#fic: across for comfort

[oharababe]

❝ ACROSS FOR COMFORT ❞ ficlet premise. when he feels that the weight of the world is crushing him, miguel can only think of one person he can go to and unravel his biggest fears. he'd go to you even though you are far away from across the multiverse.

pairing: spiderman 2099 miguel o'hara x reader genre: mature warnings: hurt/comfort, longing from afar word count: 2,148

Miguel knew that he divided the Spider Society the moment he let everyone know that they would not stop until Miles Morales was brought back to him. 

Anger coursed through his veins when the young Spider-Man managed to slip through his fingers and escape from the Society again. He’s been defeated by a sixteen year old boy, who only had a year experience as a vigilante, who didn’t know much about the big sacrifices all Spider-Heroes had to make. And yet, he managed to draw everyone out of headquarters so that he can escape where no one can find him. 

But Miguel will make sure that Miles is found, even if he has to take drastic measures in order to protect the Multiverse. 

The boy wasn’t supposed to be Spider-Man, and yet Miles managed to outsmart him single-handedly. Outsmarted himself, Spider-Man 2099. Who has been protecting the multiverse for years with more experiences compared to the young hero. Who has never seen how fragile the universe is. Who made one mistake that caused the ruins of other people’s lives, wiping their existences off the arachnid humanoid poly multiverse (yes, that name does sound a little far-fetched, but he will always refer to the multiverse as that). Miles Morales reminds him of himself, and Miguel hates it. The one who thought that he can have the best of both worlds; saving lives and having the people close to them alive.  

I thought we were supposed to be the good guys? 

We are, he told Gwen. They still protect the multiverse, saving people’s lives. He was keeping the universe together. And yet, he couldn’t get her words out of his head that echoed in the back of his mind. Miguel knows that the weight of his words and actions have divided the Society, but what was he supposed to do when he tried to explain the situation to Miles calmly and it didn’t work out? And the possibility of another multiverse wiping off its existence can happen again? 

Miles Morales reminds him of himself, believing that Spider-Man can have everything in his life. The reality of it is that they can’t. No matter how hard he tried and the consequences led to severe destruction because of him—it was selfish of Miguel to think he could have it all. 

Miguel sneers when a couple of the Spider-Heroes give their updates that they couldn’t find Miles Morales in the universe they’re assigned to. His fangs bare under his mask, the tone of his voice edge command and hint of desperation as he commands the heroes to continue their search on the young vigilante. The multiverse is large and he knew that Miles could be anywhere. But the boy wouldn’t be able to hide and escape away from him for too long. Miguel knows that—he’ll make sure to find Miles Morales and confinement will have to be done. 

Setting up coordinates to a certain dimension, he strode into the wormhole and reappeared at the end of the time tunnel. The rain has stopped and he’s greeted to a new environment. It was pitch black, quiet and the full moon brightens up the dark canvas of the skies. Feeling the serenity in the air, calmness begins to settle in him, something that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He scouted the multiverse, taking notes of which universes he visited so that he could look for Miles. Earth-223 is no different; his mission is still to catch the young boy. But a thought crosses his mind when he comes to this universe, and his heart starts to race a little faster. 

Miguel hasn’t visited Earth-223 in a while and his stomach curls as he overlooks a part of the city. He glances down at his gizmo and as he suspected, there are no energy levels of anomalies on Earth-223. He has a job to do—to protect the multiverse—but at that moment, his mind is drawn to one thing that he’s been hoping to do since his arrival. 

He moves and swings swiftly from one place to another, going to a place that he had in mind. With one last jump, Miguel lands on top of a roof building perfectly, landing on his feet and rising up to stand. He overlooks a particular street apartment that he’s been looking for. His eyes look down at the street and observe the citizens that walk past by. Miguel knows that he shouldn’t be doing this but a part of him couldn’t help himself to go along with the plan. To find someone from this universe that he knows well. 

And within his view, there you were. Walking down the streets of where your apartment complex is. Seeing how late it is at night, you must have just got off work, ready to return back to your home. He watches as you approach the apartment’s main entrance, taking out your keys and watching you enter the building. 

Miguel lets out a breath that he didn’t realise that he was holding back. You live on the fifth floor of the building and he contemplates on if he should do what he’s been wanting to do with you. In the apartment, he has a hunch that you’re walking up the stairs to your flat. It should take less than five minutes at least and his mind races as he debates on whether he should take the leap or not.  

“Lyla,” Miguel speaks up. “Call them.” 

“A-are... are you sure you want to do that?” Lyla questions. You should be on the way up to your place, maybe walking down the corridor as you prepare to get your keys out to get inside. He knows your routine like the back of his hand. 

“Just do it,” his voice firms. “Call them.” 

Lyla doesn’t argue and she tells him that she’s connecting his earpiece  to your phone number. Through the window of your apartment complex, he can see that the front door unlocks and opens. You step in, put down your bag and take off your coat to hang it up. Miguel sees that you stop midway and your hands pat down to your side pockets. He knows that his call is ringing on your phone because a smile appeared on your face despite how tired your day must have been. “Hey,” 

“Hey,” Miguel responds back. He notices you move around in your apartment, going to the kitchen. Your voice speaks to him on your end of the line, asking about what he has been up to with that calm and cheerful tone of yours. He keeps it brief about his day because he would rather hear about yours, than to remember the crisis he is currently facing. The mask on him disappears away as Miguel listens to you. His free hand rubs against the pad of his fingers together, sometimes running through his dark brown hair. His eyes never leave your sight as he sees you walking around in your kitchen, listening to you talk his ear off that he welcomes deeply. 

“When are you ever going to stop calling me that?” Miguel half jokes. The corner of his mouth curves up into a half smile. Though his words come across displeasure, his heart races at the nickname you made.  Please never stop calling me that. “Miguelito? Really?”

“Well, you never complain.” You tease back. There’s a moment of pause before he hears you speak up again. “Hey, I can tell something is bothering you. You okay?”

Miguel realises that he can never escape from your skepticalism, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. You’re the only civilian who knows about his identity and what he does, even if he isn’t the Spider-Man from your Earth. He knows better than to let anyone in but when it comes to you, he couldn’t stay away. Drawn to you like a moth to flame. Maybe in truth, the reason he is on your Earth is not to find Miles Morales. But rather, to look for you.

“I don’t know if what I did was the right thing to do.” Miguel’s voice wavers. 

Quietness settles between the two of you, and he allows himself to lower his guard down as his voice guides him. “I know that I have to be the one to do it. But I just… don’t know where I am going with this. I thought I knew what it takes to carry this burden.” 

Miguel sighs, the weight of his thoughts and words prior tightens in his chest. He finds it a struggle to downright say that he wants to express at times. He stayed silent and exhaled out slowly, his chest deflated. Miguel’s eyes clock on your figure by the window and though he could only see a side profile of you, he catches a small glimpse of you quietly as well. Not long after, you speak up. “I’m really sorry that you’re having a rough time.” 

“I feel that I did this to myself. Always so… rigid.” A solemn expression etched on his face. 

“True but you have gone through a lot.” 

“There’s this new kid who isn’t like the rest. Different. Which worries me.” Miguel begins. “I told him about the predicament of the future of all Spider-Man—that we will all lose someone close to us. And, Miles wouldn’t accept that.” 

“I see.” You say. “Who is he predicted to lose?” 

“His father, a Captain.” Miguel says. “Miles is trying to change the future and I can’t let that happen.” His voice sterns for a brief moment. “Or else he’s making the same mistake as I did. Have the same guilt that I carry.” 

 The invisible weight he feels in his mind and chest lightens somehow when he tells you what’s going on. You’re quiet when he’s done talking and there’s a moment of pause lingering between you two. 

“I don’t really know much about the effects of messing up timelines,” you say. “But from an outsider’s perspective, it seems that Miles would go against the predicted fates because he would rather give all he’s got than do nothing. Even if he’d get hurt by messing up the timeline, I think Miles would be even more hurt and guilt-ridden if he didn’t give it a try for himself to save someone.” 

Miguel stays quiet. There is something in your words that reaches him, anchoring him to see things differently. You’ve always been good at putting things into a different perspective. 

“I know you care for the kid, Miggy.” You continue. “Even though you have an odd way of demonstrating that.” 

He could imagine the corner of your mouth curving up into a smile as you chuckle softly at your end of the line. And he does the same; cracking a smile on his face for once since the mess of the Spider Society everything happened. Miguel allows himself to venture with the idea of a peaceful life with you; a life where he would return home to you on his good and bad days, and you would be the one he is excited to come home to. He wants to be comforted by you. To hold you in his arms, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. 

He wishes he could just be with you. To him, you are his world. But he knows that you’re only a tiny fraction of this multiverse he swore to protect, even if it means keeping his distance away from you. 

“Miguel? Are you still there?” Your voice speaks through the earpiece. 

He cleared his throat, breaking away his thoughts of a life he knew that he couldn’t really have. “Yeah, I’m here.” 

“Thought I lost you for a moment, there,” you say. Miguel sees you moving around in your living room and settles to sit in the middle of your sofa. You cross your legs in a lotus position and he couldn’t help but watch you, feeling himself strained to stop the smile from forming. But he couldn’t help it, not when you look so carefree and safe. 

“Anyways, are you free to swing by? I made an extra batch of food to share.” You said. “Feel like I cooked a bit too much this time.”

“Not this time I’m afraid.” Miguel says. “Work’s getting intense.” 

“That’s a shame,” you tell him. “Well, I don’t know where you are but that doesn’t mean you can’t escape from me telling you off. And to remind you to look after yourself.” He sees you stuff a spoonful of food into your mouth. He gives you a moment to eat but still manages to talk to him. “Or else who am I going to ramble someone’s ear off but yours?” 

You are what he is protecting, and he’ll do anything to make sure the world you’re in is safe. 

TAGLIST gang: @99matterss @tojishugetiddies @miauamy @pigeonmama @oyayablog @itsmiguel2099

spiderverse taglist page

#miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman astv #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel atsv #miguel btsv #the miguel effect #fic: across for comfort #oharababe ; newest

[bensolosbluesaber]

Nowhere to Run: Part 1 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)

Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader

Warnings: Hints of suicidal ideation on reader’s part, Fang stuff (Miguel uses fangs on reader), Chasing, Miguel is maybe ooc (I only saw the movie once and was mostly trying to keep from audibly moaning every time he was on-screen), Miguel and reader fight - he does some damage, Poison, Wounds, Not edited (but I will come back for some minor edits later on), Let me know if I missed anything

Summary: After the collapse of your universe, you resort to jumping around the multiverse to survive. Evolution gave you the powers needed to escape your universe. Technology of your own design stopped the glitches. But you haven’t found a way to escape the man relentlessly hunting you across every universe - Spider-Man 2099. ~2,500 words

Angst, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending

A/N: This is for all of us who watched the Nueva York chase scene/train sequence and thought ‘when do I get to be Miles?’ This is dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok - you guys are doing god’s work over there (especially with the captions). There shouldn’t be any spoilers in here beyond what was shown in trailers, but tread as carefully as you feel you need.

EDIT: Part 2

--

A persistent tingle deep in your mind vibrated madly the closer Spider-Man 2099 was to you. It was your Spidey-sense warning you of danger.  For the first few months, you managed to stay several universe’s ahead of the terrifying Spider-Man variant, but after running for months with no one to help you, dodging the Spider-Person in each universe, and growing more exhausted with each portal you opened, 2099 was catching up.

He was catching up quite literally. The man was a few blocks behind you, pursuing you through the streets of a Queens in a universe you had never seen before. Buildings were built into trees. The entire city was a perfect symbiosis between nature and technology. It was beautiful, but there was no time to appreciate it. The time on your wrist ticked down. Seventy-six seconds. Seventy-five.

You shot out another web. It caught a window, and you took a sharp corner then another trying to lose the hunter.

Seventy seconds until you could safely open another portal. Well safe was a relative measure. Ideally you would allow a full day between jumps, but if you only had twelve hours, well then odds of survival rose to about fifty-fifty. Anything less than twelve hours and implosion was basically guaranteed.

Sixty-eight. You extended your legs for more momentum, rolled in the air, shot out two webs and used them to zip forward. Sixty-two. 2099 was fast, faster than you. You didn’t dare to look back to see if he was still in pursuit.

He protected the multiverse, kept it from collapsing in on itself, and you put the entire web of connection at risk just by being alive outside of your universe. You didn’t begrudge 2099 for what he thought he had to do. Maybe it was true that your presence could cause a universe to collapse, but you were careful not to stay for too long, not to interact with the Spider of that universe, not to fight any super-villains. If he could just understand that you were careful, that you didn’t want a multiversal collapse anymore than he did, maybe he would be reasonable.

Then again, maybe not. He was relentless, and from what little you had heard of Spider-Man 2099, he wasn’t one for talk and negotiation.

Fifty-five. You dived down, shot another web, swung again. You could never go back to your world’s boundless emptiness and not another living soul. That thought kept your exhausted muscles working. Fifty. The void was all that remained of your collapsed universe, a void in which you could not die but where no one else could live.

Forty-eight. Forty seven. This block was all future, half-built apartment buildings.

Thirty. You’d long ago lost your suit. All that remained was the mask that obscured your face. You must look ridiculous swinging around in stolen street-clothes: a baggy sweatshirt, leggings, dirty sneakers.

Twenty-one. Nearly there. Just a few-

A solid mass of muscle stole the breath from your lungs and flattened you into a cement wall. Claws shattered the cement beside your head into a fine gray powder. A hand closed around your throat, and you were crushed between the blue and red clad Spider-Man and the wall.

He was pure muscle. This was the closest you’d ever been to 2099, and his sheer size was terrifying. The red lines on his mask narrowed with his eyes as he studied you.

