#spiderman!h

[s-brant]

Anonymous128

After being ditched by her friends on a night out, Y/N is saved from an attempted assault by a masked hero known as Spider-Man. He takes it upon himself to make sure she gets home safe and figures he’ll never see her again only to come face to face with her the next day. This time, he meets her as Harry Styles. (or the spider-man au)

12k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, violence, attempted assault, PTSD from the death of family members, grief, survivor’s guilt, and some mild sexual tension.

The sky is starless.

Y/N knows that hoping for a sky full of stars in London is useless. In any major city such as this one, light pollution prevents anyone from getting a view of a stray star, let alone constellations, and it's needless to say it's been depressing.

The stars, however, are the least of her worries right now.

Her footfalls roll like thunder on the sidewalk as she runs as fast as she can in the opposite direction of the men chasing her down. In all honesty, she probably shouldn't have punched one of them hard enough to hear a loud 'crack!' when he tried to pull her into the alley, but she didn't know what else to do. She didn't think about how it'd probably anger him more, or that he might have friends coming out of the bar too, all she could think of was her dad's warning to stay safe on her first venture out in their new city.

She feels the sharp winter air enter and exit her heaving lungs like breathable fire, and her hair whips against her face as she flips her head to look back at them over her shoulder. Every time she checks, they appear closer than they had the last time, so she decides not to look anymore. Instead, her focus pours into throwing one foot down after the other with as much strength as possible.

The time she spent out at the bar with her new friends was fun. They danced, laughed, and drank round after round of cocktails after they arrived, crammed and smushed in the backseat of an Uber, together. She met them on the first day at her new job and found herself adopted by the friend group like a shiny new toy. The two other girls are a few years older than her and work at the bakery because it's run by their mother, who was kind enough to give Y/N a job to help her dad pay for college.

It's an indefensibly bad salary, but as long as she's contributing, however little it is, her dad allows her to continue living with him for free. Plus, every little bit helps. It can't hurt to chip away at tuition costs with her barely above minimum wage pay.

They left early to meet their other friend at a club a half hour away, leaving her behind to find her own way back, and that was when she ran into the man outside of the bar. Her Uber was a street away when she felt a pair of hands seizing her hips to guide her out from the safety of the sidewalk, and, before it could get worse, she stomped on his foot and spun around to sock him square in the face.

"Get back here, you bitch!" one of them screams after her.

She thinks it's the one she punched, but there were about four of them the last time she looked back, so she can't be too sure. The loud smacking of their footfalls on pavement echos on the walls of buildings around her as she banks left into another alleyway to come out on the other street.

Apparently, that was a mistake.

Y/N makes it more than halfway through the alley before her eyes widen at the sight of a dead end leading into the brick wall of a building. It looms over her like a titan, trapping her in with no chance to leave except for the way she entered, and she turns to sprint out before they come after her, but it's too late. They're already turning into the alley.

She stumbles away until her back hits the wall and screams for anyone who will listen, "Help! Somebody, please, help me!"

The brick is freezing against her hands, which flatten against the wall behind her for stability, while she shrinks into it in an effort to put as much distance between her and them as she can. Who knows what they'll do once they catch her. It's hard to say whether they're in it to rob her, assault her, or flat out murder her, though she supposes she'll soon find out whether she wants to or not.

The group of five men, not four, closes in on her faster than she can prepare herself. They look like normal, average men, and that's what's terrifying about them. How could such normal looking people chase a woman down for not allowing their friend to kidnap and assault them without a fight? Monsters lurk beneath the skin of unassuming people at all times, but something she often forgets, especially at a time like this, is that heroes do as well.

One of the men turns to the initial guy who touched her and asks, "Is this the one that punched you, Reggie?"

Her attacker has shortly chopped blonde hair, a short build, and a lithe body like that of a teenager. Hell, he might even be a teenager. If he were alone, she could take him on without a hitch and leave him bruised at her feet. With his friends, it's a different story. It's clear that he acts this way because he has his more muscular, older friends to back him up—a chihuahua surrounded by a pack of wolves to fight his battles for him.

They stand a few feet apart and keep the gaps between them too small for her to make a break for it without the entire posse closing in, so she doesn't bother doing that.

Think, she wants to scream at herself, do something! But she's frozen. They say people are either fight or flight in a situation of survival, but she's the third, lesser-known reaction. Paralyzation.

Reggie steps forward a few paces for the sake of winding her up and smirks in satisfaction at how she presses back harder on the wall. At least she can derive satisfaction from the fresh blood trickling from his subtly crooked nose. The mere sight of her must bring back the minutes-old memory of the forceful punch because she watches his nostrils flare with rage at where her eyes are locked onto his face.

"Yeah, it's her."

It's a jarring pattern of speech that leaves her guessing what he'll say or do next. He advances a step, and she prays silently for someone or something, anything, to intervene and put an end to this before they violate or kill her.

Suddenly, beneath the paralyzation reaction and fear that takes hold of her body like poison, she's angry. His rage seeps out of him and into her, leaving her with nothing but contempt for the situation unfolding. If this is how she's going to die, she's not going to be happy about it. The least fate could do for her is make it better than this, better than falling prey to a gaggle of losers with pungent beer breath and botched haircuts. Seriously, who is their barber and why did they let them leave the chair like that?

She gathers the saliva in her mouth from the back of her throat and hacks it up to spit at Reggie. A tiny dollop of spit slaps his cheek right on target with a satisfying splat.

"Go fuck yourself," she snarls.

Just like that, a switch is flipped. The combination of the attack with spit and her telling him to go fuck himself sends him rushing forward at her through the last bit of space left between them.

The world moves in slow motion in the time it takes for Reggie to pounce into action and take two running strides to reach her. Her wide eyes watch in terror as one of his hands strays to reach for the knife stashed at his hip. It occurs to her that angering the scary men with knives might not have been the best idea. His brows are set with a serious streak of frustration and his mouth is moving with a spew of derogatory insults, but she hears nothing. There's nothing for her to do except kick her legs out to shove him away and hope his face isn't the last she sees.

