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gay-dorito-dust · 10 months

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I don’t know if you have this but please can i request headcandons of the spiderverse Boys with their lover reader wearing their (spider boys) clothing like a hoodie or a t shirt?

Miles thought he had stopped breathing when he saw you wear the jacket he has been searching high and low for the past fifteen minutes.

He had been wanting to see you in his clothes but the poor boy didn’t know how to say it without tripping and stumbling awkwardly over his words like a new born baby deer.

‘Hey, have you seen my jacket-‘ his words faltered and then later died on his lips when he raised his eyes as he entered his room, only to see you wearing the very jacket he had been searching high and low for. ‘You’re wearing it.’ His voice cracked and out of embarrassment Miles cleared his throat and tried again. ‘You’re- You’re wearing it.’

You smiled at him, finding his attempts in keeping his cool amusing, especially when it was doing something small like wearing his clothes but you couldn’t help yourself! The jacket was still somewhat warm from previous use and smelt like him, which brought you comfort for the days where he couldn’t always be with you as it felt as though you had a part of him always with you. Though it doesn’t compare to actually having Miles with you, it still brought you a sense of relief and security that you always get when with the young lad.

‘Did you want it back?’ You asked, about to take it off when Miles exclaimed ‘no!’ Making you both jump with how loud it came out but made you both laugh none the less. ‘I mean, no, keep it on as long as you want. You look great in it.’ Miles admits, running the back of his neck, highly aware of the heat radiating within of every part of his body, from the tips of his ears to his chest and even to his feet, as though it was going to burn him from the inside out.

‘Just great?’ You teased, brows raised.

‘Did I say great? I meant you look beautiful, handsome, pretty, beautiful, cosy, comfy.’ Miles rambled and you knew you had to intervene before he hurts himself, which lead you to walk towards him and hold his face in your hands, internally melting when his beautiful doe brown eyes looked into yours as though they’re the only thing grounding him right now. ‘Relax, I’m only teasing babe.’ You reassured him, thumbs stroking his cheeks as means of calming him down. ‘Now are you comfortable with me wearing your stuff because I can stop if you want.’

Just when you were about to pulls your hands away from his face so you could remove and hand back his jacket, Miles placed his hands over yours, keeping them glued to his face as he looked at you adoringly. ‘It doesn’t bother me at all.’ He tells you. ‘In fact it makes me really happy just seeing you in my stuff,’ he chuckles to himself. ‘I swear it feels as though I’m still dreaming sometimes.’ He finishes.

Miles loves it when you wear his clothes as it means that even when you were apart, you’re thinking about him, always and wishing for his safe return. He feels loved, extremely loved.

Pavitr’s day is immediately made a thousand times better when he notices that you’ve been wearing his clothes. He fucking adores it so much to the point that he’s already making plans on just letting you use his wardrobe at your disposal.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad day because seeing you in his clothes even on days where he’s mentally, emotionally and physically okay, he’s automatically made even more chipper and happy to the point he will not shut up about his rant on how cute and adorable you look in his shirt.

He’s talking about a mile a minute that you were starting to get concerned when you saw he wasn’t stopping for breath. When he does remember to breath, you were able to realise the breath that you didn’t know that you had been withholding yourself.

Probably has a multitude of pictures of you wearing his clothes and might’ve made one his lock/Home Screen or maybe both, so that when he was doing his spider-man stuff, he’d be reminded that you were waiting for you Pav to come back safe and sound.

He will shamelessly scream it from the rooftops that you were wearing his clothes and say loud enough for all those within the radius to hear. He’s not ashamed in the slightest and will brag about it until he can’t no more. His friends, Hobie, Miles, Gwen and Margo were often subjected to these bragging sessions more so then anyone else.

To the point where Hobie and Miles dog pile him in getting him to shut up about you wearing his clothes for a second. Yes they get it, it’s really cut that your wearing his clothes and how when you return them to him they smell like you’ve never left.

They get it, Pavitr is an absolute sucker for you in his shirts and whilst they found it cute themselves, pav didn’t need to get all dramatic with his long winded speech about how his clothes on you looked as though they were tailored to fit you like the did him, nor how he believes that was a sign for him that you two were meant to be together forever.

Overall Pavitr gets overwhelmingly affectionate when you wear his stuff to the point where your being smothered alive by his constrictive hugs and flurries of kisses raining down on your face. He loves, loves, loves seeing you in his clothes. It makes him happier then he’s ever been.

Hobie is the definition of ‘what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours.’

So let’s say you find his vest with the pins spanning across the lapels and the spikes that traversed across the shoulders, draped over the door and decided to wear it for a while until Hobie notices it’s absence.

Jokes on you though because Hobie never left anything of his without it being purely intentional and Hobie left his vest over at yours with the intention that you’d pick it up and wear it out of your own fruition, rather then having him telling you to wear it.

Outwardly his reaction upon seeing you wearing his vest is relatively neutral but that’s only to those on the outside but you could see the smile etching it’s way across his face along with the mischievous, all knowing glint within his eyes that told you all that you had willingly fallen right into his trap, just as he expected.

You’ve been had but you couldn’t be mad because it meant that Hobie had this in mind for a while and played the waiting game to execute his little plan. He wanted to see you in his clothes that he was willing to leave his beloved vest in your hands.