Eighteen. You pushed at his broad chest, struggling desperately to fight him off, but he was enhanced too and probably well-fed and rested - two things you were not.

“Stop fighting me,” 2099 growled into your ear, his voice a deep rumble that you felt in his chest.

“I won’t go back.” You choked out the words while you planted a knee against him and tried to kick him away. Your efforts were utterly useless. Quite literally, you could feel muscles rippling across his chest and arms as he held you against the wall while you trid to wriggle free.

In the corner of your eye, you watched the red numbers tick down. Six. Five. Was it even possible? It had to be.

2099 brought you forward then slammed you into the wall again. The impact made your head spin. The red lines of his mask doubled and tripled. He was trying to get something around your wrist.

“Hold still!”

Two.

With the last vestige of strength left in your body, you brought a hand to his face and shot a wad of webbing at his eyes. He growled and stopped his attempt to hand-cuff you - or whatever he was doing - to wipe the webbing away. For a second he was distracted. You imagined the glowing golden portal. Closed your eyes. Energy sparked in your body, coursed through your veins and arm. You shot a web at the wall behind you. It shimmered gold, dim gold, but still gold.

There was a moment where you thought it hadn't worked. Then the wall crumbled away and you felt wind whip you backward as a bright gold light filled the space. 2099 reached for you, claws extended. Four knife-like talons dug into your shoulder, ripping through the ratty sweater, digging into your skin, and tearing four long bloody stripes into your flesh as the portal drug you away..

You planted both feet on his stomach and kicked him off. A bright red web shot out from 2099’s hand to tangle in a tree. The last thing you saw was 2099 falling then catching himself before you tumbled away from him and toward a new universe.

--

It was raining on this new Earth. Actually, ‘raining’ was a bit of an understatement. It was absolutely pouring, and you were soaked before you hit the ground. Hard.

You hadn't been as focused as you needed to be, and the portal had opened in the sky and dropped you ten feet to the roof of a towering building in some universe’s version of New York. You couldn’t tear the mask from your face quick enough as you gasped desperately for air. 2099 was strong, and he’d smashed you half a foot into solid cement.

Your ribs ached. So did your head for that matter. But it was the dull ache spreading across your shoulder, down your arm, and seeping through your muscles like liquid fire that really made you afraid.

The gray of your stolen sweater was soaked in crimson blood. Carefully, you pushed the stained fabric over your shoulder.

Shit. Shit!

Beneath the torn fabric, your skin glowed a sickly, dare you say radioactive red - the same red as 2099’s suit. His talons must have been poisoned, and now that poison was making it’s way through your body, causing unknown damage and immense pain. There had to be a lab on this Earth. Right? If you could only get there, you were smart enough to whip up an antidote.

But as you stood, it was obvious that you wouldn’t be going anywhere. The poison was potent and fast-acting. Insanely, you wondered if it was really poison or if you should be calling it venom. It didn’t matter, because a moment after gaining your feet, your legs failed. You careened forward and nearly smashed your head again, only just catching yourself before slowly laying down in the rainwater.

City lights sparkled in the distance and reflected in the puddle forming around your head. Purple and blues and few bright yellows. Not a bad view if this was how you died. If only the poison weren’t so painful. You wanted to scream, but you lacked the strength.

A familiar tingle shot across your spine a second before the bright gold light of a portal obscured the reflection of the city lights. No! He was so close when you jumped universe’s. He must have tracked you; no wonder he hadn't bothered to chase you through the portal.

You scrambled backwards weakly, your feet struggling for purchase on the slick roof as the broad shouldered man appeared. He was wreathed in gold light. You couldn’t jump again, couldn’t even stand, could barely drag your body through the rain as Spider-Man 2099 strode closer.

“Nowhere to run,” he said. His voice was flat, like he took no pleasure in finally having you trapped.

“I won’t go back!” You tried to sound tough, strong, but your voice cracked over the words. “There’s nothing there. I can’t. I’d rather die than- than go back to nothing. 2099, don’t send me back”

Your fingers felt the ledge of the building and empty air beyond it. Poison. Fall. The clawed Spider-Man. A slow descent into madness trapped in the empty and endless remains of your home universe. A fall seemed fastest. But you didn’t want to. You were scared. You didn’t really want to die. Your shoulder throbbed and head filled with fog. The skin was glowing such a bright red you could see it in the corner of your eye.

In the brief moment you hesitated, he was on you. 2099’s red webs wrapped around your chest, and he yanked you forward and away from the ledge. You crumpled at his feet, and he just stared down at you through that mask. His blue and red mask swam in your vision as you stared up at him. Was it the rain that was so cold? Or was it the poison? No, venom. Poison? Venom?

2099’s face got bigger as he knelt beside you.

“What is this?” He pulled at the torn sweater, his gaze falling on the bright red mottling your skin.

Miguel O’Hara had never seen his claws damage anyone like this. There was no venom in them… unless in whatever universe you had come from something about them was venomous. It was possible. His fangs were venomous, that he did know.

Miguel pulled off his mask, the adrenaline of the chase fading while he watched you struggle for life. He’d meant to stop you, take you back to base, figure out where you’d come from… not kill you. He ran his tongue over one of the fangs protruding from his mouth.

The next thing you knew, 2099 was sitting next to you and pulling you onto his lap. It might have all been a dream, you couldn’t tell. The lights were so beautiful. Your head lolled to one side, your whole body limp as a ragdoll in his muscular arms. His face filled your vision and blocked out the pretty lights.

He had a strong jawline, dark curls, sharp cheekbones, a broad nose, and were those fangs? And were his eyes glowing red? Yes, two orbs as red as the suit and your poisoned skin shone down at you. He was pretty too. This had to be a dream. The monster chasing you couldn’t be so handsome. You blinked, eyes unfocused. Your Spidey-sense was going wild, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fight. 2099 was warm, and you could go to sleep right here.

He shifted your body again so your side was pressed against his chest. “2099,” you whispered weakly, pathetically.

“I’m sorry for this,” he whispered in that low growl. Now it was tinged with what almost sounded like real regret. “It’s the best I can think of.”

He guided your head to rest in the curve of his shoulder, face turned toward his neck. One hand brushed hair away from your neck, the other wrapped around your waist. His fingers were no longer clawed, and his movements were gentle as he held you close, muscles tensing underneath your body. The expression on his face was tender. It seemed impossible that this was the same man who had made you his prey for months.

“Don’t panic now,” he whispered as he lowered his lips to your neck. “Stay still.”

You were barely aware of what was happening. His lips were warm, then four sharp pricks stung the base of your neck just above your collarbone and the deep poisoned wounds. Panic tried to rise in your throat, but you weren’t conscious enough to really process that a man currently had his fangs sunk into your throat. He drew back and spit out bright red poison, then bit into you again. Then again. And again.

Miguel was exceptionally careful with you, holding you perfectly still and being sure to sink his fangs into the same spot each time so as not to mark your skin any more than necessary.

Slowly, the world began coming back into focus. You were exhausted, but the poison was being was successfully being leeched from your system by his fangs. Brown curls were the first thing you became aware of, then the almost unnatural warmth coming from the man beneath you, then the cold pricks on rain on your back, then... then that something was biting you. Before you could wrench your head back, a large hand cradled the back of your head. You desperately tried to struggle as you realized what this vampiric Spider-Man was doing to you. The muscles in his arm flexed as he held your head still.

2099 pulled his fangs from your neck, spit bright red then let go of your head. You sat up quickly. The movement made you dizzy.

“I know you’re scared.” Miguel could see the fear in your eyes. He nodded to your still glowing shoulder. It was dimmer now and hurt less, but it was still obvious poisoned. “But this is working. Let me help you.”

You were looking him right in the eyes, the glowing red eyes, and though you didn’t trust him, you knew instinctively he was right.

“Okay,” you breathed lowly.

You laid your head on his shoulder. Miguel could feel how your whole body trembled, but whether it was from fear or cold or something else entirely he couldn’t tell. When his lips touched your skin you whimpered. That was fear.

Miguel still had one arm around you, but he took your hand in his free one, interlaced your fingers, and squeezed once. Then he sunk his fangs into your neck. It stung a bit but didn’t really hurt. Now that your were conscious, you could feel the poison being drawn toward the spot where his mouth connected to your skin. That didn’t really hurt either. It was like stretching a sore muscle - a satisfying pain that ultimately brought relief.

2099 drew back to spit out his poison. When was the last time you’d touched someone like this? A touch that was more than an accidental brush in the street - or a purposeful one so you could steal someone’s wallet. 2099 was your enemy, your hunter. He was dangerous. But he was saving your life and holding you so tenderly it made your chest ache.

“Once more,” he promised.

His fangs brushed over your skin for the last time. You pulled your hand from his and splayed your fingers across his chest. 2099 brought his now free hand to your poisoned shoulder and pushed the ripped fabric apart.

Miguel watched the last of the poison be pulled from your veins as it filled his mouth. He spit it out then turned back to study how your body was pressed against him.

“Can you stand?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. Then panic hit and you jerked back, still sitting on his lap but with your face now safely away from his fangs. “You- you’re going to send me back. 2099, please don’t.”

“Why do you keep calling me that? My name is Miguel.”

Miguel. 2099 had a name. Of course he did, but hearing it made him seem so human. And his face was handsome. That was no venom or poison induced hallucination. The man was beautiful.

“And no. Not yet.”

“My universe collapsed. There’s nothing for me to go back to.”

His red eyes softened as they met yours.

“We won’t send you back to an empty universe,” he paused, and one side of his lips twitched up. “You ran because you thought I’d send you back to a void? I see I have quite the reputation.”

Miguel lifted you to your feet easily. He set you on your feet and tapped the watch-like contraption on his wrist. You leaned against his muscled chest for stability. Even without his poison, you were still wounded and tired and malnourished. A portal spiraled out in front of you both.

“You promise not to send me back there?” You looked up at Miguel. He squinted at the portal’s bright light and tugged the mask back over his face.

“Promise.”

To be continued... 

Part 2

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A/N: Part 2 will be a little time jump, and we’ll actually see Miguel and reader get into a relationship!

My Masterlist

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Taglist (Want to be added? Click here.) - 

@copingchaos @n1ght5h4d3-24 @paintmekala @chaoticevilbakugo @janebby @chaoticevilbakugo @weirdo125 @roseqzpd @bitchyglitterfox @m0nster-fvcker @romanarose

Won’t Tag: @janebby @marvelescvpe

If you want taken off, just let me know! I took a guess on who might be interested.

#oscar isaac #miguel o'hara #spider-man 2099 #oscar isaac fic #oscar isaac fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara hurt/comfort #miguel o'hara angst #oscar isaac x reader #spider-man 2099 fic #spider-man 2099 fanfiction #spider-man 2099 x reader #spider-man 2099 x f!reader #spider-man 2099 hurt/comfort #spider-man 2099 angst #oscar isaac hurt/comfort #across the spiderverse #spider-man across the spiderverse #atsv

[quartzalynlove]

Spidey Sense

Pairing: hobie brown x Fem! Reader

Summary: hobie shows up at your place

A/n: I don't think this is my best but I need this man biblically.

Was this finals week or your final week? You couldn't remember the last time you didn't have fun on a weekend. All you did once school let out on Friday was work through review packets given by your teachers. Currently, you were halfway through the chemistry papers.

It was Sunday afternoon and there was still plenty of work to do. Time for a break was yet to be seen on the horizon. Your brain was on autopilot as your hand absently scribbled across the paper and words slightly blurred as they reached your eyes. A band of tension was tight around your head; you knew a break was probably in order, but you couldn't take one. Not yet.

The chemistry packet was finally finished, and the history one began. By this point your eyelids were heavy while your brain struggled to stay on task. With a sigh, you hunched over your desk and inspected the first question harder, as if that would make it easier to work.

After a while, you finally got the first question. But before you could start the next one, you saw the bright sunlight shining in your room become partially blocked from your peripheral vision. You brushed it off, assuming it was only a plane or something until knuckles rapped against your window. With your attention caught, you whipped your head around to see Spider-Man holding a brown paper bag while crouched on the fire escape.

Confused, you finally left your chair to open your window, but not giving Hobie access inside.

Hobie looked at both of your hands pressed against the sides of your window then back at you.

"You gon' let me in, babe?"

With your lips pressed together, you shook your head. "Come back in like an hour thirty, Hobie."

The eyes of Hobie's mask squinted as he look around in feigned thought.

"But like what if I come in now?"

"I'm almost done with my work," you sighed. "We can do whatever after that."

"You still workin' on that?" He asked, tilting his head.

Another sigh left you as you brought a hand to your forehead, attempting to ease your growing headache.

"Yeah." You answered quietly.

Hobie didn't just swing by because he felt like it, even if he was missing hanging out with you all weekend. Ever since Friday, he had an odd feeling crawling over his skin that he couldn't shake. At first, he suspected it had something to do with President Osborne and his regime, but after some investigation Hobie found the dictator was still hiding after their last battle. It wasn't until he made his rounds through the city, and stopped a mugging close to your apartment, that Hobie realized. The crawling vibrated right through him, and it was all coming from you.

"Got a headache?" Hobie asked.

You kept your eyes squeezed shut. "Yeah."

"That the same shirt you took from my place Friday?" He looked at you in the distressed, blue sleeveless t-shirt that he knew was his.

"Maybe." You fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

"You eat anything since lunch yesterday?"

You fell silent for a moment as you looked at Hobie; you could see his dumb smile under his mask.

"Thought so."

Coming through the opening you made when your hand left the window, Hobie held the bag he had in front of you. You took it as he entered further into your room and removed his mask. Inside was your regular order from the local deli and a bottle of water. Hobie smirked as he heard the bag crinkle when you plunged your hand inside. He was at your desk looking over the absurd amount of work that you had been doing.

