched smile and a bouquet of flowers that he reappeared at your doorstep. 

When you first saw him, you wanted to take the flowers from his hands and slam the door right in front of his face, but you knew that he certainly had a good reason and excuse to have done what he had done. 

He didn’t tell you much about it; you figured it was more about his spiderman activities than about his work, because he rarely told you about the spider stuff, wanting to keep you as far away from it as possible. You were sometimes mad that he wouldn’t tell you anything about it, but he kept on insisting that it was for your own good, that you shouldn’t get too close to it. He had already paid the price.

He apologized, apologized and apologized about not coming back for so long. You told him that it was fine, but he knew it wasn’t, he knew that you were hurt, he saw how you wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

He didn’t need this; he didn’t need you to hate him, it might be even worse and scarier than every universe collapsing.

He owed you an apology, a real one. He didn’t know if what he had in mind could work, but he could try.

Which was why he found himself with your thighs caging his face, your hand tightly gripping his hair. He sometimes got carried away, kissing and biting at your thighs while he repeated that he was sorry, over and over again, before you tugged his hair into diving back into eating you out like it was the last time he did it.

If you repressed your moans to let him know that you were still mad, he was doing all the contrary. He deeply enjoyed this, and he wanted you to know it. If he could spend the whole night between your thighs he would, and even though his crotch ached for some friction, all that mattered to him at that moment was you and your pleasure.

He mouthed at your pussy as if he was making out with it; licking long, slow and languid stripes through your folds, gathering your slick over his tongue as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. 

He pulled away to kiss the inside of your thighs, and just as you were about to scold him for it, he left a kiss at your clit before gently curling the tip of his tongue around it, making a strangled moan leave your mouth. 

He smugly smiled at your reaction but quickly got back to work; he actually thought of something better, and pulled away, making you groan at the loss.

He laid down on the bed and pulled you on top of him so you could straddle his chest, and you huffed out a laugh when he started to beg you to sit on his face, pulling your hips higher up his body so you could use him as you wished.

“Use me baby, I deserve to be used”

And it was a good idea, you had to admit. You could control it all now, grinding onto his face as if he was just an object. His nails were digging into the meat of your thighs, marking crescents into your skin as he hummed against you, his broad hands then shifting to your ass so he could knead the tender flesh, pushing you even lower onto his face. You even wondered how he could breathe, but your concern quickly flew out the window when his nose rubbed against your clit. 

Your hand had unconsciously fisted onto his hair to hold him in place as you rocked yourself harder against his tongue, fucking it until you lost your mind; you pulled away and straddled his chest just as you were about to come, leaving him confused and wondering as he caught his breath, the lower half of his face drenched in your juices. 

He licked his lips clean, looking up at you with half lidded eyes, so fucking pussy drunk. He sounded so gone when he asked you why you pulled away, but he looked even more gone as you got rid of his pants and explained that you wanted to come on his cock but that he wouldn’t get to come.

He let out a small whimper when you lowered yourself onto him, his hands finding and gripping your hips in a bruising hold. 

You bounced on him at an unforgiving pace; his head was thrown back into the pillows as he let out small moans, trying to contain himself.

You leaned onto him and kissed his neck, softly biting at the warm skin before repositioning and putting your hands over his chest, his muscles softly twitching under your touch, your soft moans driving him even crazier.

You were close, you knew it, and so did he. He watched down to where you were connected and bit on his bottom lip as he guided your hips up and down, your rocking more languid as you tried to reach your peak. You felt him twitch inside of you and reminded him not to come, and he responded with a small wail as he nodded, still biting hard on his bottom lip, the poor skin almost bleeding.

You came with a silent cry, his hips snapping up into you and burying himself even deeper as he worked you through your orgasm, focusing on every muscle of his body to try not to come as you rode out your high on his lap, his own about to tip over the edge. 

He whined as you climbed off of him, his orgasm stolen away from him, just as you had promised. 

You watched with awe and a sly smirk as his body stiffened, his cock twitching desperately in front of you, his hands pawing at the bedsheets in frustration. 