Right as his fingers graze her wrist to tug her off of the wall, something strange happens.

His hand is yanked from her wrist as though pulled by an invisible string from the masterful hands of a puppeteer. Then, when he reaches with the other hand, the same thing happens, and she realizes that the string isn't invisible at all. Under the light of the full moon illuminating the alleyway, she sees that the substance sticking to his hands glimmers like the spun silk of a spider's web.

It clicks with her what's happening, and, with the realization, time starts to fly past at a quicker rate again.

"What the fuck—"

One of his friends who came up behind him to help is yanked back by the string of web fluid and slammed face-first into the building wall she stands against. He hits it with enough force to make her wince, but she can't lie, it's a little funny considering what they were about to do to her. She doesn't give a reaction at all, though. Not a wince, or a laugh, or even a gasp. All she does is watch in shock.

He moves, swinging and jumping from place to place with the practiced skill she's seen a multitude of times on the news and widespread social media videos. There's no denying his talent as he shoots out strings to lasso every single one of the screeching men that attempt to flee now that they realize who's here to save her.

With four of them restrained in a heap against the brick wall with his webbing binding their hands and feet, there's one left. The last attacker rushes down the pathway in the direction of the street lamps lighting the way back to safety, yet he's no match for her savior. The masked man swings from his perch on the balcony of one of the surrounding buildings and lands with a splash in a puddle midway through the alley.

His arm extends with a flourish, hand flipped back to shoot another string of fluid from the inside of his wrist, and that's it for the final man. He comes barreling back into the standing dog pile of his friends in a matter of seconds. The five of them groan in unison upon impact. Yet the groans can't overshadow the sound of more webbing shooting out once the last guy is wrangled to adhere them all together.

A minute and a half ago, Y/N was certain she was about to be assaulted or killed by these people. Now, the group is smushed together in a sticky web right next to where she stands with their feet dangling off the rain-soaked pavement.

The man in the mask rolls his head on his shoulders to crack the bones there, likely tense from the work he just did. His footsteps patter on the ground. They grow closer and closer before, finally, he stands in front of the group of men he just stuck to the wall like flies and scoffs.

"That'll teach you not to pick on innocent girls, you sick fucks," he mutters. Though she cannot see his face beneath the blue and red mask, decorated with one-way eye holes that allow him to see the outside world but prevent her from seeing his eyes, she can hear him scowling. "You're lucky m'not gonna do worse to you, you know that?"

Part of what made his role as a vigilante acceptable to the general public, and his oddly large and mildly cultish online female fanbase, is that he has a strict no-killing rule. Even his fiercest villains are defeated in non-lethal ways, then left to law enforcement or the government to handle. The police aren't fond of him, they see him as a threat, but he's doing everything he can.

Reggie retorts from the bottom of the dog pile, "Lucky? You call this lucky? I think my ribs broke!"

He scoffs, about to go in on this guy and give him a piece of his mind about how he wouldn't be in this mess if he didn't put his hands on a woman, before being stopped by the sound of her voice emanating through the quiet alley.

The first thing she thinks to say is, "Holy shit."

His attention shifts from the pile of human shit stains to the young woman crouched against the wall beside them with her arms hugging her legs. Mascara is smeared in tear tracks down her cheeks as she looks up at him with an expression of surprise, giving him the random impulse to reach out and wipe his thumbs across them until the makeup is cleaned off.

The thought jolts him out of the seconds-long daze her voice put him under. What was that? Maybe it was because he pitied her for what almost happened, or because her voice sounded so sweet even when it was dripping with shock from seeing him, but he got the instant urge to comfort her when their eyes met. It struck him like a bolt of lightning that he tries to shake off now that the thought has passed.

Weird.

Nevertheless, he bypasses the odd urge and ignores the grumbling guys swearing they'll get back at him for this to walk over to her. On instinct after the scare they gave her, she flinches at his approach before remembering with a clear mind that he's the one who saved her.

Y/N opens and closes her mouth like a fish at the man standing tall above her crumbled-up form before finding the gall to speak up again.

"You're"—she sputters with no real thought in her head except the thought it takes to perceive him—"You're Spider-Man."

Anyone with access to the internet, even back home in New York, knows the name Spider-Man. Of course, those who live in London are more personally entwined with the web-slinging vigilante, but he's known worldwide for saving the city from malevolent forces multiple times. He's building up a decent reputation whether you love or hate him.

When she moved here, her awareness of him shifted from a fleeting curiosity every time he'd pop up on her phone to researching him after hearing rumors of where he'd been fighting crime recently from the girls at the bakery. Their obsession with him is what prompted her to Google him after a lecture one day. As far as the general public is aware, he's native to the country and has been active for a year, but that's about all they know about him. Everything else paints him as this masked enigma that appears to patrol the city and protect the population to the best of his ability.

"In the flesh," he says.

He crouches down with his arms draped over his knees to make himself seem less of a threat to her. Like animals do, he makes himself smaller in an act of submission. The action settles her tensed up shoulders and forces an exhale out without her knowing it.

His voice shifts from an exaggerated friendliness to a tone of worry.

"Are you okay? I saw them chase you, but they didn't touch you or anything, did they?"

And though she cannot place why or how he does it, everything about this man radiates comfort. With him crouched down in front of her, asking her how she is and looking at her through his mask, she can't find it in herself to be afraid anymore. Safe. The feeling is warm and cozy. It floods her heart with a sense of belonging she had yet to feel since moving here.

She gets why so many people adore this guy now. How could she not, anyway? After he saved her life, she guesses she'd be somewhat ungrateful to not view him in a flattering light from now on. Most people would sit back and let something bad happen, or at the very least call the police, but he didn't. He saved her. His entire brand revolves around helping others, around being kind, not causing pain or harm.

Her throat bobs with her swallowing thickly and shaking her head to tell him no, they didn't get to touch her inappropriately. Not yet.

"I punched the little one so hard his nose broke, so, no, they didn't get to touch me before you got here," she admits.

