#anxious reader

Michael Jackson x Female!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety mentioned, especially social anxiety. Reader is shy. Reader is mentioned as a girl.

Summary: you’re a shy actress who’s unsuccessful, until you got a call saying you got the role as the leading lady in Michael’s short movie thriller. Quickly building a bond with Michael.

The ceiling fan in your apartment had a rhythmic click that usually helped you focus, but today it felt more like a countdown. You sat at your kitchen table, a lukewarm cup of tea forgotten beside your elbow, staring at a stack of headshots that felt more like apologies rather than actual professional resumes.

The rent notice sat on the table in front of you like a predatory animal, it’s bold red letters taunting the stack of loose change beside it. You sighed, the sound echoing through the tiny one bedroom apartment that smelled faintly of nettle tea and old floorboards.

Living in LA was supposed to be your dream. Instead it was a series of cold repetitive auditions, polite “no’s,” and long shifts at the diner from across the street. Your parents’ voice still haunting the edges of your brain, “acting isn’t a career, it’s a hobby,” your father had said plainly not taking you seriously, his face set in stone. “When you’re ready to be serious, there’s a desk at the firm waiting for you.”

You hadn’t spoken to them in six months. The pride was a heavy weight, but the anxiety and rush of proving them right was heavier. You were a shy girl by nature, the kind who preferred to be alone in a library on weekends rather than a spotlight, yet when you stepped into character it was the only time when the world made a little more sense. The only time you felt brave.

The sudden, shrill ring of a telephone nearly made you fall off of your chair. You hurried to the wall mounted unit, your heart hammering violently against your ribs.

“Hello?”

“Is this the girl who can actually scream, or am I calling the wrong number?”

It was Rick, your agent. He was a fast talking man who usually only called you to tell you the news of being let down from another audition.

“Rick? Yes, it’s me,” you said your voice small and nervous as you fidgeted with the cord.

“Pack your bags- well, don’t pack your bags, just get your head on straight. You remember that cattle call for the Landis project? The music film?”

You held your breath. You remembered every detail. The room had been loud and chaotic, filled with gorgeous women ready to audition while you had sat in the far corner, nervously going over your script. Feeling like a plain sparrow among peacocks.

“Yes.” You answered, too nervous to give any other sort of answer.

“They want you. Not as an extra. Not as a body in the back. You’re the girl. The lead. The girl in the theatre and in the woods.” Rick was practically vibrating, you could tell he was proud of you, you had waited so long for this. “It’s Michael Jackson, kid. The Thriller short film. You start rehearsals tomorrow.”

The world seemed to tilt. The Thriller song was everywhere, blaring from cars, within every shop. And Michael Jackson? He wasn’t just any regular singer.

“Me?” You spluttered out. “Are you positive?”

“Landis liked your ‘authentic vulnerability.’ His words, not mine. Don’t mess this up. A car will be there at eight. Be ready.”

The line went dead. You started at your yellowish peeling wallpaper, your hands and legs shaking so hard you had to sink down to the floor to sit for a second. You? The girl who apologised to furniture when she accidentally bumped into it? You were going to be on camera with the most famous man on the planet.

The next morning you were buzzing with anxiety. When the black car pulled up outside your crumbling apartment building, the neighbours stared. You kept your head down avoiding eye contact, your stomach currently performing a series of complicated gymnastics.

The production office was a mess of activity. People with headsets seemed to be dashing back and forth, carrying racks of clothes and prosthetic makeup. You felt like you were intruding, a mistake waiting to be corrected.

“You must be the lead,” a woman holding a clipboard said, looking you up and down. “John’s in the back with Michael, they’re going over the choreography. Follow me.”

Every step felt like you were walking towards a gallows. They’re going to realise I’m boring, you thought. They’re going to realise I’m just some ordinary girl they accidentally chose and they’ll send me home.