Hobie isn’t territorial but just seeing you in his clothes makes him feel all sorts of things but he just chalks it down to being a spider attribute he got from the bite and nothing else.

All this cheeky fuck would say to seeing you in his vest is; ‘guess I was right, it suits you.’ Which might as well have been his way of telling you that you were more then welcome to steal his clothes but just don’t be surprised when you start seeing some of your own stuff disappearing now and then.

Can’t find your crop top?

Hobie’s wearing it the next time you see him.

Needless to say Hobie loves it when you wear his stuff, so he’s going to do the exact same but with your clothes because he loves the expressions he gets when you ultimately realises who had been stealing your clothes for the past few days.

Miguel may act cool, calm and collected with a smidge of feral his heart isn’t immune from melting at the sight of you wearing his clothing.

It doesn’t even matter how long you’ve been doing it as it always made this secret softy feel as though it was the first time all over again.

Miguel is so occupied with his work to unhealthy extent that he doesn’t realise your wearing one of his shirts, and even when he does; it takes him a minute due to the lack of sleep affecting his ability to comprehend his reality before he’s doing a double take upon realising that yes, that was his shirt your wearing.

It’s cute watching his eyes nearly pop out of his head upon realisation.

‘Is that my shirt?’ He’d ask, although already knowing the answer. He’s not against it, he’s just surprised that you’d even want to wear anything of his. He doesn’t think he’s deserving of such a gesture but it touches his heart nonetheless.

‘I missed you.’ You replied, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. ‘You’re so busy with work that I don’t often get alone time with you anymore. So whenever your away and I’m missing you, I go through your closet and pick a shirt out, and wear it for the rest of the day because it makes me feel as though your here with me.’ You finished with a shrug.

Miguel couldn’t help but feel his heart hurt upon your admittance of missing him. He knows how often he prioritises his work that he was completely blindsided by how it affect you, so much so to the extent that you sought out comfort from his clothes because he was nowhere to be found.

‘You look at home in my clothes.’ He tells you as he decided then and there to cut out some time of his day just for you and be there for you like a lover should be. ‘And I’m sorry that I haven’t been here as much as I should but I promise that’ll change.’ Miguel practically pleads to you as he holds you against his muscular chest, his hands rubbing your back, secretly loving how his shirt looked on you more so then anything.

Seeing you wear his clothes became Miguel’s favourite sight to see first thing in the morning and last thing at night. He takes pride out of it but the reasoning behind it will always make him upset at himself at his failings of being a partner.

It’s something he’s improved on ever since and you couldn’t help but get giddy when you felt him walk up behind you in the mornings, burying his head into your neck, greeting it with kisses, as his arms enclose on your waist, speaking to you in his low raspy morning voice about how beautiful/ handsome/cute/pretty/stunning you looked to the point where you wanted nothing then to bury yourself into his chest so he couldn’t see the dopey, lovesick smile beaming across your face.

Miguel isn’t immune to seeing you wearing his clothes and he never will be because it’s a declaration of love in its own unique way.

Peter B would find you wearing his clothes unbearably adorable.

He just wanted to squeeze you tightly but knew that probably wasn’t the smartest idea considering with his strength but that never stopped him from taking photos of you doing mundane things in his shirt or sweatpants that you had to tie up by the drawstrings.

Peter has taken too many pictures that he might as well have dedicated an entire album to you wearing his sweats, shirts or even his pink bathrobe and doing mundane things such as making breakfast, watching your favourite shows on tv, playing with Mayday and the like.

So don’t be surprised when he starts showing anyone that would listen over at the spider society pictures of his lover looking absolutely gorgeous/handsome/pretty/beautiful/adorable in his clothes 24/7. Miguel especially but Jess, Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Hobie and Margo were also some that got pestered by Peter.

Peter B is also very vocal and would smother you praise of how good you look in his clothes because what he says is 100% genuine.

For example;

‘Look at you! You look amazing!’

‘You’re so cute in my clothes, please don’t stop wearing them.’

‘How could my lover look even better when they’re wearing my clothes. It shouldn’t be possible but here you are, proving me wrong.’

This corny bastard would teasingly call you a mini version of him since you want to wear his stuff so badly.

You’ve defiantly caught him admiring you from afar when you wear his clothes. His eyes are soft and half lidded as he rests his face against his hand, he wasn’t aware that he was leaning so much to the point that before long he was on the floor. It’s so cartoonish and goofy but it’s just so Peter that you can’t help but let out a little chuckle before going over to help your lover off of the floor.

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tapwaterx · 10 months

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love that they are friends who also want to kill eachother

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starrayblogs · 11 months

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chai? i love chai!

a/n: i love pavitr, he's so silly and i wanna be best friends with him ..... so here i am- writing a short story because my brain is literally being occupied by him, and i'd like to share it with you. enjoy!

another a/n: i haven't actually watched the movie yet! it hasn't released where i am D:, but i have been so hyped for the movie i just can't wait to watch it! sooo, sorry if there are any plot mistakes!

pavitr prabhakar + gn!reader

you're a spiderperson! hoorah! feel free to imagine yourself as your spidersona ü

"i love chai tea!"