"History and trig? Baby, I could do this." Hobie offered, turning to you.

Shaking your head, you tried to get down the giant bite of sandwich you took. "No, I need to do those to pass my finals."

Hobie didn't listen, taking your pencil and scrawling through a few questions on the packets.

"The education system is just twelve years of teaching children how to conform to society and not question authority." He shrugged.

You laughed slightly at Hobie as you made your way next to him. As you leaned against Hobie, you took your pencil out of his hand and looked up at him.

"Yeah, but, I still wanna go to college."

Hobie hummed, nodding his head, "Hm...and I want that too because you want it," he brought his index finger to his chin as he took a brief thought. "Take a break, then."

With the smile on his face, you knew Hobie's idea of a break for you was cuddling and ignoring both of your responsibilities. While it didn't sound like a terrible idea, your first final was tomorrow. You could take a break when the work was finished.

You linked your arm around Hobie's. "Baby, thank you for the sandwich, but I swear, I'm almost done then we can do whatever you want."

With furrowed brows, Hobie brought his free hand over his chest. "This ain't 'bout me, babe, I said you need a break."

Before you could attempt to shoo him off again, Hobie made his argument for why he should stay.

"Ever since Friday, I've had the most bonkers feeling that I just couldn't figure out. But I was swingin' round here earlier when it hit me. You aren't taking proper care of yourself."

You looked up at Hobie with a puzzled look as a small laugh left your throat. "So you got spidey sense about me?"

Hobie shrugged. "Guess so."

"I didn't think it worked like that." You smirked.

"I ain't got Scooby-Doo."

You let go of Hobie and looked up into his eyes. "Well, if the spidey sense says I need a break, I guess these last two packets can wait."

As you took another bit of your sandwich, Hobie kissed your forehead.

#spiderman into the verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie my beloved #spider punk #spider punk across the spiderverse #black reader #poc friendly #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fanfic #hobie brown fic #comfort #fluff #hobie brown fluff #black writers #fanfic #across the spiderverse fluff #writeblr #writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #black characters

[forggywrites]

Hobie x gn reader having a depressive episode

(I may or may not be having a depressive episode so I just wanna do something to get my mind off of it)

Also it’s hard to write when I’m like this so it’s short.

Requests are open!

When he got home from the usual spider stuff and walked into the living room he knew something was up when your normal greeting wasn’t as energetic as usual.

When he saw you sprawled out on the couch with a tired look on your face he knew something was definitely wrong.

“Hey luv, what’s goin on? You upset or is it just one a those days?”

All you did was shrug.

“Is it anotha episode?”

You nodded with a small noise of confirmation.

First off he’ll make sure to feed you, he’ll make or get whatever you ask for. If you have a hard time deciding on what to eat he’ll grab a small snack and some water and then help you decide.

After you’re fed, he’ll help you clean up. If you don’t have the motivation to shower he’ll help you. Either he’ll motivate you to bathe or bathe you himself.

After you’re fed and cleaned he’ll take you on a walk or drive, just to make sure you can get some fresh air and sunlight.

If you wanna do something he’ll take you to a store, buy steal you a stuffie or other comfort item along with snacks.

After a nice outing he’ll take you home, get you comfortable in bed, and hang out with you until you fall asleep or feel better.

He sits your head in his lap, if you’ve got hair to style he’ll style it, if not he’ll just rub your scalp and hold your hand.

As you lie there he turns on one of your favorite shows, mumbling sweet words to you.

“You’re so sweet luv, I’m glad I can be here for you”

He will always be there for you, no matter what.

#across the spider verse #hobart brown #hobart brown x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #spiderpunk x reader #forggy #forggy speaks #forggywrites #depressive episode #comfort #comfort fic #self indulgence babey #self indulgent #self indulgence at its finest #self indulgence time #x reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral #gender nuetral reader #atsv #atsv hobie #atsv x reader #atsv fic #headcanon #headcanons #atsv headcanons #gn #gn reader

[brightbertalt]

hey y’all, I just needed to write this because I need to write a comfort drabble right now so 😎 enjoy

warnings - implied childhood trauma

it was 11pm at night. dark. loud. it was loud to you. everything is coming back. too many things, everything. you curled up onto the bathroom floor, trying to settle yourself out. why now? why was everything coming back now? the world seemed black and white, everything felt so empty and emotionless but you absorbed everything bad in the universe. why why why. tears and scratching and tears. everything needed to stop stop stop stop stop stop stop

“hey hey, what happened? what’s goin’ on?”

a familiar voice introduced itself to you. you weren’t swept out of your mind, but you just froze instead. you perked up, backing against the cold cold wall.

“is it okay if I touch you? I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

you shook your head, rocking back and forth, trying to get yourself out of the train of thoughts.

“can you tell me what happened?”

you opened your mouth with the intention of speaking, but all that came out was broken sobs. he sat next to you, not touching you at all. he offered you one of his spiky cuffs. you choked up, your shaky hands grabbing the cuff and trying to gain your senses back. your face hurt from crying and it felt like like static from how much movement was happening.

“i’ll be here. just in case you need anything.”

and he was, for two hours you both sat there and talked, half the time not even about the situation, but about random things like what food you ate last week, or your favorite movies.

#fanfic #fanfiction #comfort #comfort fic #hobart brown #hobie x reader #spiderman headcanon #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #spiderman #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk #spider man: across the spider verse

[fauustic]

something new, something that scares me

gender non-confirming reader (implied afab due to pregnancy) x miguel "spider-man 2099" o'hara

angst. comfort. with a secret hanging over the complicated relationship the both of you have, miguel is faced with his rot.

warnings: pregnant reader, discussion of sickness (throwing up, fatigue), discussion of loss of child, miscommunication, allusion to (reader's) past relationship trauma, heavy angst. not beta-read.

words: 5644

Your apartment echoed with your choked gags, the bathroom lit aflame with artificial light soon after the hurried stumbling of yours trailing from your bed. Sleep blurred your gaze, gross and sticky yet you couldn’t bring yourself to wipe the gunk. Your bones felt heavy as your pajama shirt slipped up your belly, exposing the soft flesh to the coldness of your home. The sensation made you suck a sharp breath through your teeth, as miserable and alone as ever.

This great big universe of yours was quaint and quiet, only ever needing to go out on your patrols at night. Sleep was gratefully given during the day, only ever interrupted by the gruff–staticy voices seeping into your apartment from the walkie-talkie that leaked codes and warnings of crime– you’ve never been the one to get sick. Not until this absolutely beautiful morning at the ripe time of 4:27AM.

The entire week leading up to today was filled with waves of nausea, interrupting the time you spent to yourself when months grew dull and delicate. Work was never really needed, graciously, as you lived off your success in the medical field. This allowed you to wallow in the comfort of your duvet, bedridden and hungry and moody. As another pitiful cough wracked your form and bile strayed on your tongue, the watch you kept hidden away in the bedside drawer began to illuminate the corner of your room in an orange hue. The warm sweat against your forehead almost stung painfully when the blood from your face drained in anxiety. The warm color and murmur of muffled words that would normally fill your lungs with a crash of adrenaline and mild irritation instead left your palms slipping off the toilet in panic.

You haven't been beckoned to join alongside a mission with another member of the Spider Society in a while. And you would accept one in a moment's notice if you weren't slumped against the cold tile floor of the bathroom.

There's never been a moment where you didn't answer Miguel's check-ins, whether he was asking for your presence for affection or actual help.

The relationship between you and Miguel, to say the very least, was complicated.

You were like the calm before the storm; the soft tide of an ocean meeting the shore with a gentle embrace. Your voice came out like raindrops meeting the morning dew of grass, yet when met with dire situations– it is as if someone brought forth a lighter to your skin and burnt you aflame. You knew how to hold your own, something others didn't expect of your quaint, observant temperament.

Miguel, was– an enigma within himself. He was a shadow of what he once was, you had learned through the stories he had told you during the nights where your watch felt too heavy on your wrist, drowned away in the bedsheets of your lover that held you as if you were going to leave at the mention of another universe– gone without any evidence that you even existed in the first place.

Ever since you learned, the insecurities that plagued his words in the darkness of the room you crashed in every now and then held greater weight. The white headband and blue wrapping bow resting upon the nightstand, gathering dust by each passing day, caught your eye more than it did not. As Miguel met your lips with his own in sleepy desperation, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you even closer– the trauma haunting his gaze whenever he recollected his thoughts flashed behind your eyelids.

Your first mistake is that you grew to love the shadow of what he once was, grew too attached to a man that wasn't under your protection of a universe that was your own.

The babble of sentences seeping through the cracks of your bedside cabinet had your heart lurching, an all-too-familiar voice passing through the silence like a knife striking through air. His voice was tentative, an exhausted repeat of your name before he heaved another "voice-mail" (or whatever is equivalent to such a thing on a universe-hopping device) into the technological watch. You can already imagine the dark bags right underneath his eyes, framed by definition of his features and wrinkles conjured through stress and age. His hair would be swept back with his claws, you're sure of it. Around this time in your universe it was roughly the same to his, perhaps an hour or two before him. But time didn't matter to the man who put himself in charge of a society full of clones of the same guy, give or take an infinite amount of variations alongside said-same-guy.

As your chin pressed down on the toilet seat, skin damp with sweat from the constant cycle of insomnia and sickness– you allowed yourself the indulging selfishness of imagining Miguel comforting you. But you were afraid of how he'd react to the secret you've kept under the wraps for a couple weeks now, skillfully and hopefully subtly avoiding him. Now you've been homebound, and letting him see you in this state would surely encourage him to come through that apartment door himself. 

The problem was, you and Miguel were not officially together. It was complicated, with him dancing into his life and hooking up with you– spending nights wrapped in your embrace as soft huffs of his breath would meet the shell of your ear. And then he'd disappear for a month and fade back onto nothing more than a coworker, a person you'd nod to in the offices because Miguel was not one to wave.

And to tell him you were most, no– definitely pregnant, you were unsure on how he'd respond.

Miguel has never bared his teeth towards you unless in bed, his fangs grazing the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder in the soft lull of a long day– but you knew he was not one necessarily subject to change. Something out of order. A situation abrupt and unexpected that would change the future and possibly everything that followed.

His past was never foreign, he'd let bits and pieces of himself slip past that guarded exterior of his in the safety of your blankets and pillows and kisses– but that's why fear shot up your spine and settled back down into the pit of your stomach. Miguel has tried more than once to create his own reality of what a family should be– and lost the only thing that has ever truly been important to him twice. Your baby would never be Gabriella, and you couldn't allow your future bundle of love to be put under that expectation.

And, and plus, you weren't even sure if you wanted to keep it. The idea of parenthood had you swallowing back spit like you'd just been dunked into freezing water, the circumstances unknown and dangerous. A father from a whole entire universe? That was stupid. Miguel would call you stupid, too. You knew it. Just like the one who treated you before.

Wetness blurred your vision before you even had a chance to get up, stumbling into the kitchen for a glass of water. You knew you looked like shit, eyes puffy and lips chapped as you pulled at your pajamas to get more comfortable. As you down half a water, a knock vibrates your apartment. It must be a neighbor, you thought. You were probably too loud with these fits you’ve been having, slumped over a toilet and being miserable.

Opening the door, your blood runs cold and the sweat that was finally beginning to stay away after wiping your face came back worse. It was the man that’s been haunting your every living moment, both in wake and in dreams. He looked absolutely wrecked beyond the facade he tried to put up– sunken eyes and unruly hair. “You’ve ignored another call of mine.” Was all he said, pointed and brooding.

“Miguel,” you began as you brought yourself inviting him in before you could even catch yourself. He had that stoic yet bothered look on his face, one that’s almost permanently etched within the few expressions he can muster.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Miguel's voice, confused and raising ever so slightly as his muddled gaze scanned over your pacing form. No hellos, how are you doing, direct as always. When your nails met your teeth in a nervous habit, Miguel exhaled heavily as if he was trying to calm himself down. "No reason, no call– just pure radio silence! I came here because I thought something happened– Dios mío–" He sounded pained, accent growing ever thicker as he shuffled a long-sleeved, futuristic athletic shirt off. The top part of his suit met your eyes, and you had to rip your guilty stare off his form as you remembered who the both of you are; two lines on a graph, who should have simply stayed parallel to one another. Intersecting with a man who has flipped your world upside down and spawned so many opportunities just to disappear the next night– you couldn't take it anymore. 

His sweatpant-clad ankles met your downcast attention as Miguel came closer, his touch contrasting that irritated voice of his. Index meeting the skin of your jaw just right to your chin, he guided your eyes to his own. A frown tugged at his features, winning the war when he so desperately tried to be stoic. Without a word, Miguel scanned the splotches on your face and dried wetness coating your cheeks. He knew you had been crying, he always does.

His touch is so inviting, so welcoming that you just want to surrender your entire being to him. To crawl right into the ribcage you were level with and to create a home, nestled as close to his heart that he tried to keep at bay.

People who aren't lovers shouldn't be holding one another like this, you thought as his thumb met the corner of your lip and his index rested upon your chin. Miguel's lips carved themselves into a deeper scowl as a choked sob erupted the silence following his question, his own hardness beyond that gaze of his shattering like an unlucky mirror. 

Miguel has never had to put up with you in such an emotional atmosphere. You thought you were scaring him away, but he only took your hands in his and rubbed the flesh of your knuckles as you cried. 

Guilt struck your lungs and constricted your breathing, "we shouldn't be doing this." You were full on crying now, you felt the tears rolling down the hot shame igniting your cheeks. You heard your voice crack under the pressure of avoiding him, of depriving your life of the one you loved the most. You snatched your hands away from his grasp, and the moment he let you, you regretted it.