The woman led you into a large, empty, open rehearsal space. The space was quiet, no music was playing, but the anxiety buzzing seemed to make everything feel loud. In the centre of the room stood a man. He was slender, wearing black trousers and a red corduroy shirt, his hair styled into those iconic curls. He was talking to John Landis, the director, but he stopped the moment you entered.

John instantly beamed. “Ah! There she is. Michael, meet our leading lady.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You stood there, frozen, your fingers interlaced so tightly they were turning white.

Michael stepped forward. You expected an aura of untouchable cool, cockiness or even rudeness. Instead, he moved with a curious, light-footed grace that seemed almost hesitant.

“Hi,” he simply said.

He seemed incredibly gentle. He stopped a few feet away, giving you your space, his dark eyes wide and searching.

“I’m Y/N.” You said quietly, yet loud enough for Michael to hear you.

A small, shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He looked down at his feet for a second before meeting your eyes again. "I’m Michael. It’s very nice to meet you. John showed me your tape. You have very expressive eyes. You look like you’re really feeling what the character feels."

"I was mostly just terrified," you admitted before you could stop yourself.

Michael let out a soft, melodic laugh. It wasn't a mocking sound, it was warm. "Me too. Most of the time."

In that moment, the crushing weight of your anxiety lifted just an inch. He was the biggest star in the world, and he was standing here, fidgeting with his sleeve, trying to make you feel comfortable.

You blinked. "You? But you're... you're Michael Jackson."

He shrugged a shoulder, a casual gesture that made him seem remarkably human. "The lights and the cameras help. But when it's just people... it's a little scary, isn't it?"

"It's very scary," you agreed, your voice steadier.

"We’ll be scared together, then," Michael said, his eyes crinkling. "That makes it easier."

The first few days of filming were a whirlwind. You spent hours in hair and makeup, being transformed into the girl of the 1950s for the movie. Michael was everywhere, consulting with the makeup artists on the zombie designs, practicing his footwork in the corner, or huddled with Landis.

But despite his busy schedule, he always found a way to check on you.

"Are you warm enough?" he’d ask during a break in the chilly night air of the backlot, gesturing for an assistant to bring you a jacket.

"I'm okay, Michael. Really," you’d say, touched by the gesture.

One evening, while the crew was resetting a complicated lighting rig for the theater exterior, you found yourself sitting on a prop crate, tucked away from the main bustle. You were reading a worn paperback, trying to keep your mind from spiraling into the "what if I mess up the next take" abyss.

"What are you reading?"

You looked up to see Michael standing there. He had his varsity jacket on, the one he’d be wearing for the scene. He looked like a regular teenager, albeit a very handsome one.

"Oh, it's just a book of poetry," you said, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "It helps me stay calm."

"Can I see?"

You handed it to him. He sat down on the crate next to you, not too close, respecting that invisible bubble of space you always kept around yourself. He flipped through the pages with slender, delicate fingers.

"I like this," he whispered, reading a line to himself. He handed the book back, his eyes lingering on yours. "You’re very quiet, Y/N. People on sets are usually so loud. They want everyone to look at them."

"I don't really want people to look at me," you confessed, looking at your shoes. "I just want to do a good job. I think my agent thinks I’m a bit of a lost cause because I don't network." Michael nodded slowly, as if he understood better than anyone.

He stayed with you for ten minutes, just sitting in the comfortable silence. He didn't demand entertainment, he didn't try to impress you. He just existed in the space with you. When the 1st AD called for "Michael on mark," he stood up and brushed off his jeans.

Before he stepped away, he reached out. It wasn't a grand gesture; he simply tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingertips grazed your skin, a brief spark of warmth that felt far more intimate than a hug would have.

He didn't pull his hand back immediately. He let his thumb trail lightly along your jawline, a silent, grounding touch that seemed to say I see you.

"If the craft services guy tries to give you that burnt coffee again," Michael added with a quick, lopsided grin, "tell him you're with me. I’ll make sure you get the good stuff from my trailer later."