"what did you just say? chai means tea, bro! you're saying tea tea, would i ask you for a coffee coffee with room for cream cream?"

"no. no, i'm sorry."

giggles bubble up from your throat as you fail to keep yourself from bursting into full-blown laughter at miles. "this is not funny." miles points a finger at you, who is currently bent at the knees with arms wrapped around the torso while laughing.

after a few more seconds, you rise up straight and fan your face as you try to stop from laughing. "aw, man, that shouldn't have made me laugh so hard." you say in between breaths of composure.

"chai tea isn't funny!" pavitr exclaims, crossing his arms.

"oh no, of course it isn't. miles's reaction was." you snicker a bit as you glance to miles, who gave you a glare. "but, on the topic of chai, i love karak chai." the lenses on your mask curve at the bottom to show some sort of smile, with your masked eyes.

"what did you just say?" pavitr's lenses widen as his arms unfold. "did you just say karak chai? you know your chai!?" he gasps, coming up to you with a hand over where his mouth would be.

"yeah! i love chai!" your eyes grin as your shoulders rise a little.

"gwen, i can't believe you've brought such a nice, new guy!" he turns to give gwen a surprised look before he turns back to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "tell me, new guy," you cut him off to say your name, which he says and resumes. "how did you come across karak chai? are you indian too?" he asks curiously.

"no, actually, but i did grow up with some indian cuisine around me!" you reply with as much excitement as him. he lets out an 'oooohh' as his lenses grin at you. "i like you, new guy!"

"oh come on, what about me?" miles interjects and gwen lets out a laugh that she quickly covers up by clearing her throat.

"you said chai tea." pavitr pulls away from your shoulders to point at miles.

"i said sorry!"

you laugh again, this time recovering faster when pavitr turns to face to you. "tell me," he says your name with a cheerful look in his masked eyes. "do you also like naan?"

"oh, obviously, but..." you hesitate by squinting your lenses a bit, which makes the spiderman in front of you tilt his head. "i'm more of a paratha person." you admit sheepishly.

pavitr gasps as his lenses widen again. he stares at you for a few seconds, which makes you nervous because you think you've said something to upset him. "i have never met another spiderman that knows about indian food..." he mumbles, but there was a bit of a surprised tone in his voice. "i just know we are going to be great friends!" he exclaims, moving over to give you a side hug.

your eyes widen a bit, but you grin. you happily hang your hand over his shoulder, just like he did with yours.

"you should totally try some indian food here when you get the chance. i know all the great places!" he offers, tilting his head to you. your lenses curve underneath at his offer.

"i'd love that, oh my gosh. now that i think of it, i kind of do miss the food." you chuckle, a hand coming up to pat your stomach absentmindedly.

"we should totally eat out together whenever you're here!" he says, his eyes and tone filled with joy which brings a smile to your eyes and lips underneath the mask.

"that sounds like a fun time." miles adds himself in, which makes pavitr's head turn away from you to reply.

"hmm... maybe it will do you so good too, teach you how to not make mistakes like chai tea again." he says, and miles lenses widen as his demeanor immediately brightens.

"awesome! can we get naan bread?" miles asks, which receives a not-so-happy reaction from the indian spiderman.

"what did you just say!?"

pavitr pulls himself off your shoulder to point and scold at miles again. you and gwen glance at each other before bursting into laughter together, watching as miles does his best to apologize.

#spiderman #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderman: atsv #spiderman india #pavitr #pavitr prabhakar #pavitr prabhakar x reader #atsv pavitr #pavitr x you #pavitr my beloved #pavitr brainrot #i wanna be pavitr's best friend #chai tea? chai means tea!#pavitr x reader #✩ starraywrites #✩ starraywrites atsv #✩ starraywrites across the spiderverse

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moondirti · 11 months

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animalic (5)

← chapter four // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 3.4k summary: an unwelcome confrontation warnings: enemies to lovers, violence, blood and injury, mentioned death, fighting, angst, morally questionable characters, miguel o'hara is not nice notes: this chapter caused several headaches and i don't even like the end result, but i can't pick at it forever sooo. enjoy!

While you’ve never been renowned for making the most accurate of assumptions, there are certain patterns you’ve come to expect in order to have survived this long. To never have a glass of orange juice after brushing your teeth, or maintain eye contact while being threatened. That a kilogram of antimatter produces ten billion times the energy of chemical combustion upon annihilation, and that any quantity larger than that should not be contained.

Of such paradigms, you’ve noted only one to be entirely reliable. That a spider-hero would always fight crime, whatever the greater good.

“Absolutely not.”

You might’ve been mistaken.

“Those people are in danger, O’Hara.” You strain, trembling against the cough battering your chest. Your diaphragm spasms with every stride he takes, crushed against the curve of his broad shoulder, desperate to make up for lost breath.

He lets the plea hang, countenance obscured from your view. With the way he carries you now, all that meets your eye is navy – navy, and the bright red geometry stretched over the brawn of his back. The nanotech suit warps to fit every muscle, glinting as they push forward to meet the sun. And it dips, right between his shoulder blades, lining a clear contour of the anatomy he fails to hide. A dosser of intercostal sinew. Tapered laterals, cinched to curve at–

Your core broils uncomfortably, and his grip tightens around your knees, levelling up to the degree of his treatment thus far. After slinging off that rooftop, he’s made sure to keep you particularly close, like the effort could prevent your powers from manifesting. Like you could make it happen.