With both of them ignoring the offended, "Little?" coming from him in the background, he chuckles softly, and the delightful sound sparks her laughter too. Since she can't watch his face as he laughs, she catches on to how his chest stutters up and down in time with it.

"Serves him right," he says, then pauses and stands back up with an outstretched hand. "Do y'want me to swing you home?"

It takes a second or two for her to notice he's giving her his hand to help her stand up again, but once she does, she takes it. Her soft palm slides against the material of the suit covering his large hand and interlocks their fingers together for him to pull her to her feet. His strength startles her at first when he tugs her up, but he's being gentle for his standards, even if it sends her intoxicated body off balance enough to need him to steady her.

She stumbles right into him, face ramming into his solid chest, and he has her scooped up in his arms before she can dare fall back onto the dirty ground. Her face appears from where it was buried into him to give him an apologetic smile. To herself, she savors the scent that comes off of him. It's kind of funny to imagine Spiderman spraying on cologne before he suits up and swings around the city.

Spider-Man looks down at her with raised brows, though it's not like she can see it, as the young woman clings to him. She appears about his age, objectively pretty, and the one thing that strikes him as odd is her accent. Definitely not from around here.

Y/N flashes a sleepy smile and stares at him through her curled eyelashes.

"You smell nice."

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting her to say. Perhaps an appropriate, "Thank you", "I'm okay, no thanks", or, "I would like some company to walk home, actually" but not that. It's not to say he doesn't appreciate the compliment, he does, it's just not what he thought she'd say.

"And you're drunk," he says matter of factly, "How are y'getting home?"

With that, she squirms her way out of his arms despite being the one holding on tightly enough to cut off his circulation in the first place and digs through her crossbody purse for something. Her body sways as she pulls her phone from the main pocket of the small bag, and he remains on high alert to catch her at any moment.

Manicured fingers tap the lit-up screen a few times and, before he knows it, she's shoving the phone up at him to display the fruits of her drunken effort to secure a safe passage home. The phone is held up an inch from his face, so he squints against the harsh light and pushes it away with a hand on her arm until he's able to read what's on the screen.

The Uber app is opened and displays that a driver is a minute away. On busy weekend nights like tonight, he's sure that people employed by these apps hang out right around popular bars and wait for responsible people like her to book a ride rather than drive drunk, so her driver isn't far.

Why was some part of him hoping she'd want him to walk her, or swing her, home? It's not like they're friends or anything, all he did was save her.

"Oh," is what he says.

They plummet back into silence, and she's turning the phone back around to check her messages the second the one-syllable word escapes him. He really isn't trying to read what's on her phone, but the way she holds it makes it hard not to see the fifteen unread messages indicated by the red bubble above the app. The messages are opened and read within the span of thirty seconds before she swipes out of the conversation with a sigh.

It was under a contact named Eric. Fleetingly, he wonders if it's a friend from the bar or a boyfriend worrying himself sick over where she is and why she's ignoring his messages. Not that it's any of his business. As soon as he sees her glance up at him, he shifts his gaze away from the screen and internally scolds himself for being a nosy little bitch.

"He's sooo mad," she whines, "Why does he act like I have to ch-check in with him every single time I do so much as breathe? It's like, I'm not a kid, you know? I'm grown, I can handle myself! He ignores me whenever we see each other anyway."

The part of him that wants to point out she accidentally ordered an UberLux for six people instead of a normal one, which would cost way less, keeps his mouth fixed shut. He's sure she's capable of handling herself when she isn't seven drinks deep into the night. She handled the one guy pretty well after all. His nose is crooked and his face will have a gnarly bruise to show for that.

Instead, he asks, "Can I borrow your phone for a moment?" And when she eyes him up skeptically, he looks down at himself and admits sheepishly, "I can't carry my own in this suit, I'll just need it for a second. I forgot to text my aunt that I'm coming home late. She needs to keep the door unlocked f'me."

Whether it can be attributed to her being drunk or plain stupid, he doesn't know, but she passes him the phone.

His gloved thumb swipes the screen as far as it'll go until he's able to see every single app she has and zeroes in on Venmo. Does he know why he's giving this girl money to cover the cost of her expensive Uber mistake? Absolutely not. In all honesty, he might regret it this week when he needs to skip a few meals as consequence, but right now he's being charmed by her pouting face and knows it'll be the cherry on top to wake up to a hangover, an angry boyfriend, and the most expensive ride cost of her life tomorrow. It's the least he can do.

It's not like his Venmo profile shows his name or face anyway. He finds himself by searching his handle and requests a £45 payment from himself on her account. The actual cost of her ride is a smidge more but that's the most he can afford to spend without impeding on his actual "I need this to survive" money. Looks like he won't spend money for pleasure until he gets paid again. It's only a few days from now.

By the time he's handing her phone back to her, an overpriced luxury car is pulling up on the street at the end of the alley right on time.

Y/N is in a relieved yet tired daze the entire walk over, and it isn't until he's opening the car door for her that she speaks again. Faintly, they both hear the driver asking, "Is that Spider-Man?" and she shushes the older fellow by telling him it's his Halloween costume. Seeing as it's January, the response garners a confused look in the review mirror at her, but he assumes it's some college kid having fun. Tons of people dress up as him for laughs.

"Well," she says as she slips into the backseat and buckles up, "thanks for not letting me die. Keep smelling good."

He nods.

"Keep throwing those killer right hooks."

This causes an adorable giggle to erupt from her, head thrown back in glee on the headrest at the memory that will be much more traumatic once the alcohol and adrenaline wear off come morning. As long as she's not thinking too deeply about the attack until she's safe at home, he's fine. It's not safe for her to be out at this hour if she's this intoxicated.

Her hand is on the door handle to swing it closed.

"Will do, bug boy," she says, then slams it shut.

The driver up front distracts her attention from watching Spider-Man walk backward from the curb to answer his typical questions about how she's doing and if she wants a mini water bottle, which she so graciously accepts and cracks open the second he hands it back to her. Her sore throat is thankful for the relief given by the swig of water, and she shuts her eyes with her head tilted back in gratitude.