After a couple of more rehearsals with Michael, you can’t help but feel as if you’ve gotten more comfortable with him. The idea that at the beginning you thought Michael would’ve been cocky seems bizarre to you now.

4 days have passed, it’s the last day of shooting. You can’t help but feel sad, it was the first big project you had ever been apart of, but that wasn’t the main thing that was concerning you. It was the fact that you might not see Michael again.

It was near the end of the short movie, you had been asked to give Michael a small kiss. They hadn’t specify what sort of kiss, on the cheek? On the forehead? Lips? You were anxious, but right in the middle of your chest you could feel a light buzz of excitement.

You were talking with Michael, and you couldn’t help yourself but ask, “where do you want me to kiss you?” Michael looked down at you, a grin splitting onto his face. “Where would you like to kiss me?”

The cameras were rolling, Michael tapped you on the shoulder, your character’s fear facade crumbling as she came to realisation. You stood up as Michael wrapped a arm around your shoulder, quickly you leaned over and gave Michael a kiss which landed on his jaw.

A red lipstick mark appeared perfectly on his jaw, as you looked up you saw the faint hue of a deep red across his cheekbones. He smiled nervously.

After the recording finished you felt sad as you slipped on your coat. You reached into your pockets aching for some warmth from the cold, that’s when you felt a piece of paper neatly folded. You pulled it out and unfolded it and there you saw messily scribbled was Michael’s number.

"I can't! A wedding? No, no, there's so much to do for a wedding.." Johnny watches as you start to spiral, panicking about something that hadn't even happened. "And there's speeches... and food, the seating charts! What if I make someone upset?"

"Bonnie! Stop, stop!" Johnny grabs your shoulders, squeezing them tight to ground you. "We don't have to have a wedding, you know?" You sputter for a second, bringing your hands up to his face.

"What?"

"If you don't want a wedding, we won't have one. We can do whatever you want, just as long as I get to be with you for the rest of my life." Johnny whispers as he pulls you closer, smoothing his hands down to your hips and pulling you against him. "We'll go to the courthouse. Have a nice vacation for just the two of us."

"That sounds great... I'm sorry I said no at first." You pull him in for a kiss, giggling a little when he kneels back down on one knee. "Johnny, you don't have to -"

"Of course I do." He chuckles as he gently presents the open ring box again. "Will you marry me? No wedding involved?"

caretaker!jean who remembers your food / drink orders everywhere in case you're too nervous to talk to strangers. if it happens to be wrong, he knows right away and fixes it before it can even upset you.

caretaker!jean who knows exactly what you need just by one look. if words become too much, your relationship is so much more than just verbality.

caretaker!jean who takes you on nature walks / runs every day to get out any negative energy and clear your head. it helps him almost as much as it helps you.

caretaker!jean who uses grounding techniques on you when you're struggling without you even realizing. asks you to take deep breaths, name everything around you that's a specific color or shape, or ask you to tell him what you smell in that moment.

caretaker!jean who walks you through your anxieties and struggles, helping you to check the facts and stay away from extremities.

caretaker!jean who would never, ever, make you feel insecure about your feelings. controlling feelings and fears are next to impossible. that being said, he will help you process those feelings so you act in the calmest way possible.

caretaker!jean who will ground you with his touch whenever he can. touching arms, thighs, foreheads. he'll press his head to yours and stay there until you feel better.

caretaker!jean who rests his hand on your thigh when you bounce your leg. not in a way that makes you feel like you have to stop, but in a way that makes you feel less alone.

caretaker!jean who hugs you until you let go. even if it's for an hour, he doesn't care.

tired of me yet? i'm almost spamming these atp. hope u like it though!

nav.

♡ 9:59 p.m — steve’s couch, his leg far too close to yours. you’re chill. you’re cool. you’re definitely not spiralling. not even a little bit.

You’re trying to be normal about this. Really, you are. Promise.