(Though, he doesn’t know that you can’t.)

But he’s smarter than that. If nothing else, it serves as a cautionary gesture. A reminder. You’re disarmed – quite literally – the only force between your nose and the sidewalk being the behemoth of a man whose body you’re strewn across. And, if you could control it – transcend the material at any given whim – it would be the extent and end of your efforts. Not with the neon webs binding you, nor your clear lack of skill.

The wind quivers with the distant sounds of calamity. You’re drawn back to the very real situation at hand.

“You make for a lousy excuse of a spiderman if your first instinct isn’t to save them!” You raise your voice, hoping to be heard over the sirens that blare towards the destruction. By counting them as they pass – two, four, six – you’re able to assign a severity to it. But it isn’t, won’t be, enough. You’d heard the screeches; primordial, clawing out from beyond the capabilities of an ordinary threat. You’d felt them – seeping into your bones, grating the spongy marrow – until Miguel had gathered enough obduration to reel you in the complete opposite direction.

Speaking of–

You tilt your head upwards, surveying the street down which he runs. It’s deserted, yet the presence of its civilians is slower to leave, a molasses that slinks towards locked doors. It’s thick with an apathetic acceptance, bordering on resignation – bitter and not unlike your own resting inclinations. You’ve never known an evacuation to happen this fast, especially this far out from the scene; people are stubborn like that, refusing to face what isn’t in front of them. That is to say, they might be used to it.

“You’re not even going the right way, dickhead!”

Of all things, that makes him stop.

(Of course it does.)

Your form flops uselessly as he turns to make sense of his surroundings. There’s the sign – 30 St and 7th – which should give any New Yorker an idea, but he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he shoots a web to wrap around the railway of a fire escape, propelling the both of you onto an accompanying balcony. Swallowing the bile that swells along your throat at the sudden jump, you shoot him an incredulous look, which he chooses to ignore as he drops you to the floor.

His mask retreats, hair bouncing upon escape from its smothering embrace. For all that he tries to hide his pinched lips, you sense the scepticism emanating off him in waves.

You take a moment to stew over it, examining him while he calculates the path of your previous chase. From the convenience, to the corner, and into a nearby store lot. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying notice – which you sincerely doubt, considering the efficiency with which he treats everything else. Could he really be unfamiliar with the layout of a city his job is to protect? Or–

It occurs to you steadily, washing up on the fringes of your arrogance; a realisation in pieces.

Nueva York. 2099.

A metropolis. Likely one with no grid system.

Your cackle beckons his attention, severe stare snapping to your grin.

“We’re on Seventh.” You specify.

He cocks his head, nostrils flaring. Warning or question – you have a hard time deciphering the difference.

“The convenience was on Sixth and Third. You know, third avenue, East of Fifth?” You push it, spurred by your awareness that he, in fact, does not know.

“¡Ándale pues! What exactly is your point?”

“We continued down east until you bit me, judging by the way the sun hit the lot upon rising. But now, we’re on Seventh, on the other side of Fifth.”

His jaw clicks, pulsing in irritation. You toe the line of what you can get away with, how long you can drag this out before he decides you’re not worth the trouble.

“West. You’re heading West, and–” Wriggling, you adjust your posture into one more reflective of your current pride. “If you have any hope of finding that day pass, then you’re gonna need to go back.”

The bid translates, weighty, bubbling like the arid smoke off nuclear strife. He processes it, understands – you watch as it unfolds in that intimidatingly intelligent glare – yet the circumstance takes a while to establish itself. Even when it does, he doesn’t grant you the satisfaction of a full blown breakdown. No. His hands just find his hips, chin sloping to the sky.

“No puedo más, no puedo más, no–”

You probably shouldn’t rub it in any further.

“Since it’s on our way–”

"No." He snaps, voice laced with a prickling irritation that sears through his supposed indifference. The heat of it greets you, wiping the simper that had begun stretching your cheeks. “You must think this is some game, and while that might explain the shit you’ve pulled in the past, I have a responsibility. I can’t interfere with their canon.”

“So, what? You’re just gonna let them die?”

His expression lifts, brows rising expectantly, like he’s imploring you to shut up without his verbal confirmation.

Right.

It starts like a taut bowstring, straining as it verges on release.

On one end, there’s Apollo; drawing his arrow, a god amongst men. The direction with which he aims his weapon can be seen as prophetic – plague was always meant to befall the crowd at his mercy, their fates little more than a thread of mass design. Some call it righteous – epithets dedicated to his name – agreed upon by the same men who claim that rational means right. Some craft sculptures in his visage, this muse of the kouros, likening stone to flesh and deluding the observer that the two can be synonymous. Nietzsche, Bernini. You, yourself, had managed to believe that the muscle rippling below you could be anything but an Athenian tragedy.

You linger on how startlingly poetic it all is, and the string pulls tighter. You’ve never claimed to be a hero, but you have the instinct, just the same. He, on the other hand, seems entirely dismissive of the urge you assumed would wreck him too.

(Partially your fault. You know better than to expect the obvious from him – that’s his pattern.)