"I shouldn't love you."

"You love me?"

The question tumbling from his agape lips was nothing less than sincere as you snapped your neck towards his shell-shocked expression. You didn't mean to say that– too caught up in emotions and memories and it just came out–

So instead you covered your mouth and shook your head rapidly, stepping away yet never turning away from him. Your sobs wracked your body for the millionth time that night, reminding you of the emptiness you felt on your knees, slumped against the toilet and fending off sickness. A flash of hurt made itself apparent in his gaze, but Miguel knew you were lying.

He stood there like a statue in the middle of your cozy living room, looking like he was sculpted to be here. To be at home, with you. 

If you were two other people, the both of you would be snuggled on the couch that cost way too much at a furniture store going out of business, buttery fingers accidentally intertwining in a bowl of chile-lime seasoned popcorn– having pointless debates on whether or not the next character to die in a B-listed horror film would be the clueless jock or stereotypical book-nerd. Miguel would be complaining "Why are we watching this, anyways? Película de mierda, should have listened to my recommendations from the start."

"I do not want to be stuck at home on a Friday night watching documentaries with you."

And he'd give you a side-eye with a scowl he truly didn't mean, before hitting you in the forehead with a piece of seasoned popcorn.

But this was not another universe where the two of you were intertwined, birthed on the same Earth and time that had you sharing classes and awkward, immature conversations. You would never be granted the experience of that pining phase, dancing around one another under sweet circumstances that consisted of healthy households and loving parents. You were you, holding your stomach in anticipated nausea. And he was Miguel, clenching the claws into his palms with his grey streak hovering uncharacteristically over his eyebrow.

The couch was empty, the television was not on. It was cold.

"We can't continue doing this." You sighed, daring to keep your darting eyes from that rare, broken expression painting his features and daring him to look older. "I'm tired." You fumbled with your hands, bruised and battered from the anxious picking and nights you stayed glued to the toilet. Miguel's eyes met the marks lining the flesh, and he challenged the empty space between the both of you. You knew that he knew he preached to never interfere with what's bound to happen in one another's worlds, that everything is supposed to keep itself flowing without the interference of even one, single organism from another universe. Yet here he was, fighting to keep this situation in the palms of his shaky hands. To hold onto you and never let go. "I'm sorry l, I'm sorry." He whispered into your hair, ruffled from the rough evening you've had. "Perdóname, por favor."

The mention of cutting this, whatever this was, had him crumbling into your frame that hugged the wall that met your back. His hands snaked themselves around your waist before tiredly settling on the softness peeking from your rumpled pajama shirt. His forehead met your shoulder, hunching into the warmth you omitted like he was a freezing man starved from fire. Miguel shifted so his nose met the crook of your neck, dampness meeting the tendons there as he inhaled deeply. "I'm, I'm sorry." He chanted like a broken vinyl, voice breaking into barely above a whisper.

Miguel thought it was because of all those times he had left you hours after he kissed the bruises littering your skin, the marks he branded into your flesh like a possessive sigil. And he wasn't wrong, Miguel was absolutely terrible for that. 

But the pain that tore open your heart and festered into the valves was the aching lit aflame from the nights ruined from sick, never soothed from the one who loved like he was starved and accepted affection like he was desperate, but never given the opportunity of you seeing the morning rays meet the stress dotting his relaxed forehead in the peacefulness of slumber. That was the breaking point.

"Miguel," a sigh escapes your lips before you could contain it. "Please leave." A desperate plea that you didn't fully believe in. All that you gained in response was his hold growing tighter, no words exchanged.

"No, no, no." He breathed into your being, mixing himself into you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. "I can't go, not until I know this is back to right again."

You shook your head, cheek grazing further into the curls that threatened to tickle you with each motion. "It can't be, Miguel. Just go back home."

"And why is that," Miguel says your name, fumbling slightly as he almost murmurs a pet name in the vulnerability of the moment. "This, what's happening– we can fix this as long as you tell me what's going on, angel. Just tell me and I'll fix this." It almost came out as a whine, the urge to keep everything in order oozing out from the ulterior of his words. "Nosotros podemos salvar esto. Please, please, please." He was at a loss, anxious and scared and trying his best to keep as calm as he possibly can– Miguel's native tongue always slipped into conversations at his most emotional, trying to convey his feelings as easily as possible.

Miguel's body pulled away only so he could grab your face gently, as if you were the most fragile thing in all the universes despite your life of busting noses and cleaning up the scum off every city, his suited palms met your skin and it was a bittersweet reminder of the lives you both had. The reason you two were never able to have that happy ending of yours. 

"I can't bring myself to tell you," you mumbled, the furrow of his sharp eyebrows accompanied with the squint of disbelief had you wishing you could just scoop him up in your arms and tell him that this was just one big joke. He wouldn't talk to you for months, cold shoulder and all.

"You can tell me anything. Siempre." The last came out as hushed, a promise you've never heard from him before. Miguel has never truly given you more to work with other than physicality. It hurt knowing you could have had this all along.

Nightlife bled into your apartment, the vibrant lights fighting against the blinds you drew closed. A soft glare of yellow met a mole just below his lip and traced his nose before disappearing as if it was never there at all. A honk flooded the taut tension, almost making you jump in the light grasp he held onto you. You were wondering if he thought you were going to wash away the moment he let go of you, as if you were a sailor lost at sea and he was the broken anchor trying its best to keep you grounded. 

Your teeth met your lip, rolling it around before metal met your tongue. The pain kept you in the moment, the soft echo of “tell him, tell him, tell him,” sounding throughout your head like an urgent emergency alarm. It was all too much. You couldn’t do it anymore.

One breath. Holding it, your confession came out a bit choked and ashamed. “I’m pregnant.” The second it left the confinement of your mind and left your tongue, you just wanted to go back into your room and dig a hole from your bed into the ground. The hold on your cheeks fell slack in shock, before Miguel’s claws that threatened to peak from his fingers trailed down the flesh of your collarbone and settled on your shoulders.

His habit of keeping eye-contact slipped, failing to keep up with your ever-changing gaze. Instead, he stared at you as if he was just something that defied both life and science itself, staring off into nothingness until finally knocking his forehead in the junction right above your heart– nose brushing your armpit. “¿Qué?” Was all he could bring himself to say, and you misconstrued his disbelief with disappointment. 

You brought yourself to repeat what you had held back, tears falling from your puffy eyes. “I’m, I’m pregnant.”

“That’s–” A loss of words, must be trying to fabricate his anger into words. You had messed up, right? Maybe you deserved this–

“I’m sorry, Miguel. I’m sorry–” You cut him off, panic setting into your skin and wiring your brain to go into flight mode. “I was on the pill, and I made sure–”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say another word because the next thing you know is that Miguel’s surrounding you, hands wrapping around the back of your head in a messy tangle of curls wrapped around large fingers as your teeth clashed with his, lips intertwined with your own– your slightly chapped skin meeting his plush mouth. Spit and tears became one until you couldn’t tell anymore, and when the both of you separated a string of saliva was left in its wake. You were dazed from the abrupt need of touch, as Miguel huffed and stammered into your mouth over things he didn’t know how to express.

“No, stop. None of that, none of that matters.” He heaved, and you weren’t sure if the shine glazing his eyes were tears because the wetness clouding your gaze almost had you seeing double.

Confusion set in, replacing the prepared rambling you had of excuses. “You don’t?” You felt stupid for questioning him, but he only hissed an exhale through his teeth and shook his head as if the tension within him began deflating like a balloon. 

“Never.” He assured, forehead meeting yours. “We’ve just never spoken about this before.” It almost came out sheepishly, a light shrug bumping your shoulders before his eyes drifted off. But they rested back on you within a blink.

Miguel breathed in deeply, as if he was having to take in oxygen and breathe out manually. His muscles within the constrictions of his suit rolled as he held himself hunched over you, trying his best not to be drafted away in thought. Something he found himself doing frequently whenever met with his computer panels.

A laugh couldn’t help but leave your throat as you bit back a sob. “Because you never wanted to.”

Nothing was said in response, and as you surveyed his darting gaze from your stomach to your lips, and finally your eyes– you felt as if you said something wrong. But he only sighed, nodding ever so slowly against your flesh.

“I was..” He fumbled with what he wanted to say, before finally screwing his eyes shut and hissing out; “scared.”

You stayed quiet for him to organize his thoughts, in which he slid his forearms around your back in gratitude and wrapped you in a hold that felt as safe as a weighted blanket. 

“You, you are something else entirely. Me recuerdas al aire que respiro, algo sin lo que no puedo vivir. The rapture in my veins, the photo I find myself staring at often as if somehow you’ll jump right from the screen and engulf me with that warmth I cannot ever get enough of.” It was cheesy, but you knew he was trying his best in describing even a fraction of the amount he cared for you. “I just never knew how to go about it.”

“But you got me pregnant,” You teased weakly into his shoulder as you slid away from his forehead, the eye-contact he craved to contain grew overwhelming with the newfound emotion he had for you locked away.

“Christ,” he mumbled as he mirrored your actions, fangs finding their way to graze the skin just within the crook of your neck. “I heard you, you said you love me.”

“I shouldn’t.”

His movements still, embrace going rigid until you were the one to spill your feelings.

“We, we were never even supposed to meet. We’re from completely different worlds, the people are different and the places don’t add up–” You tripped over the thoughts you finally revealed as well, desperately trying to claw your worries out from the lump in your throat. “What about everything you said, are you willing to risk it all just for this? I don’t want you to stay awake at night when it comes to contemplating the idea that what had once happened before could happen again.”

Give yourself this, you wanted to say. You’ve worked so hard, just give yourself this. 

Miguel stares at you, back and forth– each eye and giving it the same attention when his lip curls downward into a genuine wobble. He shakes his head, whether it be in incredulity over his final decision.

“I’m in love with you, too. Love you so much it hurts. Was just too afraid to let myself have you. Eres lo más preciado que tengo en el mundo, no matter where the Arachno Humanoid Poly Multiverse puts us.

“You are such a hidden nerd it hurts.” You find yourself joking with him, and you feel the smile against your skin.

“Only for you, I think.”

Silence enveloped the living room, an exhale of relief allowing itself to escape from your lips. A yawn followed, tiredness seeping into your muscles. “You’re stuck with me if you really do stay.”

The both of you get lost in the embrace of one another, Miguel hunched over into your form until your snores finally fill his ears and he scoops you up as gently as he’s ever handled you. “Te amo, mi lucero.”

“Te amo más,” you had mumbled sleepily as your arms found security around his neck.

And when you wake that morning, your face is met with his chest and your legs are tangled with his. His breath, stifling and hot, tickles the sleepy furrowed brow that creases your forehead. One of Miguel’s arms had found its way to become one with the pillow while the other presses you further into his chest on the small of your back. When he stirs, he blinks away sleep and takes your face into his calloused fingers, sweetly locking his lips with yours in a brief kiss. “Buenos días, mi cielo.” He whispered into the softness of your duvet. Your heart melts at the sight of it all. 

He finally stayed.

You make him breakfast that morning and he makes sure your hair stays out of the way when you need to empty your stomach out of morning sickness.

..

He was a beautiful thing, you knew it from the first peek into his crying eyes. Auburn with a hint of crimson, Miguel's former genes trying its best to win a losing fight. 

“Thank you,” you whispered into the delicate moment, watching your son wail softly in your tired embrace.

Miguel’s lips met your cheek bone, fluttering and sweet and different. His hand shakily cupped yours cradling your baby’s head. He was quiet for a long time, no huff of attitude that would meet your off-handed sweetness that secretly melted his heart ten-times over. You peered up at him, an exhausted yet bashful grin ebbing your features as each babble sounded throughout the hospital room. Miguel’s hair had gotten longer throughout the last eight months, curling at the end of his neck and almost brushing his shoulders. Glasses adorned the curvature of his nose, a twinkle that’s accompanied his crimson gaze ever since you cried out “I’m pregnant,” snot and tears and all. He hasn’t let go of himself perse, just more adamant to take care of himself for the sake of you and his family.

His family. If you had told him such a thing merely two years ago, he would have thrown a computer panel aiming straight for the nose and chased you around Nueva York like a rabid animal for such a cruel joke. Miguel almost winced, the baby fawn-like expression of his newborn son almost reminding him of the boy he did the exact thing he just described. After gaining a consciousness, he’s almost apologized in every possible way (not verbally, mainly by giving him an easier time) to that kid and his mom that almost beat his ass back on Earth-1610B. 

As his gaze carved into his son’s own, it was like everything felt right. It was like every obstacle that got in the way of the both of you was worth the struggle.

“Gabri. Gabriel.” He breathed, nodding as if it made the most sense in the world.

Your laugh, airy and heavy but lighthearted all the same. “What?” Miguel couldn’t help himself when his hand moved on its own accord, swiping through your unruly and unwashed hair. You had been through it these past couple days, but to him you were nothing less than an angel. Had your hands not been occupied with the newfound bundle of joy the both of you had just welcomed into the world, you would have done the same to his curls. Down the same path, tugging on the grey streak that he stopped dying after months of your persistence.

The baby had Miguel’s eyes, but he had your lips. Your son had Miguel’s nose, but he had your chin. He coughed and snorted and did everything a baby would do, but with every little motion his hands could muster the energy for– had you forgetting every worry that had clouded your mind once before. 

“Gabriel,” he repeated as he brought the tip of his index to tickle the palm of his, your son. “Gabri for short.” 