A/N: Lowkey inspired by "the craving" by twenty one pilots!

Frank Langdon x anxious!reader

CW: some angst, anxiety, minor description of death (patient), post rehab Frank

Word Count: 1,000+

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Anxiety was something you had struggled with for a while. You thought you hid it fine, going off into corners, breaking down in silence, never asking anyone for help. That was until you got together with Frank, who unraveled you in a way you had no idea anyone could. You had both helped each other through so much. You had been there throughout rehab, standing by Frank when he thought no one would, visiting him as much as you could, keeping him strong when he felt incredibly weak. To him, you were a big encouragement to get better. And he had helped you too, so much. He helped you through your worst moments, distracted you when you couldn’t stop thinking, held your hands when they were shaking, talked you through deep breaths. All in all, you made each other better. 

You came out of all of it better, together, but, when you looked at Frank you saw your strong, resilient husband. When you looked at yourself, you saw someone who was still struggling to get by. He told you you were making progress, that you were better. There were still bad days though, too many for the amount of help you had been receiving, you thought. Days where patients got to you, days where you took one too many breathers outside, days where you couldn’t show up at all. But, Frank saw you through all of it. Talking you down, helping connect you with a therapist. You’d hoped that he feels that you’d helped him half as much as he had helped you. 

On one of these bad days, you had lost a patient. You were doing compressions for at least 20 minutes, you were sore and tired, but your patient was dead. Robby assured you it wasn’t your fault, but after the debriefing you quickly escaped to the hallway, blinking tears out of your eyes, your breath shallow and shaky as you replay the sound of the flatline in your head. You don't even realize Frank is outside of the room waiting for you, you don’t realize that you shoulder check him as he asks you if you’re ok. You just make your break for the hallway, replaying the last twenty minutes in your head over and over, trying to fix it, but you can't. 

You stand in the empty hallway, taking deep breaths, tapping your collarbones back and forth, back and forth. You focus on the feeling of your fingertips against your collarbones, trying to calm down. 

“What’re you doing?” Frank asks softly, snapping you out of your trance. You look at him for a second before replying, moving your hands away from your collarbones, starting to pick at the skin around your thumb before Frank grabs your hand and squeezes gently. 

“It’s supposed to help, I don’t know, I read it’s supposed to help.” You say, not meeting his gaze. 

“Well, does it help?” He asks, his tone patient and his brows raised. 

“In the moment, I guess it does,” You say with a nod, thinking the question over, “people do it in a lot of places, like their forehead or under their eyes or wrists,” You say, demonstrating each one for him, he follows along lightly, “but I think the collarbones help the best, it’s new.” You finish your sentence, your tone quiet and shaky. Frank pulls you into him, putting his hand on the back of your head. 

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found something that helps, even a little bit,” He says, kissing your head, you nod into him, letting him hold up your weight, “Y’know what happened wasn’t your fault.” He adds, his voice muffled by your hair. 

“Robby said that too, but I just can’t stop thinking.” You say, letting out a shaky breath, tears burning your eyes. 

“I know,” He says sympathetically, tightening his grip on you, “but I just want you to know that it wasn’t your fault, ok? You’re a great doctor, and you gave it all you got.” He adds encouragingly, you nod against him, breathing him in, taking a moment before saying anything. 

“I’m sorry I put this all on you.” You say after a minute, Frank’s brows furrow at the comment. He pulls you away from him, grabbing your face in his hands so he can look at you. 

“You are not putting anything on me, ok?” He says, his tone quickly getting serious. 

“It just feels like I am sometimes.” You say, wiping your eyes and sniffling, he shakes his head and pulls you back into him. 

“You’re not, and do you know how much you’ve helped me through my shit? It’s about time I repay the favor.” He says resting his chin on your head. 

“That’s different.” You say, your voice now muffled by his chest. 

“No it’s not, and I’m never gonna stop being here, so you need to get used to it.” He adds, his tone teasing, you laugh against him, he relaxes as the sound leaves you. 

