marvel oneshots| male reader

Miguel And the Multiversal Nothing- Miguel O'Hara

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader
summary: miguel and the citizen from another multiverse that has no connection to spiderman at all that let's him crash at their place n stuff. miguel gives them an existential crisis.
genre: uh angst, fluff, hurt (existential crisis) n comfort
warnings: existential crisis, multiverse existential crisis, food mentions, miguel has FEELINGS, ooc miguel
a/n: idk but i'm not abiding by any multiverse rules or any other rules for that matter in this fic so don't like don't read ig lol. miguel o'hara needs friends. implied platonic but feel free to interpret romantically.

As it seems to be getting more common, it's raining. A soothing beat against your windows and roof with the added instrumentals of thunder and the visuals of lightning. It's a usual night for you. Work was over about four hours ago and you ate dinner two before and now you're simply admiring the view with a warm drink. Instead of pacing back and forth like a madman, you take a seat on your chair perpetually stationed facing one of the eight-foot-tall windows. As soon as you sit down, a rather polite though loud thud sounds against the window leading to your fire escape. (Yes, a window instead of a door. You didn't get an answer from your landlord.) Setting your drink down, you get up and quickly make your way to the fire escape. You bend down to slide the window open, letting in a soaked other-Spider-Man. Or Miguel as you like to occasionally call him.

"Another one of those things here?" You help him through the window, one hand in his, and the other on his back. 

"Anomalies," He corrects you. Like always.

"Yeah, that. Or those." You look up at him as he now stands straight and half a foot above you. Before you can let him answer, a drop of rain falling from him and straight into your eye makes you remember something, "Towel?" You rub your eye as you walk away, the answer already known.

"Yes, please." 

You're back with the towel fairly quickly, handing it off to him, then strolling into the kitchen. "So, the anomalies?" You open the fridge. "Are you staying the night?" You look at him for his answer.

"Yes. Is that alright?"

"Where else would you stay?" An unintentional cut to the truth. Of course, you didn't catch this but Miguel did.  

With a container in each hand, you walk toward Miguel as he takes a seat at your kitchen island. "Brought some stuff from work. Do you like chicken or steak better?" 

"Steak." 

"I knew that!" You laugh. "Just checking."

"Checking what?" 

"If you're you."

Miguel raises a brow at you, looking through you as if that'd make you explain yourself. It works but it's not like it always does.

"Multiverse, right?" You put both containers in your universe's version of a microwave. "So, multiple of you. And me. And everyone-"

That's now how it works.

"-Maybe another one of you found me."

Impossible. You have zero connection to Spider-Man. You're not an MJ or Gwen Stacy or Peter Parker or Mom or Dad or Uncle or Aunt or Ned Leeds or Ganke or Harry or Norman Osborn. Nothing even close. You've never even been saved by your universe's Spider-Man or put in danger by him or even met him. You only know about him because everyone else does. 

The microwave equivalent beeps and as you open it, you ask, "That could happen, right?" 

"No."

Miguel's not usually snappy like this. You ponder something. Maybe not snappy. Curt. Is that the same thing? "How come?" You flop the food from each container onto a plate.