Chapter Text
When your husband comes home after a long day, he seems… different. You could tell when he walked through the door. The air just seemed… different.
“Miguel-?” You call out when you hear the front door to your apartment close, “I’m making curry, it’s almost done-“ You glance up from the pot you’re mixing, listening as footsteps creak along the wood floor, watching as your husband slowly comes into view.
And he looks… different.
He points his eyes on you like he can’t believe he’s seeing you. Like he hadn’t seen you this morning when you kissed him goodbye.
He’s more muscular, surprisingly, and his biceps are bigger. And it honestly looks like he’s been through hell.
You drop your mixing spoon into the pot as you look at him. “Hey, are you okay…?” Before you can move around the counter to examine him, he’s already stepping towards you.
As he gets closer, he towers over you, much more than he did before. And his eyes are dark and pointed- you don’t remember them being so pointed.
His hands find your waist and you’re roughly pressed against the countertop, your husband’s knee coming in between your legs and separating them, "I missed you. God, I've missed you, corazon." His hands dip under your shirt before you can even process what he's saying, feeling every inch of your skin like he's afraid he'll forget the feeling.
Usually your husband is so aware of his size, making sure to be gentle with you. If he wanted, he could lift you and throw you across the room. Right now, it feels like he doesn’t care at all. “Ah- Miguel- ”
“Be quiet and hold still.” Even his voice seems a bit different. Darker, coarser. He dips his head to the nape of your neck, making your breathing pick up as you grow hotter.
“Let- let me turn off the stove before we-“ You try to reach for the knob, but your husband just lifts his hand, something shooting out and covering the knob, pushing it to off.
“ ¿Qué te dije? ” He snaps, though you’re still staring at the stove, wondering what the fuck just came out of him. You feel his teeth drag across your neck, and a few of them seem way too sharp, giving you goosebumps as he kisses up your neck, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you, cariño.”
You giggle at that, bringing your hands to feel his collar and his shoulders. They feel bigger- firmer than you remember.
“I’m guessing since this morning?” You ask him cheekily, and he responds by lifting you onto the countertop, way too easily. It honestly surprises you, and when he kisses you, it’s much too needy- way too wanting- for this to be normal. It’s almost animalistic , the way his hands are holding you so tight, his nails- much sharper than you remembered- pressing into your skin.
“I’m not your Miguel.” He mutters out, busy slipping your shirt off and throwing it off somewhere. You giggle again.
“Not my Miguel, huh?”
“Your Miguel is dead.”
You blink at him, trying to get his hands to stop kneading into you.
“I don’t like this storyline-“ You tell him lightly, and Miguel leans off of you, looking at you with those darkened eyes.
“Miguel O’Hara of this earth was killed an hour ago. It was a canon event, and it couldn’t be avoided.” He explains to you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
“You’re… standing right in front of me-“ You don’t quite get it, and obviously that’s frustrating him.
“I’m Miguel O’Hara from another universe. Another reality.” He mutters out, not really concerned if you’re getting it or not.
You nod, almost snorting at him. “Okay, Miguel from another universe.”
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t lighten up with you. He just stares with deep want and desire. And he’s looking a little scary.
“As long as you know who I am.” He mutters, grabbing your legs to pull you around him, “If you ever loved me at all, me dejarás usarte , cariño. ”
It only takes a few seconds for him to undo his belt, and unzip his pants, before he pulls himself out, not even bothering to pull your shorts or panties down. Instead, he pushes them to the side, tapping his tip on your folds.
“Jesus, Miguel, what’s the ru- ru-ah!“ You don’t get the chance to finish your thought, as your husband pushes his whole length into you at once, making you whimper out and cling to him as you stretch around his cock. He’s too big to be so rough with you. And he’s too big to be thrusting into you immediately afterwards, “O-oh my God, Miguel-!“
“ Cállate .” He growls out, leaning over you and the counter as he holds your head, getting a good angle to pound into you as you whine, “Take it. You deserve it, Y/n.”