You smirked proudly, putting a hand at his cheek before kissing his lips then his forehead, his eyes shutting tight.

"Look at you baby" you cooed, looking down at your hand softly stroking his thigh to tease him even more, so damn close to where he needed you. “Maybe I'm a bit less mad at you.”

—

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Like....imagine, if you will, becoming an assistant for the Spider-society after your dimension is destroyed. It's mostly because Miguel took pity on you since you're not a spider-person, you had nothing to do with the unravelling of your world, and/or you were meant to gain your spider-powers but an anomaly in your dimension prevented it. Since there's no place for you in another multiverse, he keeps you on his team both to give you asylum and to keep an eye on you just in case you prove to be an anomaly yourself....but it becomes pretty clear pretty early on that you're not really a threat. Not for violence, at least.

You're just a sweet thing that gets doted on by nearly everyone in the society--you're either a refreshing break from the endless spiderman variants running around or you remind the spiders of their Mary Janes, their Gwen Stacies, their Gayatri Singhs, and being a civilian to boot makes you the perfect candidate to have your things carried for you and be given web-slinging rides around the facility even though you're supposed to be the assistant here.

But even so, even though you're treated so lightly, Miguel really likes you and even--gasp--enjoys your company. It can be hard to tell with him, but the most perceptive of the spiders notice that Miguel keeps you in his good graces always. When he's stressed or in a bad mood, he collects himself before he speaks to you. He never snaps at you, and on the very rare times you get caught in his crosshairs, he apologizes quietly and gently and reiterates that whatever it was about, it wasn't your fault. He gives you so much wiggle room for error to the point that his companions sometimes complain outright that he's such a hardass, but he never berates you when you make a mistake, and without fail Miguel will come up with some reason for it; "That's because they don't screw up as often as you do" or "At least I can trust them to do their job", or he'll just tell whoever's bitching to leave you out of it and he'll dismiss you to discuss the matter privately.

Surprisingly, those incidents don't bother him nearly as much as when the inner circle starts getting closer to you. He feels this deep need to pull you away when Gwen offers to take you on a trip through the dimensions (although that's just plain dangerous), but it also bubbles up when Hobie hangs around and encourages you to join his band, and when Jess asks you questions about your life and is eager to hear about any potential romances you might be getting yourself into--there's a lot of single spider-people out there, and you're not tied to any dimension, so you've got plenty of options!

God, Miguel hates when Jess brings that up. You don't need to go anywhere, your place is here. You can stay here safely, which is something he can't promise in any of those other dimensions the spiders come from. But that's not the real reason, he realizes that when he feels that tingle at the sight of you holding Mayday and playing with her, having been given the task of impromptu babysitter for Peter when he has to rush off and do damage control somewhere.

It's you. He likes having you around, and it's not about letting you venture off into other dimensions, he just doesn't want you to leave him. That's why he loves it when you reply to those people, when you tell them "Oh, but I couldn't leave Mr. O'Hara! He'd lose his head without me." or "I really like this job, actually. I wanna keep working under Mr. Miguel." and especially "Miguel saved my life, I owe him all I can give. I could never leave him all alone." because it just reaffirms that desire for him to keep you as close to his side as possible. When he replays those videos of himself and his daughter, the pain is dulled for a while as he sees your eyes in hers, and envisions a future where you create a new family with him--one that he can properly protect this time.

It's that fantasy that emboldens him to lay hands on you, your body so puny and small in comparison to his massive frame, so fragile as he holds your hips in both hands and waits for you to tell him this isn't really what you want. He's waiting for it, anticipating it, even reminding you that you have the option when you look up at him shell-shocked. He promises that your answer won't affect your position here. It falls on deaf ears, however, because you desperately want to kiss him but you just don't think you can reach.