“Miguel,” you sighed, with just as much weariness as you had when you asked him to leave your apartment that night. “You know it’s okay that you’re thinking about her–”

Miguel cut you off with a kiss, abrupt and short and sweet. It shut you up right away, a squeak coming out in surprise. His lashes were on full display as his gaze traced your lips before dipping back down to his baby in your loving hold. “Gabriel after my brother. I was going to name Gabriella after him had it been that way.” His brow furrowed faintly at the mention of his late daughter, yet a tiny turn of his mouth contrasted the subtle sorrow. “Namesake sort of thing, I think my mother would have liked it.” He confessed, a mellow fluster brushing his cheeks. Miguel was never one to talk about his parents, too much baggage that was locked away in the late nights of fluttering kisses and achingly tight holds. “Esto es importante para mí, por favor. Please, mi corazón.”

A little giggle of sorts interrupted the heartfelt communication, ripping your scanning, concerned gaze from your husband’s face. “Sé que es importante.” You murmured as a response, settling further into the near-uncomfortable fabric of the hospital bed. After complaining just a little to Miguel though, he had demanded you had the utmost care. He had brought you pillows from your own shared bed, alongside a new duvet from the hospital staff. You didn’t care to make another comment, knowing he’d break down the entire building in search of any aid to soothe your needs.

After a moment of contemplation and mainly just building suspense to get more of a reaction out of Miguel, you shook your head yes and grinned lazily. “Gabri. Lovely, baby.” You echoed your son’s name, hearing an intake of breath right next to your ear in a mixture of rare excitement and contentment that tickled the angle of your jaw and brushed hair upon your nose. Miguel must had seen the scrunch of your nose, as he had grazed where the hair had rested before.

Downright fatigue plagued your movements, wanting to celebrate this moment with Miguel but you had used all your energy in the process. So you leaned up only for him to usher you back down, using no words like he usually did. Quiet thing, he was– just a different atmosphere around his very soul nowadays.

“What can I do for you, my love?” He whispered into your hair, leaning down and getting on his knees to level himself with your exhausted expression. “Just say the word.”

“I need some sleep,” you huffed happily, wanting to trace the skin on his cheek as if he was the night sky and you were pointing out constellations. But you kept your fingers tucked safely around Gabriel until he reached out, allowing you to daintily place him in his own hold before another word between the both of you was uttered.

The dark hue of midnight black bled into the array of purple and pink, blessing the sunset with another hour of rest. It was fairly late already, judging by the amount of coffee cups Miguel had collected on the bedside desk like some kind of coffee connoisseur. When you had teased him about it earlier, he brushed you off with a faux frown and side-eye before laying his head back down on your thighs, giving into another nap before the baby was due. 

“Get some rest then, cariño. Me and Gabri will be here, won’t we?” He practically cooed into the space of the newborn, where he was just met with a series of spit-filled babbles and prattle.

You couldn’t help but just nod, overtaken by the lull of sleep and comfort. Here Miguel was, sitting not even a foot away and practically spilling into the bed. He was a clingy thing whether he admitted or not, basking in the warmth your skin brought like a cat drawn to sunlight. 

He was quiet as your breathing even out, watching his son like it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. 

It wasn’t until you began snoring that he spoke to his son like an imagineer telling stories, light and fluttery yet raising in octaves to bring forth a squeal of tired excitement that Gabriel couldn’t grasp. And soon enough, Gabri was consumed with sleep in the embrace of his father who couldn’t stop shaking.

Was it nervousness? Disbelief? Fear? Miguel thought it was a scary concoction of all three filling his veins and causing his palms to grow clammy. But as a light gurgle escaped the small little thing in his hands and begged to be patted on the back, every insecurity that plagued his mind and consumed him washed away without a second thought.

A small, selfish part of him wished Gabriella was here to bask in the shared excitement between the both of you– but he knew she was gone. And you were here, and Gabri has come along too.

And that’s more than he ever thought he deserved.

#i had to write something before i exploded i missed writing so much .. please GIVE ME REQUESTS RAHH #ive been so busy and my sleep schedule SUCKS because i finally got a job #forgive me for no fics!! i feel so bad #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara comfort #x gender neutral reader #spiderman 2099 #x comfort #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #comfort #x angst #angst #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara angst

[milesmoralesweetgirl]

hobie x f reader !! shes like really hurt after a fight and hobie takes care of her<33

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓! 𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮！𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺: blood, mention of injures, pet names (sweetheart, love), reader being kind of shy, ooc hobie? if i missed anything please tell me.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: what happens when you knock on Hobie’s door with tear stained cheeks and blood?

you were embarrassed to say the least, walking up the steps as you hug yourself tight. little gasps and tears escape your eyes as you grip your sides, it wasn’t anything serious. but it hurt badly, and you just needed someone.

you never thought that someone would be Hobie, you never hated him, you just found him annoying with his perfect eyes and cool personality, his teasing demeanor never failing to make you flustered.

you knock on his door, and when he doesn’t open right away you whimper, thinking that he’s not there. you knocked again and suddenly you heard his familiar cockney accent.

“jeez, fucking wait for a second!” he yells, he doesn’t know what will approach him when he opens the door, but he didn’t except to see you. so worn out, tear stained cheeks and bloody sides, hugging yourself

“woah, woah, hey what happened here? love, can you talk to me?” he asks, rough hand holding your face delicately as he lets you in.

“i just- it- i didn’t-“ you try to talk, you want to talk so badly, to explain yourself. but your sobs stop you and only thing you could do is just hug yourself tighter

“s’okay, sweetheart, s’okay. Just wait for a moment, yeah?” he says before going to the bathroom getting his first aid kit

he sits you his sofa, crouching down in front of you as he places both of his bigger hands on your cheeks, caressing them.

“M’here, no need to worry, it’s all gonna be okay.” he says before taking gauze, his hands now on your waist as he slowly and softly wraps it around.

“look at me, love.” he says, voice so delicate as he puts his one hand on my cheek, you look at him with your doe like teary eyes, a slight pout on your lips.

“there you go, sweetheart. A little better, yeah?” you just nod, tears still escaping your eyes as he looks at you.

“Need you to answer me, love. Can you do that?” and before you know it you’re in his arms, your head on his chest, babbling

“i’m fine-i’m fine. I’m so sorry H-Hobie, i’m sorry i-i didn’t wanna scare you.” you say it between little sobs and whimpers, he holds you tighter.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s alright. You gave me a good scare there, love. But all that matters is that you’re fine.”

“i’m sorry. i’m so-“ you whimper out before he shushes you again, holding you still. His hand playing with your hair, you don’t even know how this happened, but if it meant being in his arms like this, without a shame you would put yourself at risk again.

#spiderman #spider punk #astv hobie #hobie headcanons #hobie brown #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #fuffy fic #angst to comfort

[merowkittie]

short comfort Drabble from either mikes 42 or 1610 :) (r receiving)

Tw: body insecurities / a lil angsty / crying

Not proof read because I’m tired

“What’s the matter, beautiful?” He’d look at you, his brows are furrowed. He looks confused, like he’s contemplating something in his head.

The moon is up, the night lights are bright but dull at the same time, casting yellow hues across the room mixed with purples, blacks, reds, and blues. His arm is splayed across your stomach, you’re laying side by side but you’re looking up at the ceiling and he’s looking at you. Your hand is holding onto to his pinky and ringer finger tightly and he feels you tremble a little. The covers on the bed lightly move from the fan pointed directly at you two and your locs fall to the side of your lips as your head movements when you shake your head no at his question.

Miles elevates his head on his palm now, looking down at you as your eyes find another place to concentrate on.

“What you mean no? Talk to me, ma.” He huffs after his words and sighs when you don’t say anything still.

He’s now moving closer to you, taking his hand out from yours and holding your cheek. Your head is tilted to face his and he can see tears well up in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, miles.. I-I don’t mean to be a cry baby.. I’m just so, ugh. I don’t know how to d-describe it!” You stutter and hiccup and his heart just breaks.

He’s quick to fully sit up in his bed and sit you up with him. He’s taking your hands and pressing kissed all around your knuckles and palm. He doesn’t really know what to do to comfort you but he knows you melt when he kisses your hands.

“Don’t ever apologize for feeling some type of way, ok? I’m always here for you, no matter what. It’s me and you through anything, aight?” He’s looking at you sincerely, his voice stern.

You nod slowly but that doesn’t stop the tears from flowing still. You’re trying to hold them and he sees that but you just tremble even more and oh his own eyes well up a bit.

“What is wrong, pretty? I want to help you.” He emphasizes his words and leans over to put his forehead against yours.

You try to steady your breathing before you speak and you look down at your lap, “I don’t know, miles. I just feel weird. I feel disgusted and.. gross. I don’t like how i look. I d-don’t like my body..”

Miles didn’t know what to do. He loved you so so much, what would he do without his joy im his life? All of a sudden you’re crying in his hold and talking nonsense about your body. He loved every bit of you. Miles has always been a sweet, knowing boy but he didn’t expect this to be what was bothering you.

He’d never seen you cry before. Never seen you so shaken. You’ve been dating for a year maybe two soon, and not once has he seen you act like this. He felt terrible just looking at you sniffle and watching your lap get moist with tears. Has he been so neglectful to you to the point he just never saw the signs?

“I’m so sorry, cariño.” He squeezed your hand tightly. Your eyes were blurred but your breathing became more steady.

“I wish I could take those thoughts out of your head, really. What can I do to not.. make you feel like that?” He asked, tilting his head down to catch your eyes.

You looked up at him, your brown eyes puffy and red and your lips were chapped but bitten red. You looked down again and played with your long nails, taking note to cut them down later.

You sighed and looked up, running a hand through your locs and pushing them out of your face.

“Nothin’. I jus’ want you here with me tonight.. and some kisses. That’s all I want from you, Miles.” You played with the hem of your shirt as the silence filled the room again.

You wiped your face with your sleeves of your shirt and looked up at Miles who was concentrated on you.

He nodded his head and kissed your temple. His nose rubbing against your hairline. “I can do that, pretty,” he fixed the blanket on his body and propped your pillows up, dragging you down to lay with him, “Just close your eyes and let me take care of you a little bit, aight?”

Your head laid on his chest and you nodded your head without speaking. His hand came up to rub at your arm, his fingers drawing patterns.

He hummed a song which melodies carried out throughout the room, filling your ears and making you tired. So slowly, you went to sleep with miles comforting you as much as he could.

When you woke up, miles was gone but there was a bouquet of flowers in a vase on your dresser and a letter signed,

“To: my cariño

From: Miles

“I’ll be back soon, I love you Mami, look inside your fridge.””

You smiled to yourself. Miles always knew the answers to a problem.

#reader insert #black reader #comfort #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales 1610 #miles morales fluff #e42 miles morales x reader #miles morales angst #miles morales #into the spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv fic #spiderman itsv #x black reader #gender nuetral reader #fem reader

[dreamerinthemoonlight]

All I Ask of You

title from Phantom of the Opera

Summary: You have a nightmare. Neuvillette comforts you

CW: hurt/comfort, graphic imagery

Word Count: 495

Pairings: Neuvillette x gn!reader

A/N: Please pardon any mistakes I made with this. I wrote this while dead exhausted

The night wind whispers as you take a seat on a bench behind the Palais Mermonia. It and the chirping of far off crickets are the only sounds to be heard. This late in the evening, the last of the workaholics has made their way home, leaving the building behind you dark and lifeless. Even Neuvillette has gone to bed, sleeping away the days worries and stress.

But not you. You look up at the stars, watching them dance silently above the city.As beautiful as they are, a pattern of light across the vast, moonless sky, they aren’t enough to distract you from the unease gnawing at your heart.

Faint images--the lingering memories of the might’s nightmares--force their way to the front of your mind. You shiver, curling in on yourself.

“Y/n?”

A soft voice returns your attention to your immediate surroundings.

You look over your shoulder at your lover. “Neuvie…Did I wake you up?”

“No, love. I woke up to drink some water but you weren’t in bed.”

“Oh. I guess I needed some space to think.”

The sky clouds over and a soft rain begins to fall as Neuvillette sits next to you. The sensation, so familiar after all the time you’ve spent with the dragon, is as comforting as his shoulder brushing against yours.

“A penny for your thoughts, love?”

“It was just a nightmare.”

Neuvillette frowns and takes your hand in his. “Again?”

“Mhmm.”

“Will you tell me about it? Perhaps talking will ease your mind.”

“I don’t know, Neuvie. They were pretty graphic.”

“All the more reason to speak. But if you don’t want to, I won’t make you.”

After a moment’s thought, you lift Neuvillette’s arm and tuck yourself under it, resting your head on his chest.

Neuvillette shifts his weight to accommodate the new position, taking the opportunity to start running deft fingers through your hair.

“It wasn’t anything complicated. Not really. It’s just… I don’t think anyone wants to dream about a person literally tearing their own skin off. The agony on his face…it was revolting.”

You shudder at the memory.

Neuvillette wraps his arm around you, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You should have woken me, y/n. There’s no need to suffer alone.”

“You spend all day presiding over court, dealing with Lady Furina, and doing all that paperwork. The last thing I want is to bother you over a stupid nightmare.”

Neuvillette sighs. This argument isn’t a new one to either of you. “I’ve said before, my love, it’s more of a bother to wake up and find you gone.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I wish I could chase away these nightmares. It worries me, seeing you up so many nights.”

“But you can’t. All I ask is that you hold me when they happen. That helps more than you know.”

“Always, my love. All you ever had to do was ask.”

#neuvillette is so damn sweet #Like he comes across stern and serious but he's a total sweetheart #He's a lot like Diluc in that respect #I love him so much #Neuvillette #hurt/comfort #genshin fic #genshin sfw #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x gn!reader #genshin impact #teyvat talk

[motleyfam]

Dick is convinced that food always tastes better after a show.

His dad laughs and tells him it’s just because they’re acrobats and they can’t eat much prior to spending a few hours intricately twisting and flipping their bodies through the air over the dizzying roar of the crowds below. Hunger, he tells his son, has always been the best spice. But Dick thinks there’s more to it than that. There’s something about the buzz — the energy following a performance — that makes even the simplest of dishes special.