“Going- too fast-“ You protest, clawing at him as your voice shakes, “Miguel~“
“You can take it .” He groans, keeping at steady pace. You’re laying back on the cold countertop, getting fucked within nearly an inch of your life because your husband thinks you can handle his monsterous cock, “You feel so good, mi amor , so nice and tight. So perfect for me, aren’t you?”
“Hmmm~” You whine out, unable to talk as he just takes you however he wants.
“Your Miguel doesn’t fuck you like this, huh?” Miguel speaks, picking up the pace, “I don’t know how I could ever be so fucking weak. How I could be so fuckin’ gentle- why did he get you ? When I need you more than him?” His arm comes to cradle your head, pulling you closer into him, “You’re mine, cariño. No one else’s in the entire polyverse- you’re mine now. You understand?”
With every thrust, you’re growing more out of your mind, the tingling sensation of your orgasm coming up through your toes in anticipation. You don’t even care that you don’t understand what the fuck he’s talking about.
“I can’t hear you-“
“Yes- yes , love, I’m yours. Just- just please- fuck, go faster- “ You beg, and for the first time this entire night, you hear him snicker, which means he’s smiling.
“There she is.” He mutters out, “Aren’t you pretty when you’re beggin’ like this, hermosa ? Muy bonita. ”
“ God , please, my love, I need you.” You beg, completely out of breath, “Miguel, harder- fuck me harder -“
“I’ll take care of you, cariño .” Miguel promises, placing a kiss on your temple as he pounds into you harder than before, sweat dripping off of his forehead, “ Mírame . Mírame, hermosa. ” His hand goes to draw your eyes to link with his, and you can’t do anything but look up with him with pure love. Your husband is so handsome. Your husband is so good to you.
“I love you, Miguel.” The words come out before you even think them, “Love you so much.”
You can see it in his face that he loves to hear that, but he doesn’t answer back as he always does. Instead, he nods, before dipping down to your neck, leaving kisses there.
“You gonna cum for me?” Miguel whispers into your ear, “Cause I’m close, querida .”
“Oh, fuck- fuck, yes, yes, just keep-“ You struggle take a breath in, “ Fuck, baby, cum in me. Please, please- “
That riles him up again, breathing heavier, “I’ll get you fuckin’ pregnant.” He warns, and you moan.
“Get me fuckin’ pregnant, then.” You moan, “Come on, my love, you’ll do good by me.”
“Jesus,” He curses, “Sorry.”
“Sorry about wha-“ You begin, but the piercing pain of a stab in your neck rings out, pushing you over the edge and letting your orgasm rush through you involuntarily, making you cry out.
You feel him cum inside you as you tighten around him, hearing him grunt out as his lips are wrapped around your neck.
And when your vision comes back, you’re laying back on a now warm countertop, your husband on top of you with his head in your neck. It takes a second before you even have the strength to move, but Miguel seems to be just fine to lean off of you, pulling himself out of you.
You wince at the feeling of being so empty as he place himself back in his pants, and your head turns to the pot on the stove, remembering what you were doing before Miguel manhandled you ontop of the counter.
“I can finish dinner in 10-“ You tell him, rolling your head over to glance at him. His eyes are hardened again, like when he first came home. His eyes aren’t usually like that- so serious. And there’s blood at the bottom of his lip.
You reach your hand to your neck, suddenly remembering.
“Miguel, did you bite me?” You pull your hand in front of your eyes, a small bit of blood clear on your fingertips.
“Lost control. Sorry.” He says, giving short answers. He’s eyeing you meticulously, like he’s waiting for something.
You lean up to sit straight on the countertop. Even as you sit on the countertop, he still towers over you a bit.
“What got into you today?” You smile at him, still trying to blink the stars out of your eyes.
“My alternative self I’ve been jealous of just died.” He shrugs, the serious brow not letting up. You furrow your eyebrows together.