At the feeling of the car rolling forward and driving away from the alley where she narrowly escaped being injured or killed, her eyes shoot open to catch one last glimpse of the man who saved her.

Through the fog of her hot exhales on the chilled window, she sees that he's already gone.

-

Harry is stupid.

​​He knows that. Obviously, he knows that, but now that he's sitting across from his best friend at his favorite bakery for an "emergency" afternoon study session, he's positive he's the most stupid man to walk the earth.

Why did he pay for that girl's Uber last night? Probably because he couldn't handle the thought of her waking up to a hangover, as well as an overpriced Uber charge, and did it without thinking of things like this. That's why he's sitting at the corner table with no food and a grumbling stomach. Zayn offered to get him something, but he also has this complex about not letting others buy him things he should be able to cover on his own, so here he sits. Hungry and stupid.

The display case of baked goods looks downright mouthwatering as he eyes it from across the room and zeroes in on a tray of fresh croissants. His heightened senses allow him to see each detail handmade with love into the flaky delicacy, and he has to turn his head so as to not start drooling.

One of the first complaints he had after he woke up with his new powers was this: how everything, from his strength to his senses, is heightened to a degree he'd never known before he was bittem. At first, becoming Spider-Man wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Sure, super strength, speed, spider-like agility, and so much more seem fun when taken at face value, but when you're a confused teenager waking up with more power than you know what to do with, it's not as exciting.

"Are you okay?"

Zayn snaps him out of his thoughts.

He looks up and pretends that he wasn't spacing out in the first place, shifting in his seat to appear more engaged with the course far below his abilities. He's working on becoming a biophysicist and working as a professor eventually, yet that requires a PhD, so he's stuck in college for quite some time. It's admittedly difficult for Harry to balance his coursework, being a photographer for the paper, and protecting London from crime, but he makes it work.

Harry takes a swig from the reusable water bottle he filled on his way out of his place this morning and shrugs.

"I'm fine. Just tired, you know how it is."

The words left unsaid between them couldn't be any louder. Neither of them acknowledges it, the mutual frustrations they share as best friends with their agreement to disagree on Harry's lack of transparency surrounding certain aspects of his life.

It took weeks of him promising his aunt, Anne, didn't abuse him for Zayn to let go of the bruises and injuries that appeared after Harry disappeared at random for hours at a time in secondary school. His friends secretly theorize that he's gotten into an illegal underground fighting ring, hence the bruises, injuries, and why he's no longer the string bean with no muscle that he once was, and he lets them. Better than them discovering the truth.

"Yeah, anyway—"

He swears he means to pay attention to him after spacing out for what must have been the third time today, but as soon as his friend begins asking a question again, the door opens with a delightful chime and a familiar face draws his focus away.

Oh no.

Harry slumps in his seat again on the instinct to hide himself from the woman he saved last night before he remembers that she doesn't know what he looks like beneath the mask. On her name tag, it reads the same name he found on her Venmo username.

She looks better in the afternoon light shining through the windowed walls of the bakery. Her hair is swept up from her face with wisps framing her face, and he can tell she used extra makeup under her eyes to conceal the leftover mascara smudges from the early morning. Before he can get a full look at her clothes, she's swiping an apron off of the rack behind the counter and clocking in for the next eight hours of managing the cash register.

His stare remains fixed on her the entire time she waits for new customers to approach the counter. Her lips twitch into a closed half-smile as she checks her phone behind the cover of the register.

In harmonious timing with her clicking a button on her screen, his phone buzzes in his lap. The Venmo notification opens under a sly move of his thumb under the table to keep Zayn from noticing.

y/n paid you +£45 i'm not taking your money but thank you for everything

He goes to look up at her again with narrowed eyes, not that it matters since she doesn't know who he is, to find her standing beside their table. It takes everything he has to not jump in surprise, swallowing the lump in his throat and clicking the power button on the side of his phone to shut the screen off.

"Is there anything you gentlemen would like? Maybe a coffee refill for you," she says to Zayn, then turns to Harry, "Or something for you?"

Fuck. She probably came over because he wouldn't stop staring and figured he wanted something.

He starts to say, "No, m'good actually—"

"Actually, Harry will have one of those croissants over there," Zayn interjects.

He looks at his friend with wide eyes, nudging him under the table with a silent instruction to tell her never mind, but he gets a swift kick to the shin instead. The part of him that wants to call him out for ignoring his pleas to not spend money on him is silenced by the part that's grateful to have such a generous friend. Even when he's distracted and spacey while he should be helping him study, Zayn is kind enough to get him a pastry.

For a second or so, Y/N stands and watches the quiet kicking fight that's not at all concealed beneath the table with amusement tugging at her features until Zayn wins. He comes here every time after class on days he has them, so they're well acquainted enough for her to feel comfortable laughing at this, but it's the presence of his buddy that stops her from commenting.

The first thing she notes about Harry is how quiet he is, at least with her. Before she came over, he exchanged a few low-volume sentences with Zayn that she couldn't pick up on, but he hasn't said a word to acknowledge her. Little does she know, the smooth, confident hero she met last night inhabits the same body as the reserved man sitting in front of her.

There are two sides to him. One side is the legend that is Spider-Man and the other is just, well, him. He's Harry, plain and simple. Some aspects of who he is when he wears the mask have seeped into who he is the other ninety percent of the time, but, for the most part, he's the same guy as usual.

She smiles.

"Alright, but don't worry, it's on the house," she says with the same sweetness he recalls melting his heart last night, then adds, "Are we still on to go to that pottery place together? Millie flaked, so it'll just be us. I hope you don't mind."

Whereas with some people, the third party to their platonic date dipping last minute could indicate that Y/N secretly has feelings for him and wanted an excuse to hang out alone, but with her, that isn't the case. Though she can admit he is ungodly handsome, she and Zayn are friends. That's it.

That's why he smiles and says, "Tomorrow at five."