With so many different cultures and nationalities represented at Haly’s, Dick is used to eating all sorts of things, learns to tell who’s making dinner each night by the aroma of the various herbs and spices wafting out from the tent. There’s a Russian acrobat and a Taiwanese contortionist and a French wire walker and a clown from Cleveland, and the only common factor seems to be their insistence that the nine-year-old could use some more meat on his bones. He helps his mother stir cornmeal porridge and stuff cabbage leaves with ground meat and rice while his dad, grinning, juggles bell peppers and onions and cans of tomato paste in an arc above their heads.

It’s always late at night by the time they gather around the plastic folding tables with full plates, aching muscles, and weary smiles. Snippets from conversations in three or four different languages wash over Dick, and he doesn’t understand everything, but he doesn’t mind it either. The food and laughter warm him from the inside out, and he eats until his belly is full and his eyelids start to grow heavy. His mother pulls him into her lap and lets him curl up against her chest, and he’s lulled to sleep by the hum of the troupe members’ voices, perfectly safe and content.

The night that Dick’s parents fall to their deaths, there’s beef goulash simmering on the cookhouse stove and just the smell is enough to make him sick.

#dick grayson #fanfiction #batfam #i was scrolling through some of my past fics the other night to answer an ask #and i came across this one #it's the intro to Comfort Food on ao3 but i debated leaving it just as this drabble #which is much angstier than the full fic #the full fic's more bittersweet and i'm a softie #but i wanted to share it just in the drabble format as well #so we can have both flavors #angst #grief #canonical character death #drabble

[sillysowa]

Since requests are open, maybe both Miles variants have a s/o and they’re pretty far in the relationship but he starts to get concerned. While he’s introduced them to his family and the s/o frequently spends long hours/spends the night at his house, he’s never been over to his s/o’s place or even heard of their family… It isn’t until Miles comes back from their respective duties (Prowler!Miles coming back from a job, and Spider!Miles doing patrols) when they see a familiar car parked under a park bridge; their s/o’s car… Turns out their s/o used to have an abusive family and has been homeless from before the pair started dating, and was ashamed to admit it.

( also since i’ve seen this idea going around in other users’ requests. if your rendition of Prowler!Miles is the type to give his s/o spending money, maybe he asks what his s/o has been doing and finds majority the money he’s gifted to the s/o hidden in a secret compartment of their seat. The s/o not barely spending the money for, rather obvious reasons since they’re homeless.)

Of course! Here you are Anon!

CARRY ME OUT

PAIRING: MILES MORALES X FEM!READER, MILES G. MORALES X FEM!READER

GENRE: ANGST, FLUFF

WORD COUNT: 1.9K COMBINED

WARNINGS: READERS FAMILY SITUATION IS POOR BUT NOT DESCRIPTIVE, MOSTLY GENDER NEUTRAL DESPITE SOME FEMININE TERMS USED BY PROWLER MILES

AUTHORS NOTE: I DON’T SPEAK ANY SPANISH SO ALL OF MILES G MORALES’S SPANISH IS FROM GOOGLE TRANSLATE, I APOLOGIZE IF ITS INACCURATE OR OBVIOUS

SYNOPSIS: MILES FINDS YOU AT YOUR WORST, BUT HE REMINDS YOU THAT HES ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU, NO MATTER WHAT

—

Miles Morales:

Miles had seen a lot of things that day, and he hadn’t been quite ready to go home yet. The wind whistled past him as he web slung through the ambience of New York. It was a chilly summer night, slightly cold but still humid, and the sunset was beautiful. Miles felt a sense of serenity wash over him, relaxing his pained muscles that were overworked the entire day saving the city. He leaves the bustling streets, swinging to a far off secluded area with less streetlight, less life, and more privacy. Miles just wanted to be able to cool off and relax somewhere far away from others, his backpack full of spray paint clanging around with every movement. He hums to himself, landing down on a bridge. He checks his left and right, praying to not be noticed in this moment of privacy as he pulls himself over the railing and walks under the bridge like a spider. Miles is completely taken aback when he notices a familiar vehicle parked under the bridge, and his heart drops.

Your car? Why was your car all the way out here? Did you live in this neighborhood? Miles suddenly came to the realization that he had no clue where you live, you had never talked about it and he had never asked. He drops down gently, bringing himself down by a web and trying to be as quiet as possible. He walks over to your car and peeks inside—instantly his heart sinks at the sight of a bunched up blanket and who he assumes is you under it. Without doing much thinking, he taps the glass window, concern etched on his features. Your head pops up out of the blankets and you look terrified until you realize it’s Miles, confusion and embarrassment painting your face, there’s a muffled,

“Miles?” Before you open the car door. He stands there, looking down at you with a look that makes you feel guilty for some reason,

“Y/N, baby, are you okay? What are you doing out here?” He asks all worried and upset. You don’t address it, you just sigh and lay back down,

“Just…come in and lock the door.”

Miles does as you ask, dropping his backpack outside and climbing in. His awkward growing height making his entry a little messy, and he catches one glimpse at you before he looks straight ahead. He’s been in your car before, but never like this. He’s cautious when he places his hand on your covered calf, gently rubbing the material despite how nervous he feels,

“Do you…wanna talk about it?” He whispers gently, glancing back at you. You’re on your side facing forward and seemingly zoned out. There’s a trash bag at the bottom of your car, suitcases in the back, and most of your essentials scattered around. Miles feels worry deep inside him over the conditions you’re in—worried that you’re not doing well and that he hurt you by never asking.

“It’s…complicated…but i’m living here right now—in my car.” You sigh, “My parents didn’t want me back at the house so…I left.” You feel ashamed admitting it all to Miles who has a loving family and secure home, but he doesn’t judge you—he sympathizes.

“I’m so sorry. I never knew that they were treating you like this…I-I’m sorry I never asked—“

“Don’t be, Miles…I never wanted you to know and have to worry about me.” You cut him off. Miles feels you tug at his heartstrings like a puppeteer from just the disheartened tone in your voice alone. You sound so broken and hurt, and in the low lighting he can see the slight shine of your teary eyes.

“Y/N…” He calls your name in that sweet sweet voice that you love. That voice that’s genuine and innocent, loving and kind—everything that your parents failed to be. You find yourself crying—warm, wet tears slipping down your cheeks,

“Miles…” You sob, sitting up and reaching for him. Miles instantly takes you into his arms, holding you tight with worry all over his face. He feels your body tremble and shake with each sob, the feeling of your fragile hands desperately clinging to the back of his jacket breaks his heart in two and he smooths his hands over your skin gently, like his mother does to him. He tries to give you that parental love that he’s used to—telling you it’s going to be okay and holding you as gently yet as close and tightly as possible—showing you how much he loves you.

Eventually, you calm down—you’re crying subsiding into sniffles. Miles holds you, leaning back and settling into the seat, holding you close.

“You’re safe with me Y/N, I’ve got you, always.” Miles comforts you. He holds you and gently rocks you to sleep. He one handedly texts his mom,

‘Hey Mom, I’m not coming home tonight but I’m okay—Y/N is homeless and she really needs me. I’ll see you in the morning.’

He doesn’t even wait to see her response, silencing his phone and pulling his hood up. He pulls your blankets up close and smiles softly when he feels you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, your wet eyelashes against his skin. Miles is prepared to do everything in his power to help you through this, even if it’s as simple as helping you sleep at night.

—

Miles G. Morales:

Miles knows about your situation—not because you told him but because he watches you often. Not in a creepy way, (at least that’s what he tells himself) but in a protective way. Especially after the first time he followed you home.

He leapt on the rooftops, absolutely silent with the kind of agility only a vigilante has. He saw you walking into your apartment complex and watched carefully to see just which floor was yours—that was when he heard it. He felt like throwing up by the end of the night, doing everything in his power to stay outside and not burst into your room. He clung to the outside of your window the whole night, watching over you in your sleep.

—

Miles came outside your apartment one night and waited patiently for you to go to bed, but you never did. Instead, he saw you from flights down get into your car with multiple bags, sniffling and driving off. Without a second thought he followed you. Time passed and you never once went home. Miles deducted that you just have left home and would never be returning, and he couldn’t blame you.

After one day, he decided he had to do something. He knew it wasn’t his business and that you might feel embarrassed of him seeing you like this but he couldn’t stand by and watch this happen to you. It wasn’t unusual for Miles to give you money—he’d but you snacks from the vending machines at school everyday, give you fancy gifts like it’s your birthday every week and even send you hundred of dollars for no good reason with just an

‘I love you’ Attached as the message. However, you clearly hadn’t touched a penny. You spent nothing at school when he saw you and nothing after school when he followed you.

Tonight you parked under the bridge again, your inside lights on. He skillfully snuck around the area, remaining far away but using his mask to get a closer look at you. His heart shattered and he groaned. Miles saw that you were sobbing—he couldn’t take it. He raced towards your car, slowing down the moment he neared so as to not scare you. He removed his mask and shrugged his jacket on, zipping it up and coming up to your drivers side door. He taps his knuckles on the glass, looking at you with pinched eyebrows.

You jump and freeze. The last thing you were expecting tonight was your boyfriend at your window. You turned away from him, quickly wiping your tears and rolling your window down.

“Hi, Miles.” You say with the best smile you can muster, your voice betraying you with its broken sound. Miles doesn’t react or say anything, just reaches his hand in, unlocks the door, and opens it. He takes your hands and pulls you gently out of the car,

“Ven aquí, mi vida. Let’s get out of here.” He whispers, kissing you on your forehead. You sigh, watching Miles crouch down in front of your with his hands behind his back,

“Miles I’m not-“

“Trust me.” He says leaving no room for arguing. His tone is gentle and caring despite his seriousness—he doesn’t want to be like your parents. You get on his back and Miles stands up with no struggle, walking with your weight as though you’re not even there,

“Why haven’t you touched any of the money i’ve given you, chiquita?” He asks softly. You hold onto him tightly, squishing your cheek against him,

“Because.” You say, staying silent after. Miles continues walking with you, waiting for you to keep talking. You sigh,

“Because I don’t want to Miles…I feel ashamed. It feels like charity—“

“It’s not charity, baby. I give you money and I give you nice things because I love you. I’m worried. Why have you been sleeping here night after night?” He asks, holding you tightly.

You grow quiet, huffing. Miles walks you to a secluded strangely rural looking spot, laying down in the grass with you. You lay with your head on his chest, squeezing at the fabric of his jacket. The night is cold, and Miles is warm. You finally speak,

“I’m homeless.” You confess. It’s nothing Miles didn’t already know, but hearing you confirm it breaks him. He holds you close, shrugging his jacket around you and doing his best to warm you as he looks up at the stars with you under his arms—he feels a sense of responsibility over you in that moment. Miles wants nothing more than to be the person you lean on to help you through this—or through anything for that matter. He feels your hands grip onto his shirt hard, the fabric feeling tight on his skin. Your body shakes and your start sniffling, causing Miles to shift and face you,

“Oh, mi dulce niña, don’t cry, te tengo bebé.” He murmurs, kissing you softly with his hands on your cheeks. Miles looks as though he could cry as he rubs his thumbs over your cheeks, collecting every tear that drops with his thumbprints,

“Miles I-I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been so scared and so alone…” You sob, melting into his touch. Miles closes his eyes as he fights back tears, kissing you all over and soothing you with his affectionate touches,

“You don’t need to worry, mi vida. Let me be your home,” He whispers, holding eye contact with you despite how the look in your eyes shatters his heart, “I will always love you, always support you, and I will never, ever, abandon you.” Miles promises, kissing you tenderly and sweetly. You feel warm with Miles—he keeps you safe and protected and you genuinely trust him with your life. With Miles, you’ve felt a love so genuine it could heal years of pain and suffering…even his hold says, ‘I’ll never let you go.’

He vows to always be your home, and promises he will never let you hurt like this ever again.

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara

#across the spiderverse #miles morales #earth 42 prowler #prowler miles #miles morales fluff #miles morales angst #miles morales comfort #miles morales x reader #spiderman #miles x reader #spiderverse x reader #miles morales fanfiction #silly’s fics

[fandomnerd9602]

For @paultiteuf360

You were never quite sure how it happened but meeting the Spider Women changed your life forever.

You were barely past age six, living on the streets when they found you. Madame Web guided them to you. Said you were to be important some day to the web of life.

And so they all took you in. Treated you better than your own parents. Treated you like family, like a younger sibling.

Julia looked after you like a big sister. She also looked after your grades in 1st grade. Mattie constantly had to chastise her, “girl let Y/N figure it out.”

Anya helped you with your confidence. Mattie helped you learn to stand your ground.

Madame Web, she looked after you like only a mother could. You questioned how she could see you but she would always say, “I see the Web of Life, and all my pathways lead to you, my little spider”

The girls constantly tease you playfully. They constantly call you little names that won’t hurt your feelings.

The five of you make a tight knit family. Different walks of life all interconnecting and weaving together like marvelous strands of silk that form the web you call your home.