“I don’t get the role play you’re trying to set up-“
“Y/n, the Miguel O’Hara that existed in this universe died today.” He presses into you, leaning over you. “I’m Miguel O’Hara from a different universe.”
You blink at him, not really understanding.
“Miguel-“ You say, trying to begin another string of questions. He rolls his eyes.
“Does your Miguel have fangs like these?” He lifts his lip to reveal sharp canines- ones you’ve never seen before.
“Where’d you get those?” You question, trying to deny the seeds of truth you’re now finding.
He seemingly ignores you, deeming that question as unimportant. “In this reality, I wasn’t bitten. I wasn’t Spider-man. So, my death is the last canon event to make this universe-“
“Woah- hey, I’m not tracking-“ You chuckle nervously, and he tracks his eyes over to you.
He gives you a deadpan stare.
“We’re gonna start again. Keep up.” He mutters, “My name is Miguel O’Hara and I am my universe’s one and only Spiderman. Your Miguel- the Miguel of this universe- is dead. Condolences.” You blink at him, finally taking some of this in.
If this man was to be believed, your Miguel… is dead?
“How can you be dead? I’m- I’m looking at you-“
“He’s dead. I’m not the same Miguel.” He says it with such assertion- he wouldn’t joke around with that. You wouldn’t take it well if he took a joke this far.
“From another… universe.” You say, trying to piece the pieces together, “Miguel is…” You knit your eyebrows together, just the thought of Miguel dying brings tears to your eyes, but- you’re seeing him right in front of you.
“You’re Spider-man?”
“Yeah.” He answers it with little excitement.
You look at him confused.
“Well, why is the Miguel Spider-man of another universe having sex with me in my apartment then?” You ask, trying to catch him in some type of lie. It just doesn’t make sense.
He studies you for a second. “You think I don’t want you between universes?” He says that like it makes sense by itself, “We’re the same-”
“But where am I in the other universe? Why don’t you go get my- me?”
He pauses, figuring his words out carefully, “I don’t have you.”
“Huh? How is it that-“
“This is a universe where I don’t become Spider-man. So, this is the only universe where you’re allowed to live.”
You blink at him. You play with the idea that this is really Miguel from another universe, but then you start to think that maybe your husband hit his head on the way home.
“Okay. So what,” You snicker at him, jumping off the countertop and pushing him back, stepping back to the stove, “You want to take me back to your universe?” It’s a joke, honestly, but he doesn’t answer or snicker with you.
But you’re too busy wondering what the web-like substance is on the knob.
“What is this?” You mutter out, poking at the sticky and bouncy web around the knob. Suddenly web wraps around the handle of the pot you’re just about to grab, and when you snap your eyes towards your husband, it’s clear that had just come out of his wrist.
And suddenly, you start to entertain the fact that your Miguel is dead. That the man standing in front of you is Miguel, but not your husband. You see his hardened stare and begin to see a different person behind them, someone who’s lived different experiences. Not the man who came home to you every night and slept in your bed, but clearly the man who wanted to.
Your eyes widen a bit as nervousness erupts in your stomach. You take a small step back.
“Why are you here, then-?” You ask, now incredibly careful. This Miguel is seemingly calm, but also eerily scary.
“I’ll check in on you from time to time.” He tells you, taking steps toward you to close the gap. You have the urge to step back away from him, but your feet don’t move. How can you flinch away from your husband like that? Or at least, a man who looks like your husband.
In one swift move, he brings his large hand to the back of your head, leaning in to place a kiss on the side of your temple.
“Take care of yourself, cariño. ”
And you aren’t exactly sure how he suddenly disappears from in front of you, but he does, with help from the crazy watch he was wearing. And then you’re alone.
And unable to sit with yourself with this information, you grab your phone, dialing your husband’s number by memory and hoping to God that he picks up laughing- teasing you for being so gullible.
But Miguel doesn’t answer.