As the two of you veer closer to the havoc, the arrow discharges, striking the tension that’s kept you still thus far. When it snaps, it shatters, congealing to form a beset of sounds, sights, fear. Heaving sobs from a limping group of friends – the middle one rapidly losing blood from what you can tell. The pungent clog of burning debris, fed by the ash that lays suspended, mid-air. The painful creak of metal collapsing in on itself, peppered amongst the constant buzz of radio static. Miguel curbs to a stop, hidden in the notch of an alleyway, and uses the cover to reposition you in his carry. You go from slung over his shoulder to laid across his arms – not quite bridal style, but a placement similar enough that he retains a solid hold of you.

His mask comes back up, concealing the cynicism that had begun to creep up onto you both. You scoff at the unambiguity of the action, the parallel it poses to the reality at hand. He blocks himself to the obvious, the avoidable.

Glowering, you trace his line of vision to the encompassing wreckage. The street appears hauntingly familiar, thrumming with the hurried echoes of a recent memory. It lacks the colourful components – the vivid signage, the star speckled windows – yet, you recognize it all the same. The very avenue you frantically traversed only hours ago. Your companion, too, begins to grasp the truth, and you find yourself biting your cheek, a twinge of unease settling in as the revelation hits you: that perhaps you had divulged too much, far surpassing the realm of personal gain.

Yeah, the day pass is here. And you can only hope that he won’t find it.

For now, though, it appears to be the least of your worries.

A crimson creature prowls along the fringes of the decimated ruins – deliberate, relaxed, like a predator with its teeth already halfway dug in its meal – circling a man clad in a lab coat. Its size is menacing enough; standing at seven feet, with limbs as thick as pipes. Yet, what truly strikes you are the protruding bulges flanking either side of its jaw, and the white, emblematic eyes gazing out from upon its face.

“Spider-person?” You whisper, not so much looking for clarification as you were putting the possibility out there. Miguel is unwavering, dead-set on waiting the interaction out.

“Something like that.” He affirms.

“Y’know, I remember you, doc!” The creature jibes, its inflection nearing maniacal. “You sat on my jury! Yes, yes. Hard to forget a shiner like that.” Laughing, it points to the balding patch atop its victims head. He trembles, bowing in a silent cry.

“O’Hara–”

“Wraith.” He warns.

“Sixty seven years! Not even you look that old, ‘course you don’t understand how damning that sentence was! But you see, I got lucky. Some higher being must’ve taken pity on me, enough to grant me this miracle of a symbiote. Mhm, yeah–” He skips closer to his prey, considering him in the new light. “‘Cause now I can do things like…” A sharp blow echoes. The glassy spear, red as the flesh it extends from, skewers through the doctor’s chest, a spout of blood following through on the other end. “This!”

Miguel’s palm slaps over your mouth, knee supporting the portion of your body he releases whilst angling you away from the scene. You’re thankful for it, despite the overwhelming anger you bear against him. You’ve no trust in the horror that wracks you suddenly, all at once. It launches you back to that convenience, the robbery. How powerless you had been to stop the clerk from dying out, your hoodie fruitlessly wedged to her neck. You’d been spared the grief so far – the blur of the last day tamping to little more than an aching numbness. Yet you should have appreciated that it couldn’t last; guilt is far too familiar a prospect for you to have expected it to let off so soon.

(Your mistake.)

“Oops. Did that go through your heart? My bad, doc.” It howls, stuck in its own stand-up routine. “You’d been doing your… erm– civil duty, sure.” The loud squelch of gore triggers the imagery for you, regardless of your averted gaze. The limb-turned-spear being pried out from between his ribs, caked in bits of tissue.

Dead. You could’ve prevented it.

He could have.

From behind the veil of unshed tears, you watch as he ponders the risk of retracting his hand. You betray nothing, blinking back the hot dismay from your eyes, and instead meet his regard in cold defiance. Slowly, as though your apparent sensibility means anything, he removes the muzzle.

You contemplate screaming, to coax the creature from the group of people it has surrounded and make it Miguel's problem to handle.

Then, you remember your rather unsavoury predicament. How prone you are to harm with your limbs locked; you aren’t the best in combat, but you still could’ve stood a chance at survival if it wasn’t for your restraints.

Your captor reaffirms his grip, tucking you to his figure as he creeps up to a corner. His back remains glued to the brick wall, obscured in shadow. The stance is primed – far from the hesitant sidle he’d adopted before. It isn’t hard to figure out why; you see it too, buried under a pile of trash bags, on the other side of the road. Purple, luminescent.

The day pass.

As if on cue – choreographed by a sadistic deity with no favour for anyone involved – you glitch.

It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough for you to fall to the ground, erupting in a pained groan. The creature twists to lay its terror on your curled frame, shaded by a man who – despite his vast height – is dwarfed in comparison to its colossal self.

“Better start learning not to ignore my spidey sense! I’d felt you tiptoein’ over there,” It growls, neck stretching in preparation for attack.

“We’re not here for you.” Miguel urges.

“No? That hurts my feelings, and here I was thinking you wanted to be friends.” At the feral rip of its taunt, it lunges, tearing through the space separating you. The spider-man, in turn, dodges the barrelling assault, swinging in a blur of motion to a wreck not far off. You thank God for his flashy suit; the creature seems to forget you completely, pivoting to charge at him again.