“Take all the time you need, and find me if you need anything, ok?” He asks, pulling you back to look at you again. You nod silently, kissing him, muttering thank yous in between kisses. He leaves eventually, forcing himself away from your touch and back to reality. You go back to tapping your collarbones for a minute before heading back out as well. Silently promising yourself to ensure you give as much as you take. Because with you, he is good, and soft, and gentle, and you had no idea what you did to deserve him. 

The rest of the shift you felt his eyes on you, silently checking in, making sure you were ok. You gave him small smiles or silent thumbs ups when you could, promising him everything was ok now, that you felt better. It took some convincing, but he believed you eventually, even though he made sure to hold you extra tight that night.

The bad days, for both of you, got lighter, easier to deal with. They still happened sometimes, but you were there for each other, no matter what. And now, when he was having bad days, or particularly rough moments, when the cravings were strong, you would catch him tapping at his collarbones, or wrists. And you think to yourself, maybe you do help him, maybe you do give as much as you take. You were both broken, but when you were together, it just felt right. 

The morning of your wedding smells like hairspray and champagne and nerves.

Your bridesmaids are everywhere—curling irons hissing, dresses rustling, someone laughing too loudly, someone else hunting for a missing earring. Music plays from a speaker in the corner. It’s joyful. It’s chaotic. It’s everything a wedding morning is supposed to be.

And it’s too much.

an: this is based off a request for an anxious or scared reader with Noel where noel likes to baby the reader and the reader loves it as well. i went for 2000s noel because i think hes soo sexy. the ask was quite vague which i lucky for me bc i really wanted to do it at like a party or an event or smth because i thought it wld be cute. i probs won't proof read this sry.

wc: 2.5k

cw: nothing much tbf. mentions of anxiety, brief mentions of drugs and alcohol but not much detail, noel is a bit of a cheeky shit, megaaaa cringe baby talk BEWARE

you had always been a nervous person. as a child, your mother would scold you for picking your nails until they bled or fiddling with the hem of your skirt so much that the hem flipped down and she had to resew it. when speaking in class, your words would catch in your throat as your eyes brimmed with tears. it wasn't that you didn't have anything to say, or you weren't interested by your company as some people wrongly assumed. it was that the thought of speaking around people was so daunting it terrified you in the same way that being mauled to death by a bear might terrify someone. someone had convinced you to move to London. you don't know why you agreed to move into a scroungy flat that had paint peeling of the walls above a busy newsagent in a particularly lively area of a city infamous for being perpetually loud and intimidating.

Hii thank you so much!! I love platonic yandere hcs so much hahah. This kinda ended up being a bit more of a child/parent dynamic, I hope you like it!!

More Content Here! Warnings - Yandere, manipulation, guilt-tripping, stalking.

ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! ᴍɪɢᴜᴇʟ ᴏ'ʜᴀʀᴀ x ᴀɴxɪᴏᴜꜱ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

At first, you're invisible. Always clinging to other people and keeping your distance from conversations or confrontations. Miguel has no reason to seek you out because you're never there for him to notice you in the first place. You keep your universe out of trouble, you had your canon events: you're a perfectly normal spiderperson.

However, the day you befriend Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr is the day Miguel notices you. Miguel isn't a fan of Hobie (and Pavitr by extension), so when he sees you laughing around with the rebels, he's keeping a close eye on you.

One Hobie is bad enough; he couldn't handle two. But the second he lands his focus on you, he realises you're far from a teenage rebel with a punk attitude. You're the complete opposite, actually.

You're like a time bomb, slowly ticking away. Always looking around anxiously, fidgeting with your fingers, chewing the inside of your cheek, as if waiting for an explosion tailored especially for you.

When you're not tapping your fingers against your multi-dimensional watch, you're hiding in the shadows of other people, quite literally watching their backs as you scan your surroundings. It confuses Miguel greatly.