After she walks off to retrieve the raspberry pastry, he can tell Zayn is preparing to launch into the story of how he met her. He's ready to listen with rapt attention, curious to know anything he can about the pretty woman he saved from peril yesterday, when his phone goes off again. This time, it isn't the typical buzzing vibration of a text or the Venmo notification he got five minutes ago, it's the ringtone he set especially for the police scanner notifications he feeds through his phone to alert him of crime.

The notification banner flashes on his screen a transcript of the police dispatcher rattling off the exact location, and as it continues, he wants to groan and throw a tantrum at the fact that it's not a minor call. They'll need his help.

Harry pushes his chair out with enough speed and brute strength to send it flying back off of it, then trips onto his ass over the legs of it trying to amend his mistake. Damn superhuman strength always making him look weird. Even the other girls employed here look up to see what the fuss is about, and he offers a tight-lipped smile as an apology. None of them except for Y/N seem to accept it based on the looks they give.

He swipes his backpack off of the back of it and swings it onto his shoulders.

"M'really sorry to do this, but Anne just texted saying she needs help right now. Something about a family emergency," he strings together something believable to get out of here as quickly as he can. "I'll make this up to you. I promise, I owe you one."

There's nothing for his friend to do except watch him, at a loss for words but understanding of the situation all the same, as he pushes the front doors to the bakery open and disappears into the fading afternoon sunset.

-

Y/N is stupid.

She knows that. Obviously, she knows that, but now that she's shutting the door to the apartment she and her dad live in together, it's becoming more apparent than ever.

This "home" is more of a ghost town to her as of late. Back home, before her mother passed away, there was once a time when he behaved the way a father is supposed to. He made a point to take interest in her interests, make time for her outside of his job, and show her in casual actions how much he loved her, but she can't say the same for him today. The difference in how he treated her last year versus now is unfathomable to her.

She used to be his angel, his most prized creation, and now...It isn't the same. Now, she comes home every night to an empty apartment and no matter how hard she wishes, he refuses to put anything above his work. The hours at Syco Industries are long and they work him to the bone, so she tries to cut him slack. Perhaps after he's been there longer, they'll give him leeway with forcing him to work late each night, but as it is today, they hardly see one another.

Is it bad if she admits she's torn between wanting things to be the way they used to and enjoying his absence? The thing is, whenever he's home, it feels as empty as it does when he's gone. They don't interact or bond, so what's the point? Isn't it better if he's not here at all?

Y/N comes out of her room in her favorite pajamas, a pack of makeup wipes clutched in one hand and swinging with her steps as she plops down onto the living room couch with an exhausted exhale. The television was running all day, it seems, after her dad forgot to switch off the news before he left for work this morning. She leaves it up for white noise while she checks her phone for the first time since clocking out at the bakery.

Messages? Dry. Instagram? No activity. Tumblr? Void of new content to devour. Twitter? Filled with pointless online discourse she doesn't feel like sorting through after a long day...Venmo? No notifications from her friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Disappointment sinks into her at the sight of the untouched payment she made midway through the day while Zayn's hot friend was staring at her. Was she actually expecting him to send it back again just to talk to her? For fuck's sake, he's Spider-Man, he has a lot better to do with his time than text a random drunk girl he saved via Venmo payments.

The news report diverts her frowning face from her phone at the mention of the very stranger she was blindly hoping to hear from. Speak of the devil. Swinging from building to building, he appears on the screen the same as he did the last time she saw him. Though it's already written at the bottom of the screen in bold lettering as the headline, she listens in to hear everything said by the bottle-blonde news anchor.

"Good evening. Here we are watching footage from two hours ago of police putting culprits of the bank robbery heist into custody. Authorities are still uncertain of how the group managed to infiltrate the heavily guarded vault, however, Spider-Man showed up to save the day."

Her voiceover continues while the camera cuts to footage of him hanging from the roof of the bank with his feet planted on the wall, watching the thieves getting loaded into the backs of the police vehicles. And, just as fast as he appeared to help, he slips into the night and swings away to wherever it is he calls home.

There's a voice in the back of her head asking why she cares so much, why she's so curious about him, but she can't find it in herself to care. The guy has plenty of girls swooning over him anyway, so what's another one with a harmless crush gonna do? Either way, it turns her cheeks hot with embarrassment enough for her to pull the remote from between the couch cushions to click the red power button that turns off the television.

The exact moment the screen goes black, her phone goes off, and she's starting to get a little freaked out.

Upon reading the source of the notification, Y/N takes a few seconds of pause to sit back and stare off at the skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the apartment. It's as if he's haunting her. First, she noticed his Venmo payment at work. Then, he came on the news as soon as she came home, and now he's sent her the money back again. The banner at the top of her screen doesn't divulge who the payment is from, but it doesn't need to. There's only one person it could be from.

After debating whether or not the universe is torturing her over the mini crush she developed on a man she doesn't know, she opens it.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 I'm not letting you pay for that yourself.

Across the city, Harry is sprawled out on his bed with his suit still clinging to his skin and the bedroom door locked (just in case) to keep Anne out. His typically well-kept head of hair is damp with sweat and tousled from being trapped beneath spandex for the better part of three hours. With his phone clasped in one hand, he uses the other to brush it out of his face and allow him to see his Instagram feed better as he scrolls through it.

He's not the type to post much on social media. His account, which he's thankful is named @harrystyles so the girl with his Venmo cannot find his true identity, has pictures uploaded every four or so months. He doesn't follow anything but his aunt's and close friends' accounts either, so his timeline is flooded with things he actually cares about, not mindless drivel. One account he does follow that isn't someone he knows is an updates account called @spideyupdates which he found a few months ago out of morbid curiosity.

It's odd to think that he has fans, especially since they're not fans of him as a person, but rather fans of the persona he takes on whenever he dons the mask. Some of them are rude despite claiming to like him, some are overly protective, yet he finds that most are sweet. He doesn't really know why he follows it, though, it's a little weird.