You force yourself to look away, sickened at the unhinged savagery with which it thrashes. There are people still around, crippled by quickly debilitating injuries, the paramedics meant to aid them now amongst the lost. This is what you wanted – the opportunity to help – and of course you’re still hindered by the asshole who’d refused you in the first place. Desperation weighs heavy on your chest as your eyes scan the spoilage, seeking anything you could use to cut yourself free. And there, you catch it – the sharp end of a broken gutter, its jagged edge catching the afternoon sun.

Using your heels as anchors, you push yourself across the coarse pavement. It isn’t a long way, thankfully, but sweat already starts to dampen your shirt by the time you reach the potential lifeline. Angling yourself, you press the webs to the serrated metal, ready to start shoving. That is, until you remember Miguel; how he sat on your legs, his talons performing much the same feat. He made sure to hold your wrists apart, so you didn’t suffer damages he didn’t intend.

You remedy your approach, arms straining to separate, then thrust downwards. The telltale signs of your success come as pops, like elastic bands splintering. Then, it’s the easing pressure on your skin, irritated and surely marked in places where the binds come undone.

The makeshift blade catches your elbow once you’re halfway down, burying deep enough to touch bone. The world narrows to the searing intensity that blazes up your nerves, eclipsing all else. You almost forget your goal, your brain stirring signals to pull away, but the fight that rages in your peripheral is only growing more barbaric. Alarmingly, Miguel is losing.

If he dies, you’re next, and it’d all be in vain.

Biting your tongue, you stifle the pain and continue pressing. The gutter inches sideway, ripping through flesh and web like butter, the sleeves of your top mangling at its lip. Miraculously, you stay awake for the time it takes to finally get your arms loose. It’s harder to preserve that triumph when you sit up, though, dizziness distorting the plan of action you’d set for yourself.

(Get… get the people to safety. Then, your legs. No–

Free your legs, get the people to safety. And… what?

The day pass. Yeah.

But Mig–)

Your body moves with an unsettling disconnect from your own command. Unable to fully grasp the dissonance, you blanch in bewilderment as you navigate the clearest cut path through it all. A dance in a mechanical rhythm; pulling the webs off your calves, running over to the nearest civilian, and helping them up on their feet. And again. And again.

There’s a boy, young enough that you worry he doesn’t understand you’re harmless. His cherubic face is coated in a grey layer of dust, disturbed only by the tear marks that run from big eyes. His foot has been crushed, stormy blue blotching his knee. You dismiss the agony of your numerous wounds and crouch to pick him up, hugging him to your chest.

New squadrons of emergency services trickle in, careful to leave their sirens off as they round the corner. It’s an odd enough choice that it distracts you from the child’s fingers, which dig into your abrasion for purchase. An ensemble of prospects occur to you.

When you hand him off to an awaiting EMT, it clicks.

What’d the creature call itself? A symbiote?

(You haven’t always been science-oriented.

Freshman year of college, you’d joined as an undeclared major within the school of arts and architecture. ‘Course, you only had your general education requirements to fulfil at the time; useless classes that fit your self-imposed four day weekend, meant to do fuck all as your tuition went to waste. Needless to say, your ambition had been directed at more carnal pursuits.

Then, there was astronomy. It’d awakened your curiosity for the cosmos.

Astro 8, to be exact. Life in the Universe. Your post-midterm lesson had been on a recently discovered, space-faring civilization. Symbiotes – they were called – based on the initial assumption that they thrived in mutual beneficial relationships with other lifeforms. But the projection that flickered for its class of drowsy students entailed another truth entirely. Darkened bullet points in big, bold letters. Known weakness.

Fire, and sound.)

You sprint towards a nearby cop car, its door wide open and the driver's seat vacant. It’s instinctual, devoid of consideration. A singular objective dominates you, beyond the day pass – to kill that thing. Not for Miguel, who’s choked in its gnarled hand. Not for yourself, or your deep-rooted desire for heroism. No. Just for them – the boy and that group of friends, the doctor who still lays dead on the scene. For the sake of this world, and to reconcile the life you took just last night, as if such a trade-off could absolve you of the weight of your sins.

Stepping on the gas, you accelerate abruptly, gaining speed with every pothole you drive over. It looms ahead, crouched in front of a hollowed-out apartment complex, suffocating the futurist spider-man and vibrating with glee. If you can align it – aim and time it just right…

You activate the wail siren. Your hypothesis is validated when it screeches in response to the racket, throwing Miguel off to the side.

Good. He won’t be collateral.

You grab a gun from the cupholder on the dash, throwing it on the pedal to keep it down, then jump to the backseat.

The impact is seismic; a violent convergence of metal and brick and brawn that sends shockwaves rippling throughout your being. You become captive to the merciless momentum, forcefully propelled against the leather cushions. Chronic whiplash shreds upon the vulnerable muscles holding the weight of your concussed head; its talons raking through the fibres, pulling apart the once sturdy tissue. A relentless ring envelops the cacophony of noise, and silences it into one, tender hum.

You’re hauled out the window, detained in the embrace of some unspecified form, which settles above you for cover as the building comes crumbling down.

Or – not unspecified.