Did something happen for you to be like this? Was it your canon event? Or are you just a naturally anxious person who's terrified of a simple knock?

Miguel's so infatuated with trying to figure you out that he's not so subtly ignoring Gwen's reports just to ask about you.

"Who's the kid?" Gwen tilts her head. "Who?" "The one next to Hobie." "Oh, Y/N. They're new here. I think they were bitten, like, 4 months ago? They're cool. I haven't spoken to them much, but they're really close with Hobie and Pavitr, so..." Gwen's words fade into the background as Miguel focuses on the only information that matters to him.

You're new. You're around Hobie's age. And you're friends with Hobie and Pavitr. Great, out of everyone to befriend, it had to be the thorns in Miguel's side.

Miguel watches as you sit beside Hobie, laughing along at something Pavitr said before snapping your neck to look over your shoulder. You take a minute to assess your surroundings, biting your lip before turning back to your friends. Pavitr and Hobie didn't even spare you a second glance, and Miguel ponders if they're used to it or if they're not paying attention at all.

So, to ease the buzzing questions in his brain, he does his own investigations. Call it an abuse of power and a breach of privacy, but he's scanning through all the files he can find and downloading them onto a USB. His obsession with learning about you even makes LYLA narrow her eyes in confusion.

"Uh, hey, big boss, don't you think this is a bit weird?" "They're friends with Hobie; they're a potential threat." Lyla scans the digital copy of your photo and points a finger at it. "...they're a threat?" She asks Miguel in an obvious, dumb tone. However, when Miguel shoots her a look, she shuts up.

Miguel's fixation on you only worsens the day a portal opens in your dimension and he, Gwen and Jess have to go assist you in defeating a Vulture and Green Goblin that isn't yours.

The capture is easy. Miguel's not new to this; he's been defeating alternate villains since this whole portal dilemma started. However, trying to avoid staring at you the entire fight proved to be difficult.

The first thing he notices is the blood on your suit. Were you okay? How'd you get hurt? When you land on a building, you land only on your less dominant leg, and he's furrowing his brows. Why did you do that? Was your other leg hurt? Did you struggle before they got here?

Don't mind the fact he knows which leg is your dominant leg or the fact he knows your fighting patterns; focus on the fact he's walking over to you for the first time ever as you're chittering away with Gwen, back facing Miguel as he inches closer.

Jess notices Miguel, and she grins at him. "Hey, Miguel. What's with the sour face, huh?" She asks teasingly, raising a brow as Miguel ignores her, but Jess' voice alerts you, and you glance over to scan your surroundings, only to see Miguel beeline straight to you.

Straight away, you're tense. You bite your tongue, clenching your fists as you try to soothe your quickened breathing. Miguel O'Hara. The man you'd heard about through Hobie, and if Hobie was a trustworthy source, that meant you had to be very, very careful. Miguel stops directly in front of you, looking down at you with a naturally unimpressed frown that you can feel through the mask.

"...Y/N L/N? I don't think we've met before."

You shake your head, unable to look into his eyes. "Um, no. I haven't..."

Your voice trails off, and for a moment, you're afraid he's going to call you out on it, but he doesn't, and you relax your shoulders a bit. "My name is Miguel O'Hara. I'm head of HQ. I hope you're settling in well. Could we speak so you can tell me what happened here?"

You're terrified. Did you do something wrong? Were the portals your fault? While you're spiralling with anxiety, Miguel's smiling fondly. He's impressed you were able to hold your own for so long and protect your city against two unseen villains.

In his office...

Miguel's "office" is just the lair Hobie tells you about. There's this platform in the centre where papers are strewn about, and his desktop sits on the type of table you'd expect to see a CEO use. You notice a bunch of holograms are still open, piled upon one another as if he had been investigating something important before he was sent to your dimension.