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #madame web #madame web movie #julia cornwall #mattie franklin #anya corazon #cassie webb #cassandra webb #family comfort #comfort fic #spider woman #spider women #spider society #Spiderverse #across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse

[quartzalynlove]

Dating Hobie Brown Would Include

Summary: various hobie x black fem reader hcs

A/n: this man yall...THIS MAN. Also listen I know very little abt British slang but I did my best-

He will pop up at your house at any hour

Early in the morning bc he wants to say hi

Going to take a little superhero break in your room

Or chilling with you at night

I think he would dabble in video games but if you're more into them than him he could sit and watch you play for hours

He likes stealing the job of your game chair and having you sit in his lap while you game

And omg don't be wearing his clothes he thinks you're so hot in his stuff

He'll just give you his clothes sometimes just to see you wear them

If you're also punk he'll give you so much gear

And probably get you two matching jackets and pins

You aren't entirely sure what his love language is

It's pretty much an even mix of everything

Insecurity is not an option around him

He'll either tell you how he loves you the way you are or how perfection is a construct of society to pressure people into conforming

He really can't believe that YOU are HIS

You're just so bad like a dream girl come to life

Calls you babe and sometimes "peng ting"

He almost never calls you by your name tho

He likes pda

His hand will always be on your thigh no matter where you're chilling

And he'll give a few cheek kisses in public

I feel like he'd be obsessed with just doing stuff to your hair

Give him a box of rubber bands and some beads or other accessories and he'll go ham

It's always really cute and unique so he's lowkey like a personal stylist

He also just knows how to do your hair in general

So if you don't feel like dealing with wash day you know who to call

He cannot cook or bake but he does have your regular orders from your favorite restaurants memorized and will surprise you with fast food

He'd do whatever for you in a heartbeat

Sometimes you don't have to ask he just knows

He acts as cool as he is all the time but you be having him mentally swinging his feet

You can tell by a lazy smirk he does or he'll just tell you

"You're actin' mad cute rn, peng ting"

Most of the time when he's gone he's just thinking about seeing you again

He will definitely bring you up in conversation at least once a day

Taught you how to play his guitar

He wrote a song about you that's his favorite to practice alone in his room

#across the spiderverse fanfic #across the spiderverse #spider punk across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the verse #spider punk #spider punk x reader #hobie brown fluff #hobie x reader #hobie brown fic #hobie my beloved #hobie brown #hobie brown x black!reader #black reader #black characters #hobie brown hcs #poc friendly #comfort #fluff #fanfic #black writers

[helpimstuckposting]

TW: mentions of homophobia, brief f-slur mention More silly conversations and goofy friendship moments that Steve hasn't had in a while! I just love the Robin/Steve/Eddie dynamic, it's my favorite out of everything so I hope you like and I did it justice

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

After their midnight talk, Steve couldn’t just go back to bed. There were too many thoughts, too many emotions, too much going on in the past day for his mind to quiet enough to let sleep take him. Instead, Eddie kept him company in the kitchen. They talked about the other Steve, Eddie hesitant at first, but Steve reassured him he wanted to know more about the man he could have been, the one everyone saw when they looked at him.

It was interesting, hearing all the differences of his life that appeared from the crossroads of his father living and dying. Apparently, Richard Harrington had died in some sort of travel accident when Steve was four. Eddie didn’t quite know the details, he’d never asked, but the rumor around town was that Mr Harrington had gone off on a business trip the morning of Steve’s fourth birthday. He came back in a casket.

Steve could vaguely recall begging his father to stay home for his birthday that year. He’d begged and begged until his father relented, it was probably the best birthday Steve could remember. And yet, because of that, the rest of Steve’s childhood suffered. Oh, the irony, Steve thought.

They went over some of the pictures hanging on the photo wall, Eddie dramatically re-enacting a few of them, though Steve could tell it was hard. If Eddie’s rings were his armor, Steve thought maybe his DM persona was a shield. Like it was easier to remain detached if he pretended they were campaigns and not memories.

Steve also noticed that since their talk outside, Eddie refrained from calling the other Steve ‘his Steve’. He just called him Steve, just like it was another person who happened to have the same name. It was nice, like Steve wasn’t a replacement or the same person or a mistake. He was just Steve, and so was this other guy. Two different people with the same name, like it was normal.

It was a relief, in those moments, to be someone new, someone separate from the other Steve. It made him feel a little less like he was taking up space he shouldn’t be in, and Steve thought maybe that was Eddie’s intention. He said Steve wasn’t taking someone else’s place, and he kept his word.

At some point, before the sun rose, the stairs creaked with footsteps. The two had been crouched over the counter with cups of coffee, legs too numb from sitting for hours. Robin swayed sleepily into the kitchen, blinking one eye at a time before rubbing at them with her balled up fists. She looked kind of like a toddler who was searching for her parents. Steve snorted into his mug, setting it down before he choked on the liquid inside. Robin’s eyes narrowed at him, before she rolled her eyes and lazily lifted two fingers up in a peace sign.

“Sup, Dingi,” she croaked, voice not quite awake yet.

Steve shared a look with Eddie, scrunching his nose up in a sneer and nodding silently toward Robin, what the hell did she just say?

Eddie snorted and took a gulp from his mug, a silent don’t ask me, sent back.

Robin sighed and pointed to Steve, “One dingus,” she said, then pointed to Eddie, “two dingi,” she concluded, before wandering over to Steve and stealing his mug of coffee. She clasped it in her hands and shuffled over to the other side of the counter island, plopping herself into a stool. “So what were you two lovely ladies talking about at four in the morning?”

“I was telling Stevie here about that one time Steve bet you couldn’t beat his track time and you sprinted so hard you threw up in your lunch bag before band.” Robin squawked, slamming the mug down on the counter and leaning threateningly toward Eddie.

She jabbed a finger at him, “Not cool Munson, we agreed that story went to the grave!”

Eddie laughed maniacally, bouncing in his place, “I lied, Buckley, tough shit!”

As Robin leapt from her stool to chase Eddie around the kitchen island, Steve silently stole his mug back to watch it all play out. He’d dreamed of this so many times, the casual teasing and horsing around just like the kids did. He’d never had a large group of genuine friends, just Tommy and Carol and whoever else they deemed cool enough to join them that week. It was never light hearted jokes and stupid faces, it was silent smoking and jabs that were too sharp, too mean spirited. Carol taught him how to hold himself, how to look intimidating and aloof. She’d never in a million years stoop down to make herself look stupid for a laugh or to cheer someone up. She was calculated, like his mother, but now he wondered if things had been different, would she have been happy too? Does a Carol or Tommy in this universe chase someone around a counter to make them laugh? Or any other universe?

After a couple laps around the kitchen island, Robin caught up to Eddie, tugging his back to her chest and lifting him off his feet. She looked like a wrestler trying to suplex Eddie into the ground but she couldn’t get him higher than a couple inches, tops. Steve snorted into his coffee again as Eddie shrieked, shards of pain stabbing through his nose as he coughed the liquid back out of his lungs and sinuses. There were tears in his eyes from the choking and the laughter and the tightness in his chest, and after hacking up the dredges of coffee in his lungs he kept watch as Eddie kicked and screeched and Robin struggled to keep him in her arms.

Eddie threw himself forward so his feet finally landed back on the ground, and it was Robin’s turn to yell as she was hoisted onto Eddie’s back from the sudden movement. She still refused to let go as Eddie rapidly stalked around the counter, squatting to keep Robin’s weight on his back as she kept his arms pinned to his side.

Steve could watch them fight it out for hours, if he were honest and it had been years since he’d laughed this hard. The rest of the party was going to show up eventually today and they’d have to start looking into the gates, but for now Steve watched and laughed and rolled his eyes as Robin finally gave up her hold and slid off Eddie’s back, pooling onto the floor like a sad little puddle.

“First you break our vow, then you try and murder me, and for what? For what, Munson? I know where you sleep!” She mumbled into the tile.

Eddie crouched down to lean over her, smug look plastered over his face. “I’m pretty sure you tried to murder me, this was purely self defense.”

“And I’m sure the cops would say you had it coming!” She said, lifting herself off the floor and sitting back in her stool. She snatched Steve’s mug up, took a sip and then squinted at him, slowly lowering the mug to the counter and pointing at it.

“Did you spit in this?”

“Not on purpose,” he replied, voice still a bit hoarse from the coughing fit. She gagged dramatically and shoved the cup back in his hands, standing to pour her own.

“It’s about time you learned how to be self-reliant,” Eddie teased, sitting down in the next stool over, across from Steve who remained leaning over the counter, elbows holding his weight on the shiny granite while his ankles were crossed behind him.

“Shut the whole fuck up, Munson, or I swear to god-,”

“How did you three meet, anyway?” Steve asked, cutting off whatever threat Robin was about to throw out. He looked back and forth between Eddie in front of him, and Robin behind him fixing her mug of coffee. He watched as the two shared a look, both a little sad at the reminder that their Steve was gone. Or at least, that’s what Steve assumed the look was, the droop to their smiles telling Steve maybe he shouldn’t have asked. However, before he could take it back, Robin sat back down in the stool next to Eddie and started to answer.

“We were all in band together,” she said as Eddie nodded and silently took a sip from his mug.

“Band?” Steve asked. He knew Eddie and Robin were in the high school band in his universe, but they hadn’t become friends as far as he knew.

“You and Eddie played sax,” she said. Steve tried to cover his flinch at the mention of ‘you’, the reminder that they all expected him to be someone he wasn’t sparking uncomfortably in his head.

“Steve and I sat right in front of Buckley here, who always had a penchant for playing just a little too close to my ear,” Eddie chimed in, shoving his shoulder against Robins.

“Well Eddie here was never a team player, always skipping ahead or pretending to play when he didn’t like the music,” she shoved right back.

“I never-,” Steve started, pausing when the two pairs of eyes locked onto him. “I never learned any instruments.” He sighed, fiddling with the mostly empty cup in his hands. Their eyes felt like lasers boring into his head. “Mom signed me up for piano classes when I was little, but my dad said the arts were for ‘females, fruits, and fags’ so I never got the chance to finish.”

“Well hey, I’m a female and a fruit,” Robin said.

“And I’m a fag!” Eddie said, turning to Robin for an enthusiastic high five. “Guess Mr Harrington was right, huh Stevie?” he said sarcastically. Steve swallowed nervously around the saliva pooling in his mouth. He actually didn’t know about Eddie, had maybe suspected sometimes but it had never been confirmed. It felt… weird that this seemed like something he should know, but he didn’t and now he does but Eddie never told him. Or, well, he did just tell him but he also didn’t and now he knew something that he wasn’t sure he was allowed to know.

“Oh shit,” Eddie mumbled, “did you… uh,” he glanced between Steve and Robin, “did you not know about us?”

Steve shook his head, “I uh, I knew about Robin, but not…”

Eddie winced. The giddy look in his eye from the playful banter was gone, and he seemed… sadder, like Steve had just tossed water over a campfire and killed the light. “Why does it feel like I just outed someone else?” Eddie mumbled to Robin. She grimaced and set a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder, sharing a warm look that Steve once again couldn’t read. Again, he felt like an outsider watching over two strangers. The side of the counter he was leaning against seemed cold and wide, a million miles away from where Robin and Eddie sat side by side.

“Well anyway,” Eddie scooted closer to the counter, clinking his empty mug against Steve’s, “regardless of the Eddie you know, I’m gay so… welcome to the Queer Closet of Hawkins, you’re officially on the guest list and it’s a very exclusive honor.”

Steve chuckled, awed by the way Eddie had just closed the chasm between them. The metalhead grinned, patting the stool on his left and closing that gap even more. Steve placed his cup in the sink behind him and walked around the counter to sit in the vacant seat, the gap completely shut with a final click as Eddie lightly patted Steve’s knee.

“So what about you?” He asked, “how did you meet Robin and Eddie?”

Steve laughed, “it’s uh… a much longer story.” Eddie nodded eagerly and Robin pulled a leg up to squish under her on the stool, leaning against the counter to look over Eddie and nod just as enthusiastically. Steve looked back and forth between the two, feeling more whole than he had even just a few hours ago.

He shook his head fondly and launched into the story of Scoops, Russians, Steve and Robin’s unfortunate drug-filled escapade through the mall, and Dustin’s weird ability to imprint on older teens. Eddie laughed at that, tossing his head back and almost falling backward out of his stool.

“I was so annoyed! Dustin wouldn’t shut up about his cool new friend Eddie who played D&D and understood all his references. Eddie who was ‘the best DM ever’, who was ‘so cool, you don’t get it, Steve’ the little shit.”

Robin was leaning against Eddie’s back now, arms thrown over his shoulders to keep him planted in his stool. “Oh, oh!” she exclaimed, smacking Eddie in the chest as she thought of something.

He grabbed her wrist, stopping her from hitting him again. “Jesus, Buckley, spit it out,” he grumbled, shooting eyes at Steve, who just smiled back at him.

“Does your Robin have any game? A girlfriend? Is she cooler than me?” She asked excitedly.

Steve snorted, “I don’t think any Robin Buckley has ever had game.”

“Hey!” Robin exclaimed, and then squinted at him, assessing something in her head. “No, yeah, that makes sense,” she conceded, bobbing her head back and forth.

“She did have a massive crush on this girl Vicky from band, though, and they got pretty close. I always told Robin to go for it, because Vicky? Not straight, not at all,” he swore to them, pointing back and forth as emphasis.

“Ah, Vicky,” Robin sighed dreamily, “she was so cute.” Eddie rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Steve like he’d heard way too much about Vicky for a lifetime. “I never did get the chance to see if Steve was right about that.”

This time Steve rolled his eyes, "Of course I'm right, she was totally giving you eyes, like, constantly I can't believe you would doubt me!" he scoffed, missing for a second that he had slipped in and made himself her Steve, what he'd been trying to avoid this whole time. He had to remind himself constantly; he wasn't their Steve, he was an outsider, he was a different person. He remembered what Eddie had said by the pool; he's not a placeholder, he's not stealing someone's spot, he's his own person.

Still, with the jokes and banter and laughter, it was so so easy to just slip up and forget. He brushed it off, hoping they would too or even better that they wouldn't notice his mistake or the slight dim to his smile before catching himself. Luckily, Eddie and Robin were as close to reading his mind as possible it seemed and the three powered forward as if the slip never happened.