That mix of patchouli and musk.

Your consciousness turns to black as you're buried beneath the rubble.

chapter six →

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v4leoftears · 11 months

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THE AMAZING MEOWS MORALES

Kinda quickish practice, MEOWS MORALES IS THE CUTEST THING I COULDN'T CONTROL MYSELF!! LÑASJSDL 💕

#meows morales #meows morales spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman: atsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman #miles molares #into the spider verse #atsv art #atsv miles #Cat morales #meow morales #marvel fanart #spidercat

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despairots · 11 months

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can you write...you force miles 42 to take selfies but hes not into it but hell do anything for you?

━━━━━━━━ hey, smile!

earth42! miles morales x gn! reader. just fluff and miles being absolutely hooked for you. spanish translations my not be accurate since they’re from google translate! i always forget to add the translations at the end of oneshot so i’ll try to remember but its school so and i live in canada gasp

does anyone remember that meme with the “hey, smile!” camera shutter? cause i do and i felt like it match so giggles. anyways you must love earth 42 miles — i do too but earth 1610 still my boo.

he hated taking photos, like he really did, and most people knew that he did. but god, he must love you so much to the point where he agreed to do this with you.

miles grumbled at the constant question of, “can i take a photo of you?” from people all a like, especially you and his mother.

his hands caressed your waist, keeping you slightly away from him as you kept trying to take photos with him, “mi vida, please.” he sighed with his hands now on your face, making you look at him.

“eres cojo, miles.” you scoffed with an eye roll, “even your mom agrees, right, mrs morales?” you looked over to his mom with a smirk, she laughed at the two of you.

“[nombre] tiene razón, millas.” she placed a hand on her waist, a smile showing that she was enjoying the lovers quarrel. “mamá!” miles groaned at his mother.

you giggled, giving miles a quick peck on the lip before going over to his mother, “mrs. morales, since miles, here, doesn’t want to take pictures, wanna show me his baby pictures?”

you threw miles an evil smile over your shoulder as mrs. morales squealed in excitement, miles wouldn’t admit it but he did want to take a picture with you.

he went behind you, hugging your waist as his head was in the crook of your neck to hide the light pigment on his cheek.

“aww, he’s so cute when he was adorable.” he could technically feel the way you smiled.

“but he’s a lot cuter now.” you chuckled as you felt miles grumble into your neck, he’s accent, the way he held himself up, the braids in his hair, everything about him was photogenic.

“you guys are so cute.” mrs. morales commented, pinching miles cheek who let it happen. “take [name] to your room while i prepare dinner. es mejor que tu habitación esté limpia.”

“si mamá.” he took you by the hand, guiding you to his room, “you’re such a mommies boy.” you sat on his bed, smiling up at him as he just smirked.

that smirk, you wanted to kiss it off he’s face, your boyfriend is so cute.

“i love you so much, cariño.” miles kissed you on the nose as you glarrd at him for not kissing you directly, “not even a kiss on the lip.” the pout on your lip made you even cuter.

miles lightly chuckled, pushing you onto your back to cuddle, one of his hand caressing your cheek with love in his eyes.

“why don’t you like photos, cariño?”

“i don’t.” he always had a quick response, “then why don’t you take photos?” you propped yourself up by your elbows, “never crossed my mind, mi vida.” he grabbed you by the waist, pushing you back down and pulled you towards him to cuddle.

you smiled and grabbed your phone from your pocket, swiping left to open the camera app, taking a few photos of miles, thinking that he didn’t know.

he obviously knew but he didn’t tell you. he loved you, adored you. he spoiled you so much, whenever you two went shopping, he used his money, his card.

even if you went shopping by yourself—to be groceries or something— you’ll be using his card.

he worshipped you like angel from above that was sent down for him, and as his the prowler and possessive (even though you are too), he wouldn’t let anyone touch you, anger you.

he knew what to calm you down, make you happy, respected your needs, he wanted the best for you. after his father had died, you completely shut himself off until you came back to the city.

you giggled, miles looking over your shoulder seeing that you were sending the photos to his mother. he smiled and placed a warm, chaste kiss on your cheek.

“i love you, mi vida.”

you turned around to look at him, hands on his cheek as you placed kisses all over his face. first on his forehead, his eyelid, his nose and then a quick kiss on the lip.

“i love you too, miles.”

“no nickname?”

“i love you too, cariño.”

#kaz. 💫#miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #42 miles morales #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman: atsv #atsv #spiderman ats #spiderman: across the spiderverse

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killerpancakeburger · 7 months

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Art by fluma_z on Instagram

"Leader of the Miles Protection Squad"

Bonus:

This is Nueva York's ass 😏🍑

#miguel o'hara #hobie brown #miles morales #across the spiderverse #atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman: atsv #atsv fanart #across the spiderverse fanart #fanart #fluma_z #this is such a fucking mood lmao #author is ok with reposting as long as credit is given!#atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spider punk

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saydada · 11 months

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“listen, new guy—“

“for the last time, not a new guy!”