"I noticed you limping here. Are you hurt?" You look down with a sheepish smile. "Oh, erm, yeah, I-I just got a little stunned at first when Vulture showed up. It's not bad, I think I just rolled it." You're expecting an uninterested hum or a snarky scoff, anything to match the reputation Hobie had given Miguel, but so far, you haven't seen any of that. Instead, Miguel nods and grabs a small pack of pills he conveniently has on his desk, tossing them over to you.

"Painkillers. They're strong, so just take one." He tells you sternly, almost like a parent warning a child. You bite your lip, hesitating for a moment.

"Oh, no, thank you." You politely decline, afraid of overstepping despite the medicine being an offer. However, Miguel's response is pre-loaded. "I wouldn't have offered if they didn't work. Besides, chewing on them might keep you from chewing on your lip."

Yikes, low blow. And point taken. You take a pill and look around the office, clearly taken aback. Miguel's already noticed you analysing him since he first spoke to you, and he can't help but feel the pressure being applied.

"I'm sure Hobie has told you many things about me." He suddenly announces, taking you by surprise. A million of the things Hobie's said repeat in your mind, and you bite back a laugh that'd no doubt confirm Miguel's words.

"Um, no, not...not really." You lie through your teeth and wince as you wait for Miguel to call out your obvious deception. However, when Miguel doesn't correct you, you can't help but feel worse.

"Well, that's a relief. I often worry about how everyone here views me. I know I can be...stern...but that's the only way to keep people safe." You narrow your eyes, trying to avoid looking as confused as you are. This was nothing like the Miguel that Hobie had warned you about. This guy was literally opening up to you about his concerns, and you barely know him (yet he seems to really know you).

"...I'm sure people will understand." You reassure. For the first time since you met him, you gather the courage to look up at Miguel, and the first thing you notice is the eye bags dragging down his cheeks. He looks so tired. His cheeks appear hollow, and his hair is a mess, slicked back to appear neat. This is the man Hobie is so insistent is evil? He looks so...exhausted.

Miguel hums to your words, still looking through his holograms. "Unfortunately, people are not as understanding or patient as you give them credit for," Miguel replies. "But my troubles aren't your concerns. I hope you're finding good company in the short time you've been here." Miguel glances at you for a split second, seeing you looking away from him and to the side with a subtle frown, and he can't help the triumph forming in his chest.

You're thinking about Hobie, about all the times Hobie has told you to be wary of Miguel, just for Miguel to prove him wrong with a few self-depreciating words. Had you found good company? Would good company spread rumours about a man who seems so hellbent on keeping Spiderpeople safe? Would good company make you question if they were good company at all?

"I've...met people. Not many people, but I'm close with Hobie and Pavitr...and Gwen is cool, too." You revealed your words cautiously as you tried to find the balance between Hobie's name and Miguel's tolerance, which you heard there was little of. Then again, that was all the talk Hobie had recited to you and who knew if those rumours were all based on face value?

"I hope I'm wrong, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but watch Hobie. He has a tendency to lead people down the wrong path, and I'd hate for a new member to get hurt."

Miguel glanced at you, and the sight of your bitten lip was enough to fulfil his satisfaction. The seeds of doubt were planted in your brain. Hobie's trustworthiness was being questioned, and that was enough to insert his presence into your life. Miguel stands up tall, stretching his aching muscles as he looks you over.

"Must be tough adjusting to all of this, huh?" You nod, and Miguel nods along with you. "I remember how difficult it was for me to adjust the first time I got into this. Except I didn't have many friends or mentors. Just pure instinct." A long silence follows as you listen to him. The walls you built around Miguel are slowly falling as he continues to relate to you. He seems like a good guy, not the evil dictator Hobie painted in all of his stories. In fact, this guy seems like someone Hobie would respect rather than reject. Then again, respect has never really been Hobie's schtick.

You're brain, once entirely loyal to Hobie, is now torn between two options. Hobie's been a good friend to you and has looked out for your well-being since you started. He's introduced you to his friends, but he's also warned you about Miguel.