As it turns out, in this universe the Russian fiasco still happened, in nearly the same way. The only difference between Steve's story and Robin's story was that they'd already been friends for years, had applied to Scoops together, just like Family Video. Eddie had been working in the record store on the second floor, but was off with Wayne for a fishing trip at the time. Everything else was the same.

"I can't believe that was our first test of friendship, oh my god," Robin whined, smushing her face up with her hands and dragging them down, pulling her features with them.

"I'm still so mad I missed that, I was so useless and I had no idea until Wayne and I came back and everything was fucked. What if Samwise was on vacation and he just came back and Bilbo was suddenly a hero, missing a finger, traumatized from all this shit Sam had no idea about! I spent the rest of that summer feeling like I had missed your whole lives," Eddie said. Steve wasn't quite sure who the hell he was talking about, but there was something else in his eyes, something that Steve still hadn't translated and couldn't put his finger on. He wondered if Eddie would tell him, eventually, wondered if he'd ever be able to read those looks before they had to shove him back through the gate to his desolate wasteland of a universe.

He shoved that thought away from his mind, locked in a little box labelled 'for later', and trekked on through their morning. It would probably only be an hour now before the party showed up to finalize plans and start splitting up to put it in motion. He sighed and looked between Eddie and Robin, still going through random memories, teasing, poking, and laughing at each other. 'For Later' he whispered in the dark of his mind, joining back into the conversation as if he'd never left. He'd worry about it then, for now he was more content than ever to just sit here at the dark kitchen island as the sun kept up its rise over the horizon. He'd sit, and listen, and contribute, and laugh, and everything else could come later.

—

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou

#Finally way more comfort in this one than the others lol #I know it doesn't really make sense that Eddie outed himself because like that's what coming out is in the first place #but I kept thinking about how eddie in steve's universe hasn't yet #and how they're trying to keep the two universes separate #so I hope it came across with the whole 'wait fuck was this bad or fine im so confused' thing #I think this is the most fun I've had writing a fanfiction before #I'm usually absolutely terrible at multi-part writing #and have to force myself to only do one-shots because I can't be trusted #but this one just keeps coming #so fingers crossed that it stays this easy #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #stobin #these three of the fruity four are my life blood #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #tw childhood trauma #tw child abuse #tw homophobia mention #helpimstuckwriting

[gaybananabread]

Congrats on the follower milestone! If you're still taking orders, may I please have switches Gwen and Hobie (Gwen as the original lee) with pears and/or oranges?? They've become somewhat of a comfort duo for me, hehe :)<

Fruit(s): Pears, Oranges

Love these two! Writing for them is always fun, though all the spider scrimblos have a vice grip on my brain. Hobie gives off such asshole switch vibes, I can’t even- Went a little overboard with this one, but I have no regrets. (UvU) Back on topic, thank you for ordering your fruits, and I hope you Enjoy!

Switches: Gwen, Hobie

Summary: Gwen is struggling with her self-image, the negative thoughts creeping in as she stresses out. Hobie has the perfect way to help, and while it cheers her up, things don’t exactly go how he expects them to.

Warnings: poor self-image/esteem topic! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!

Gwen stared up at the ceiling of Hobie’s inner houseboat, letting her thoughts drift. They weren’t going anywhere good.

She had failed so much as-of-late. Her dad discovering her secret identity, the anomalies getting out of control, the Spot’s wave of leftover destruction, everything with Miles… Even though none of those were truly her fault, it really felt that way; her mind took those feelings as grim, guilty facts. Growing tired of his bedroom ceiling, Gwen grabbed a pillow, burying her teary face in it. Maybe smothering herself in her sorrows would help…

Hobie slunk into the room, his cheeky smile falling the moment he saw Gwen’s sulking form. The punk sat on the edge of his bed, the old mattress sinking in with his weight. He poked the pillow, making Gwen huff. “Hey…what’s goin’ on, Gwendy?”

The girl groaned into the soft object, shrugging. “‘M fine…” The muffled lie was barely audible, but Hobie’s keen hearing caught it clear as day. So, so much was running through her mind, but she couldn’t burden her friend with those thoughts. Best to figure it out herself…probably.

Damn it, Gwen… A large, calloused hand rested on her stomach, one finger drawing small circles around the thin fabric of her t-shirt. “Not buyin’ that, sweetheart. You need some cheerin’ up?”

Small giggles slipped past her guarded lips, muffled by the pillow. As much as she wanted to deal with everything herself, some comfort would be nice. Especially the kind Hobie was suggesting… Gwen mumbled an “mm-hm” into the fabric, not pushing him away. That was all the lanky teen needed to get started.

Hobie lightly tickled her stomach, his fingers doing figure-eights against her shirt. The other teen’s feet started to drum on the bed, muffled giggles making their way to his ears. It was adorable, the way she let him cheer her up with the silly touch. It was clear the tickles were helping. “Aww, Gwenny, all ya had to do was ask.”

To anyone outside their inner circle, this might’ve seemed strange. She just let him tickle her like that? Yeah, she did; that girl was practically melting. In the midst of her bleak thoughts, a little fluff and silliness was like heaven. Tickling in general made her happy, but the gentle stuff from someone she cared about to cheer her up? Immediate serotonin release.

As much as he loved her muffled giggles, he was after a bigger reaction. The punk climbed further onto her bed, sitting on her thighs so she couldn’t kick him. Hobie grabbed the pillow, tugging it away from her face. The bright red cheeks and wobbly smile he was greeted with made him snicker. “Hey, girlie. No hidin’ those giggles; they’re too cute for jus’ the pillow ta hear.”

She whined through the adorable sound, half-heartedly batting at his hands. “H-Hohohobie! Quhihit teheasing!” To be honest, she loved the teases, but her cheeks were red enough without the cheeky words. “Sorry, but ya too cute to not tease. ‘M sure you’ll survive.” He slipped a finger under her shirt, scratching at her navel with a smug grin.

Gwen squealed, shooting upwards and shoving at his hand. “H-HOHOhohobiehe! You prihihick! Dohon’t do thahat!” 

So, of course, he kept doing that.

Pushing her shoulder back down to the mattress, Hobie slid her shirt up, scribbling all around her poor belly button. Gwen practically screeched, her feet kicking out behind the anarchist as she frantically shoved at him. “G-KYAAAH! YOUHUHU DIHIHICK! NAHAHAHA!” 

That got a snort out of the older spider, his cool rings sending goosebumps across her skin as he “tormented” her. “Heard of a giggle button, but I never knew ya could have a “lose your damn mind” button. I’ll be sure to remember that one.”

The rougher tickles, while unexpected, were still helping, They helped to drown out the rest of her sour thoughts, replacing the sticky guilt with bright, raucous laughter and giddy glee. Gwen was about at her limit though, his evil fingers pulling squeak after squeal from her wobbly lips. “H-HOBS! IHI CAHAHAN’T- QUIT!”

He huffed, not wanting to go too far. The punk switched from pokes to rubs, patting and massaging her buzzing tum to try and dull the ticklish aftershocks. The girl huffed and giggled, recovering from the brief, yet effective goofiness. “Th-thahanks Hobs. I needed thahat.” 

The punk laid down beside her, grabbing the pillow from earlier and smacking her with it. “Any time, Gwendy. Just gotta ask.” 

Gwen yelped when the fluffy thing smacked her face, her spider sense warning her just a second too late; her subconscious apparently didn’t deem pillows a threat. She was about to hit him back when she realized she had a great opportunity to be a shit. Even though she loved it, payback could be given…heheh. 

Pouncing out of nowhere, she wrestled with her friend, eventually managing to pin him to the bed. While he was a bit stronger, she had caught him by surprise, throwing him off his game. Gwen playfully wiggled her fingers in front of him, smirking. “TIme for a taste of your own medicine, Hobie~”

Before he could protest, five nimble fingers dug into his belly while the other pinned his arms above his head. Hobie didn’t care to hold anything in, just letting the giggles flow as he squirmed. It was apparently the wrong day for him to wear a crop top. “B-buhut yohou liked ihihit!”

She snickered, letting her acrylic nails drag across his midsection. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I can’t get you back.” Gwen gave his hips a squeeze, giggling as the punk snorted. “Besides, you like it just as much.” 

Hobie took the extra effort to flip her off, making the other teen squawk. She was right, of course; he was barely fighting back, enjoying the turnabout. Scorned and feeling brave, Gwen leaned her head down, blowing a sudden raspberry on his navel. That did it.

“G-GWEHEHEN! WHAHA’ THE FAHAHACK?!” She snorted at his words, sitting back up with a smirk. “You flipped me off, you jerk! Totally deserved.” She went back to his hips, appreciating his low-waisted jeans as she traced little shapes onto his upper hips. “Loving your outfit, by the way. Very ler-friendly.”

He groaned, bucking his hips as more little snorts decorated his laugh. His hips always had him sounding like a piglet. “Sh- snrk shuhuhut uhup! Thaha’ wahahasn’t on puhuhurpose!” 

She was about to tease him again, but a low whirr sounded in the room, a few knick-knacks slowly floating up in the room; one of their friends was visiting Hobie’s dimension.

“Damn it. You’re lucky, Hobs.” She pinched his side one last time before climbing off him, going to greet whoever just arrived. It was probably Pav, coming over for one of their unprompted game nights. 

Hobie giggled off the rest of the adrenaline, rubbing his exposed belly and staring up at the ceiling. He had trained those shits too well…

Taking a deep breath, the punk hauled himself out of the bed, grabbing his guitar from the corner before leaving the bedroom. Hobie hadn’t planned on getting tickled, though he was glad he helped Gwen cheer up. Even if it was a bit unconventional. Then again, what was normal about any of them? He greeted Pav, a smile still on his face as he grabbed out Clue for their game night.

#kasey's fruit shop #atsv tickle #switch!gwen #switch!hobie #lee!gwen #ler!hobie #lee!hobie #ler!gwen #sfw tickling community #tickle fic #tickle #fruit shop event #across the spiderverse tickle #ticklish!hobie #ticklish!gwen #tickle fluff #hurt to comfort tickle #atsv #atsv hobie brown #atsv gwen

[womanofwords]

Snuggle Buddies

Miles was not used to Spider-Society, so he was still being jump-scared at every possible opportunity. Spideys climbing up the walls and floor, different variants of villains, literally everyone being Spiderman, how the floor was an ocean of (mostly) blue and red. However, after a while, he got fairly used to it.

Until he saw Pavitr Prabhakar snuggled on a sofa, sniffling and holding a huge stuffed octopus. “Pav?” he said cautiously. Pavitr sat up hurriedly.

“Hi, Miles,” Pavitr said. “You do not need to check on me. I am completely fine.” His eyes were rimmed red and he had cheeks stained with tears. He was clearly lying.

Miles sighed. “Pavitr, you’re Spiderman. And part of being Spiderman means-”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Pavitr said. “I know.”

“That you’re terrible at lying,” Miles finished. Pavitr giggled and blushed with embarrassment. “Now, what is wrong?”

“I just feel a little touch-starved. Gayatri’s on a month-long family trip to America to meet relatives and go to Disneyworld, and I sort of hang out alone at school. I just started holding things whenever it gets really bad.” Pavitr gestured to the stuffed octopus in his arms. “This belongs to Mayday. She left it behind one day and I can’t stop snuggling it.”

“Why didn’t you just tell someone?” Miles asked, rubbing Pavitr’s back in small circles the way that his mother used to do. “You could have told me, or Gwen, or Hobie.”

“You guys are all busy. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You are not a bother. You never were. You’re like a little ray of sunshine.” Miles picked him up and put him over his shoulder. “Now, let’s go find Gwen and Hobie.”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Gwen and Hobie were walking together and talking happily when Miles appeared with a sniffling Pav over his shoulder. “Hi, Miles,” Gwen said.

“What’s up with Pav? Is he hurt?” Hobie asked.

“He’s touch-starved and needs emergency snuggles,” Miles said. “Where can we get a room?” Hobie sniggered.

“You don’t need to ask them, I’ll be fine,” Pavitr sniffled.

“Oh, that’s it, man!” Hobie plucked Pavitr off Miles’ shoulders like he weighed nothing. “Come on.” Hobie walked away, forcing Gwen and Miles to jog to keep up. Eventually, they arrived to a room full of pillows and blankets. Hobie sat down with Pavitr, wrapping themselves up in a large blanket. “Now, you know you can talk to us, right? Literally whenever you need.”

“OK, Hobie,” Pavitr sleepily replied, snuggling closer. Hobie rubbed at Pavitr's head.

“You’re a sweet’eart, you know that?” Hobie whispered. “Trying to be considerate of us. I will drop anything for you.” Pavitr squirmed. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“It tickles!” he giggled. “Hobie, your-” He bit his tongue as the punk grinned and tickled his armpits witless, occasionally letting out the occasional snort.

“There we go,” Hobie cooed. “Let it all out. We love you, but we need to teach you a proper lesson.”

“Whahahat?” Pavitr giggled.

“Well, you need to learn to advocate for yourself,” Hobie explained, as Pavitr giggled. “Before it gets to this state. Now, are you an adorable little thing who’s going to tell us when he’s down?”

“I didn’t want to be any trouble!” Pavitr giggled, squealing as his ribs played with.

“Sorry, can’t hear ya. Playing with my wonderful new guitar,” Hobie taunted. Pavitr tried to escape, but the blanket had encased him with Hobie, who was grinning down at him.

“Do you think we should help?” Miles asked.

“Hobie or Pav?” Gwen asked. “Oh, I’m just kidding. They’re both fine.”

“Wise choice,” Hobie said, before disappearing underneath the blanket. The room echoed with Pavitr’s screams of laughter.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Pavitr screamed.

“What spot did he get to now?” Miles asked.

“Judging by the hopeless thrashing, all of them,” Gwen grinned.

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