It's so adorable to see you try. Up on your tiptoes, clutching at his suit, straining to try and reach him where he's at--all it takes is an arm around your waist and he's got you off your feet and in the air, perfectly situated to press your pretty mouth to his own and awaken his instincts that have laid dormant all these long years. The stress of keeping each and every dimension following its intended canon has nearly broken him, it might have done so already if not for your unexpected appearance in his life. It's riled him up so much he doesn't think twice about taking you back to his place, nor gives him second thoughts when you help him peel that tight suit off and he tears through your clothes just as easily--maybe it really doesn't matter. His world is gone and so is yours, but you're both still here and you're begging him for another kiss, for more attention. How sweet could you possibly be? Pleading for something you'll always have and not realizing it's the least you deserve, perfect as you are?

Miguel just can't help himself anymore, he's too far gone and you’re too angelic for him to let down when you want him so badly. You don't seem to mind the rough treatment as he pushes you down either, no, you thrive on his aggressiveness and even encourage it to come out as he clambers over you. That pretty smile and those giggles as he shoves your thighs apart and spits, his venom sending electrifying tingles up and down your spine as he fingers the makeshift lube inside you. He's so bulky you can't even get your legs all the way around him when he lowers himself, forced to let your heels scrabble down his lower back as you struggle to find some kind of purchase on him--to just grab something and let it keep you steady as he slides in and rocks you into oblivion. The toxins loosen you up too, thank god, or else you'd be seriously struggling to take him in when he's practically twice your size. And he doesn't want to force it in, he just wants to ease you into the process before he allows himself to batter your poor body with thrusts that shake the whole bed--it's a little bit of payback for flaunting your pretty self around his office without ever telling him how you actually feel about him. Now you know exactly what you've been missing.

Drooling, hair sticking to your skin, sweat dripping down your chest, body gripping him like a vice yet endlessly slick....you're a total mess and he couldn't be more satisfied. You don't even try to keep yourself together, but that's all that he wants--he wants you to lose yourself in the way he makes you feel so you won't ever want to leave. The taboo is there; you're not from his dimension, he shouldn't be planning any kind of future with someone who doesn't belong in his world. But it makes it all more thrilling in the moment even if he can reason his way around it, it makes his every thrust gain power until he's breaking your willpower down enough to have your eyes rolling back in your head, hips jumping weakly as you try to participate. You don't even know how good you make him feel without lifting a finger.

Gliding through you as if you couldn't be more willing to take him, his position is clear just from a glance down at your stomach--the bulge is obvious, and as sickening as it could be your whines as you brush your fingertips over it sing his praises without a coherent word. You're so wet and stupid and needy on his cock, clearly he should've done this a long time ago when you were so much worse at hiding your pining looks at him from across the room. If he knew it would culminate into this, he would've saved the assistant crap and turned you into his stress relief toy that very first day. If he had, you might've already had a family by now....knowing him, at least.

It's still just as sweet to lick your tears up now, though. You're already drunk on his cock, it doesn't make much more difference for him to sink his fangs into your throat and pump you full of more venom straight from the source, the shock sending you straight into orgasm and dragging it out for so long he fears you might just pass out from the pleasure. It's like he's juicing up a plump little fruit until it's so ripe it could burst. And as if your own ecstasy wasn't enough, you really lose it when Miguel has you pinned and flooding that sore, fluttering little hole with so much seed it burns. Jets of pearly-white cum squirting down your thighs, painting you like a canvas without him even pulling out, because you just can't take him at his peak and you know it. You just have to whine and squirm beneath him as he fills you up, his hot breath puffing over your cheeks as he keeps you barely still enough not to wiggle away. With a shift of your hips you nearly slip off right up to the tip, his cum sloshing about and making everything too slick--but a hand slides up your neck and grips the crown of your head, his biceps flexing as he slowly pushes you back down with vermillion eyes piercing through your heated flesh. Lower, deeper, until he's seated himself up in your guts again and holds you there to milk those last few shots out of him, keep him nice and warm with those precious walls uncontrollably spasming around him. Doesn't stop you from pulling his head down closer, though, and whispering your praises while begging in whimpers in equal measure, urging him not to stop now. You're not ready to let him go.