But the Miguel he warned you about is the same man who's telling you that Hobie is someone to be cautious of, and Miguel's been around way longer to see all types of dangerous things. And, unlike most spiderpeople, he has to rely on his instincts, not just his powers. Has Hobie really led people down the wrong path? Are you just villainising Miguel because Hobie's insistent on horror stories? Besides, how could Miguel be dangerous? He's the leader of the Spider Society, and he's already being so accommodating to you despite not knowing who you are.

Maybe Hobie was overexaggerating. Maybe Miguel isn't as bad as he's made out to be.

You finally look back at Miguel, biting your tongue as your heart races. "I, erm, I-I get it. Kinda. I...I struggle...a bit. A lot, actually. I mean, I'm comfortable with my abilities, but I don't think I'm using them entirely right. I could be way better, I know I could be. But...I don't know if I'm going in that direction."

You cringe at how much you fumbled over your words, but Miguel just stares at you with softened eyes. He puts his hands on his hips as he listens to your spilling thoughts.

"I just want to help people." "You just want to be a good hero?"

You make eye contact with Miguel, and you can't help but feel the once suffocating presence of power he holds might be more like the presence of an authoritative figure, a fatherly figure even. Miguel looks down at you, your quick nod and glance away enough for him to conclude all that he needs to do now.

"If you stick around me, I can show you the ropes." He offers. You perk up, looking back at him with wide eyes and raised brows. He'd teach you how to be a better hero? Miguel O'Hara - The leader of the Spider Society, teaching you? Your heart rate picks up speed, your hands shaking as your mouth goes dry. You already know how Hobie's going to react when he hears the news, and you're dreading telling him, but this was an opportunity rarely granted, and it's right at your fingertips.

You gulp, exhale and then nod, a sheepish grin forming on your face. "I'd...really appreciate that. Thank you." You chuckle nervously, and Miguel smiles down at you fondly. Except there's a dark undercurrent to it. His smile doesn't entirely reach his eyes, which are entirely fixated on your small figure, and you can see his fangs peaking out just a tad.

You blink and it's gone, but it's enough for you to feel like you're overstaying your welcome. You stand up, bowing your head respectfully to Miguel as you pop one more painkiller into your pocket. "Um, is there anything else you need me to do?" You ask cautiously, and Miguel's quick to side-eye you. "Leaving already?" His tone betrays his offence, and you panic for a moment until Miguel smiles. "I'm going to send the Vulture and Green Goblin back to their respective dimensions. You can tag along if you'd like. Otherwise, no, you're free to go." You stare at him. You've been given the chance to leave, but it feels like a test. If you leave, you're giving up the opportunity for him to teach you (and you're spitting in his face if you do that). But, the look he gave you earlier still makes you uneasy...and yet it's nowhere to be seen now. You're overthinking, like you always do, and you push down those instincts to give Miguel a faint, nervous smile. "...I can help send them back." You offer, cementing your choice to stay by his side. Miguel smiles in amusement and grabs something off the table, walking down past you and down the platform. "Well, let's go. The longer they're out, the longer we risk the canon." He calls back to you, a quick glance over his shoulder revealing the light-hearted nature of his words despite the snappy tone. And you follow, fully prepared to learn the nature of a hero. On how to be a great hero.

And right as you make it to the door, you glance over your shoulders, scanning your surroundings for just a moment until your eyes catch something unusual. Miguel's holograms are shutting, one by one, and for a split second, you swear you see the grainy picture of your face pop up beside a wall of text.

And then it's gone.

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Thank you so much for reading!! i hope you guys like it, I love doing child/parent stories (even if this one is more subtle about it lol)

I know I write a lot of arcane but I'm 100% willing to write whatever you guys want to read!! I love researching into characters and stories so if there's a specific character you'd like or an AU you want to see, let me know! I do have a lot of requests atm but I'm getting through them :)