#losing my MIND for this movie #and i love their lil band!!!#my art #fanart #spiderman: atsv #spiderman: across the spiderverse #marvel #gwen stacy #miles morales #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar

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spidernoirs-cigar · 8 months

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My favorite Miguel pic of all time: dad bod Miguel 🥵🥵🥵

🔥🔥🔥Art by Newspapertaxiis on Twitter 🔥🔥🔥

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nightcomet01 · 10 months

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His universe is still dying btw

#spider man: across the spider verse #spiderverse #spiderverse fanart #across the spiderverse #spiderman #pavitr #pavitr prabhakar #spiderverse pavitr #pavitr my beloved #atsv pavitr #pavitr fanart #catified #atsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman: atsv #atsv fanart #marvel

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notebookpapers · 11 months

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I’M NOT A ROLE MODEL, I WAS BRIEFLY A RUNWAY MODEL

#made a pav version already but here’s the hobie variant for those who asked #LOVE THIS GUY THOUGH COME ON #hobie brown #hobart brown #spiderman #spiderman: atsv #into the spider verse #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spider punk #spiderpunk

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gay-dorito-dust · 10 months

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Could you do Hobie Brown x Male!Reader that’s a spider person with glasses? And Hobie has never seen him without glasses so they squabble over it for a bit until Hobie ultimately wins. Only to be absolutely ENAMORED once seeing him. Also they’re boyfriends! :D

‘For the last time no, you know as well as the next guy that I can’t see shit without my glasses.’ You told your boyfriend for what felt like the fifth time that day because for whatever reasoning he had, Hobie had been asking to see you without your glasses on for a while now, you didn’t understand why that was nor why it’d matter how you looked without your glasses. It defiantly didn’t make matters any better when you would confront him about it, only for Hobie to surf his shoulders followed with an ‘is it illegal to not see my pretty partner’s face?’ To which you responded with, ‘but you see my face all the time regardless of whether or not I’m wearing my glasses. So why now the sudden intrigue?’

‘It’ll only be for a quick sec pretty boy, it’s not like I’m asking you to throw them away for good.’ Hobie tried to convince you as he leaned himself against the doorway of your bedroom, arms folded over his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles, even within his own home Hobie always managed to look effortlessly cool. You couldn’t help but scoff, ‘yeah right, coming from the person who makes an constant effort in keeping my glasses case clamped shut with his webs.’ You crossed your arms over your chest as you stared Hobie down. ‘Then when I asked for his help, all he tells me is to ‘wait for the webbing to dissolve.’

‘Sounds like my kind of guy. You should introduce us sometime.’ Hobie said with a coy smile and you couldn’t help but smile, deciding to play along, as you walked up to him until you were more then face to face, ‘I’m pretty sure he’d only prove to be a bigger pain in my ass with his constant pestering for me to take my glasses off.’ You finished as you innocently toyed with the pins on his vest, making no attempt in looking at him directly in the eye; feeling all warm and giddy in your chest when Hobie’s hand fell past your line of sight before dipping under your chin, pushing it up ever so gently so that you were looking into his deep brown eyes that sparkled with adoration.

‘Maybe the reason as to why he keeps pretending I’d because he wants to admire your pretty eyes up close without having to do so through your lenses.’ He says softly as his hands them began to trail to either side of your glasses, ready to take them off, ‘but he wanted to ask for your permission first because he never wants to put you in positions where you don’t get a say in things,’ you internally melted at how sweet and compassionate your boyfriend was in regards of making sure you were alright with what he was planning on doing, despite the fact that he didn’t need to because you trust him wholeheartedly, but the fact that Hobie still went out of his way to ensure your comfortability over anything else made your love for your boyfriend grow over a million times more.

‘So may I remove your glasses pretty boy?’ He asked.

‘You don’t have to ask because for you, my answer will always be yes.’ You told him as you watched him gingerly remove your glasses before sweetly putting them away within his vest pocket. ‘There you are.’ Hobie whispered as his hands claimed their place on your cheeks, thumbs gently stroking where the nose pads of your glasses resided before dragging them just under your eyes, ‘my pretty, pretty boy…’ he trailed off as he got lost in the forever that he always saw in your eyes but never to this magnitude, it almost took Hobie’s breath away. ‘God you’re so pretty that the word has lost all meaning because it doesn’t quite describe you, not anymore.’

‘Then what word would you use instead.’ You inquired, loving the obvious effect you had over your boyfriend as he continued to look deeply into your eyes as though searching for your soul through them; The moment felt intimate as you both found yourselves swimming within the infinite depths of each others eyes as the pitter patter of rain could be heard in the distance, providing an somber but calming ambience between the two of you. ‘Ethereal, beautiful, gorgeous, handsome, I could call you anything and everything but but none of them would ever come close to truly describing how you look to me right now.’

It was moments like these where you wish you could hide away your face when you felt the heat build up within your cheeks, but with how Hobie was holding your face, it was almost as though he knew you were going to become flustered by him at some point and wanted a front row seat to it all. ‘Since when did Hobie Brown become all poetic.’ You asked, trying to come across as casually as you could possibly be but you knew Hobie was keenly observant -especially when it came to you and your tell tell signs- as a smirk grew across his face and a chuckle ripped from his throat. ‘Ever since the moment you got me hooked onto those eyes of yours.’ He tells you as he presses his forehead against yours and whispered against your lips, ‘ for you, my pretty boy with the prettiest eyes, had my stolen heart within the palm of your hand.’

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