The most recent post from them was uploaded a half hour ago detailing the robbery he halted this afternoon. He's about to finish reading it when his phone buzzes with a new Venmo notification.

y/n paid you +£45 take it back bug boy 🕷

She leaves the app open this time in anticipation of his response.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 🖕

For the next few minutes, she and Harry go back and forth in a neverending fight with the final objective of getting the other to break and take the money. The message section of the payments is either filled with joking threats or nothing but the middle finger or spider emoji used as taunts, and he isn't quite sure why he's engaging with her by the time she stops and sends a normal message.

As soon as he heard her soft voice speaking to him from where she sat with her knees hugged to her chest, he felt himself surrender a little. As crazy as it'd sound to say, he knew when they met that he felt a sort of gravitational pull to her.

He isn't sure what to make of it. He hasn't had a crush on anyone since being turned into this, so he doesn't know if this is how attraction feels now. The Spider-Man side of life keeps him so busy, he hardly has time for the Harry Styles part. He hasn't gotten laid in a year. There's no time.

y/n paid you +£45 thought i saw you limping in the video they took on the news. are u okay?

Y/N leans against the kitchen counter with anxious delight swirling in the pit of her stomach once she hits the button to send the same forty-five dollars back to him. The spoon she's using to shovel mouthfuls of yogurt into her mouth dangles from her lips and threatens to slip out to crack her phone screen at any minute. Her original intention was to fetch a yogurt from the fridge to eat on the couch, but her internal struggle about choosing whether or not to start a regular conversation with him made her stop where she is.

The message she sent would probably make Harry ghost her if he hadn't seen firsthand how genuine her disposition is. Rather than asking it to probe for information about the man behind the mask the way others would, she's asking because she cares about people. Because she cares about him.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 I'll survive. I just twisted up my ankle a bit. Don't worry about it, sweetheart.

Looking down at his right ankle, he rolls the foot around to test out how painful it is when he moves the joint. Thanks to the rapid rate at which he heals since the spider bite, there's none.

The day he was bitten has turned blurry in his memory but he remembers enough. It was after his desire to discover more about his late father was reignited by finding some of his old belongings in the attic. He never saw his mom or dad again after they left him with his Aunt Anne and Uncle Rob. But finding his things in the attic awakened a part of him he hadn't known was there and sent him scrambling to follow the clues of the top secret Syco Industries folder left behind from when he used to work there.

His phone pings with a new notification a half minute after he sent the last payment, but his mind doesn't stray from the memory just yet. It holds him hostage.

He hangs on, recalling how he stumbled into the intricate web behind him and shook what must have been dozens of the altered spiders onto him. He swept them of off his clothes, ripped them out of his hair, and fled from the room with the paranoia of the arachnids crawling around on him still.

From then on, the rest is history.

The seconds blend into minutes of Harry staring off into nothing before he remembers he hasn't answered her message yet.

y/n paid you +£45 who said you can call me that? i'll have you know i can be very un-sweet at times.

His lips upturn into a grin that makes his dimples appear. If she were able to see him smiling like this, she'd probably go weak in the knees.

When her phone buzzes on the coffee table after six long minutes of going unanswered, she lets out a soft, inhuman-sounding shriek and fumbles for it with one hand while the other wipes her makeup off. Her empty yogurt container is long gone now. She sits crisscrossed on the couch with her head down to read his message. It warms her heart that he answered. She was starting to think he got bored of interacting with her and left like the girls did at the bar last night.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 Then stop calling me bug boy.

Her response is immediate.

y/n paid you +£45 absolutely not. you are, in fact, a bug and a boy.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 **Bug MAN

The apartment living room is overtaken by her giggling with her head tipped back on the back of the couch and the TV continuing the next loop of the bank robbery news in the background. In her peripheral vision, she can catch the swift movement of him swinging through the city not long ago.

y/n paid you +£45 you do realize i'm never letting you win this one, right...bug boy?

And he can see it in his mind, how she must look right now. He imagines her curled up in bed with a fluffy blanket engulfing her while the phone screen illuminates her prepossessing features. Those nude varnished nails he saw when her hand was clutched in his must elicit a soft clicking sound whenever she types him a new message.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.

Y/N smiles down at her phone. God, the pet name! She's about to respond again when the sound of the front door unlocking prompts her to click her phone off and drop it onto the couch, trying to appear as casual as she can when her dad walks in.

He appears to her as he always does: detached, tired, and willingly overworked to a degree of numbness that has stolen away his previously vibrant personality. With his briefcase clutched in one hand and his tie undone around his neck, he walks past her into the kitchen without a word spared in her direction. The smile that she made in response to Harry's message, which then shifted into a smile existing from the excitement of getting to see her father tonight, disappears.

A ghost. That's all she is anymore.

Y/N endures another three minutes of waiting for him to acknowledge her existence and staring ahead at the news broadcast playing before she's had enough. It takes three minutes of him fixing himself a quick dinner for her to stand and pad her way over to the kitchen to force him to see her. Her arms cross over her chest as she leans against the counter, watching him.

After a beat of silence, she asks, "How was work?"

His work doesn't interest her in any capacity. He isn't allowed to tell her the interesting details seeing as they are classified as top secret by those in charge, so he only tells her insignificant details about paperwork or butting heads with coworkers over disagreements in their experiments. But she also knows that it's what matters most to him, so he's more likely to engage if this is the topic.

As to hibernate in his room as soon as possible, his post-work dinner consists of a questionable frozen meal that's been sitting in a box in the bottom of the freezer for the past month or so. Since his back is turned to allow him to poke at the microwave buttons, she scrunches up her nose at the "meatloaf" sitting in its plastic container with flakes of ice coating it in a thin layer.

"Work was work," he says flatly.

Wow, what riveting detail! Part of her wants to quip something along the lines of, "Thanks for such an enthusiastic contribution to the conversation, sperm donor," but what ends up happening falls far short.

She presses her lips together in firm restraint, wishing she hadn't bothered, but now that she's already trying to pull something other than the usual monotonous tone and neglect from him, she switches topics. Perhaps a bit of current events will wake him up.

"What about that Spider-Man?" she asks with butterflies in her stomach at the thought of her mini-crush on the stranger. Well, she supposes they qualify as friendly acquaintances now. "It's kind of amazing what he does. He singlehandedly stopped that bank heist. It was all over the news. He seems like a really nice guy."

His posture, which had been slumped from a twelve-hour long day of experiments, mathematics, genetics research, or whatever the fuck it is he does at Syco that she cannot pretend to understand, turns rigid. As soon as the web-slinging hero was mentioned, one would think a bucket of ice water was thrown over him. He turns around to face her suddenly enough for her to hold herself back from retreating a step in reaction.

"He's not nice, he's a pest that can't mind his own business and let the police do their jobs. We think he—"

He stops short, catching himself as his passionate tirade against Spider-Man starts drifting into a territory he didn't intend it to, at least not consciously. It makes her brows furrow, her forehead creasing with an expression that is equal parts confusion and suspicion. Not suspicion against her new friend, either, but against her dad.

"What do you mean "we"? What do you think he did?"

For an extended second, their eyes are locked in an intense gaze he can't escape, then the beeping of the microwave sounds off as his conveniently-timed savior to her mild interrogation. He turns to retrieve the hot container from it and reaches behind her to swipe his fork from the counter with a scoff. As if she's overstepping for even wanting to know.

"You got class tomorrow, right? Try to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. I don't wanna hear you walking around at three AM, alright? I'm gonna go get some sleep," he says as though nothing else happened before this.

She can't do anything except stand there in silent shock at his refusal to engage with her further on the topic. It almost makes her feel crazy to see him leaving for his room after that. That did really happen, right? He actually said that cryptic thing about her new friend. It wasn't another product of her fanciful mind...right?

Harry, after watching his phone for a ridiculous amount of time for her response, stepped away to toss his suit in the washer while Anne slept and showered off the mixture of sweat and grime off of him from the day. Though he got a glowing review of how he smelled from Y/N last night, if he's been genuinely exerting himself in the suit all day, it gets gross.

He flops face-first back onto his bed with damp hair and a towel slung around his hips when he finally returns from his shower. Surely, she would've responded by now, he thought mid-washing his hair. However, his notifications are empty, and he doesn't know why it disappoints him. The conversation did come to a natural conclusion, but he has a feeling he wouldn't have been satisfied no matter how long it continued.

-

The last thing Harry was expecting to open his phone to while he took a break on his midday patrol of the city, swinging onto the nearby roof where he stashed his backpack, was two missed calls from his best friend and five messages. At first, as the nature of his role as a vigilante conditions him to, he jumped to the worst-case scenario. His mind created images of his friend bleeding out in the street with a bullet through his chest, then jumped to a new scenario where one of his enemies somehow discovered his true identity and found his dearest friend to lure him in.

Once he opened the text thread, though, he sighed with an initial rush of relief, then let himself settle into an attitude of contemplation.

Zayn I need help

Zayn Like a huge favor

Zayn I hate to bring up that you said you owe me one so soon, but my mum just went to the hospital. She got into a car accident. She's okay, but she has a concussion and I need to go see her. She'll need a ride home.

Zayn Here's where the favor part comes in... Zayn Remember how I promised Y/N I'd go to that pottery thing with her today at five?

That is how Harry ended up here: waiting outside of said pottery class at 4:56 pm with a pair of sunglasses on to conceal his bruised eye from last night's scrap with the bank robbers. His response was immediate as soon as he glanced up at the time to see it was a mere half hour until he had to be there. He didn't even formally agree. In such a rush to fill in for Zayn and not be the shittiest friend in the universe, he was frantically stripping off his skin-tight suit and changing into his street clothes while yelling at Siri to ask for the address.

Is it weird of him to not want to be here? Despite his crush on her and his wish for the Venmo messages to never end, this feels different. Fantasizing about her was one thing, but what if they got along? What if they ended up having a genuine connection and—Oh my God, she's right there.

"Harry?"

Y/N approaches with confusion written across her face.

With the sun, or, the bit of light that manages to escape from the heavy cover of moody clouds overhead, haloing her, she looks like a dream to him. He prefers this version of her to both he's met thus far—the dolled-up party girl and the bakery worker he saw from across the room yesterday. It's clear to tell that this is her. This is her when she's planned on going out with someone she feels at ease with. The clothes are comfortable yet chic, and he wants to taste the mulberry-hued lip gloss off her cute mouth.

That last thought has him scolding himself. What is wrong with him? He should be explaining himself right now rather than gazing longingly at her lips from behind the shades of his sunglasses. He promised himself this would never happen again after what he went through before...

He pushes off the wall and steps up closer to her in acknowledgment of her noticing him, saying, "Um, did Zayn tell you?"

Based on her face, it is evident that he didn't.

"His mum's in hospital," he says, then rushes to clarify the severity, or lack thereof, of the situation when she gasps, "Not like that! S'not bad. Well, it is bad that it happened at all but the car accident wasn't that bad. Just a minor concussion and some bruises. She's getting discharged soon and he asked me to come with you. I hope that's okay."

"Oh..."

It's not that she's upset. She isn't. After all, Harry seemed nice enough at the bakery and it doesn't hurt that all of Zayn's friends are unrealistically gorgeous—like come on, how does her friend know so many hot dudes?—but she had this vision of what the afternoon would be and this isn't it. So it isn't the feeling of being upset, it's the one of being mildly disappointed.

Nevertheless, she tries to hide it.

Bless her, he thinks as he sees her utter failure at trying to conceal her true feelings. He can see why his friend spends so much time with her. Now that they're interacting as much as they did in the alleyway, this time sober and with him as himself instead of his alter ego, he can sense how sweet she is without the biases of being the one to save her life swaying her treatment of him.

In her surprised quiet, he searches for something to say to make it right.

"We can skip it if you're not comfortable. I won't take it personally—"

"No!" she exclaims, then realizes her volume and tones it down several notches to continue with a reassuring tone, "I've honestly been meaning to find myself a new hobby and it took forever to get into this class, so, I'd love to do this with you...unless you don't want to? If that was your polite way of trying to let me down easy and get back to whatever you were doing, then it's okay, I swear. I know pottery might be boring to some people."

As if he's gonna ditch her and let Zayn down in his time of need. No way. Never happening. Crime, as well as his studying, can wait an hour or two. Not to mention...she needs him too. However much he pretends it isn't about her, a small part of him can't stand the thought of letting her down either.

He shakes his head.

"I love pottery."

-

It is clear based on the misshapen wet lump of clay spinning on the potter's wheel in front of him that he has never done this before. Despite claiming to love pottery, which she, naturally, took as him having experience with it, she doesn't need him to take the sunglasses off to know he likely looks like a lost puppy at the moment, eyes wide and searching.

The woman at the front of the room doesn't give anything but encouragement whenever she makes her rounds around the room, but this time, when she stops in front of their table, her brows raise halfway up her forehead before she can mask her reaction.

"Wow!" she says, then peeks at the name tag sticker on his shirt before taking another glance at his vaguely bowl-shaped clay lump, "Harry, that's...creative! Very creative."

It's a beginner's class, a one-off most people never return to, so she isn't going to be critical of the people here. Most of them are grandmas who got a free class for Christmas, and Harry sure as hell isn't intent on coming back, so he's thankful she isn't embarrassing him in front of the old ladies who have grown quite fond of him since the class started. They like his tattoos. One of them said he looks like a "hunky sailor". Whatever that means.

It's actually infuriating if she thinks about it too long. He's so likable and charming, enough that when he screws up his pottery into an unrecognizable mess, he still has several old ladies stationed around them turning around and complimenting his "bowl".

When Barbara, the instructor, walks away, she has to press her lips together in restraint as she turns to look at him and his creation. The look on her face has him shaking his head with a smirk growing on his face.

"Quit laughing," he says under his breath so as to not interrupt whatever Barbara is telling everyone to do now.

Even if she weren't looking at him, she'd hear the smile in his voice, and it does nothing to prevent her stifled giggles from escaping. The clay spins on its own and becomes more deformed as the seconds pass, and it takes every bit of self-control for her not to burst out into cackling laughter. It takes her back to being in grade school, being in a class with her best friends seated next to her while they tried not to laugh.

"I'm not laughing, I'm just, uh," another giggle escapes and she has to slap a hand over her mouth, "I'm in such awe of your work that I can't help myself—"

Whatever it is she wants to say is cut off by the full-on, obnoxious laughter she wanted to let out as soon as Barbara left, and he can't help but join when she shoots them both a look of warning at the sound.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her fight against her laughter and force her face back to its resting expression to no avail. It's moments like these that startle him, making him wonder why he feels so drawn to her. Nevertheless, he resists it. He doesn't even entertain the thoughts shooting around in his head. It doesn't matter, he reasons, she probably has a boyfriend. Her texts from the night they met made that clear. Plus, she's better off anyway. Being around him can only put her in danger.

Though he's laughing, she can tell it's not fully there. It's buried beneath a sense of sadness or something that distracts him from staying in the moment. She likes to think she's a very perceptive person, and she can tell he's thinking about something else. The laughter dies down into silence. She can tell there's something haunting him, something she triggered.

Suddenly, the giddy moment turns sour.

There's a pause, then—

She leans a little closer and asks softly, "Are you okay? You spaced out for a second there..."

In all honesty, Harry is a weird guy. He's wearing sunglasses inside on a cloudy day, he doesn't offer up much information about himself, he's astoundingly terrible at pottery, and that's all stuff she can take in stride. But she can't allow herself to ignore the voice inside of her that urges to look after other people. It's hardwired in her to do so. When she noticed his mood take an abrupt nosedive, she reached to place her hand on his shoulder and ask if he was okay without thought.

One would think her touch burned him with how he pulls his arm away. A second of tense silence passes, then his face softens as he sees the initial flash of hurt on her face. In his defense, they aren't close enough to have the Uncle Leo conversation yet, even if he includes the conversations they've had without her realizing he's Spider-Man.

One moment, they were laughing and having fun, then next, he had visions of her dead on the sidewalk with blood oozing from her chest. What if he falls for her, then she suffers the same fate? What if he can't save her like he couldn't save him? He doesn't know if he couldn't bear it.

Harry says, "Yeah, m'fine. I didn't sleep much last night. I'm sorry."

She nods, and they're so engrossed in each other that they don't notice Barbara wrapping up the class and instructing everyone to bring their bowls to dry.

Her gaze flickers over his handsome features, noting the little things about him that she hadn't taken the time to when they first met. The sunglasses conceal the seafoam shade of his eyes that she remembers fondly from yesterday, but they don't stop her from appreciating the rest of him. In a strange way, he seems familiar to her beyond their short interaction at the bakery.

"Can I say something that might sound weird?" she asks.

He watches her search his face with his breath hitched in the back of his throat, then nods.

"I feel like I've met you before." At the (forced) confused expression he makes, she elaborates, "I mean, before yesterday. You're so familiar—"

Thankfully for Harry, who is about three seconds from becoming nauseous with anxiety, the new direction their conversation has taken is disrupted by Barbara walking up behind them. She braces a hand on the edge of the table to glance at Y/N's bowl. The contrast of hers next to Harry's is downright embarrassing. It turns his cheeks a bright red to see her face as she debates how to acknowledge it.

It's not even bowl-shaped anymore after he let it spin on the table for a minute straight while they shared a moment. One side has collapsed in on itself, the other protruding out in a point. Both she and Y/N can't help but wonder how he managed to make it look like that, but they bite their tongues.

"That was a wonderful effort, Harry. I'm sure if you keep at it, you'll get better," the older woman says.

To himself, he thinks, That just sounds like you want me to keep paying for more classes, but okay.

She and Y/N talk to each other about the class, the former asking her how she has such natural ability for a beginner, and he pretends not to love how she looks when she blushes at the compliment and looks away. Her masterfully crafted bowl is swept away to dry on a rack for her to return and finish it in a week—a genius way to get people to continue their classes if he's to say so himself—while his sits on the stationary potter's wheel in its deformed glory.

Both women pause after they come back from the drying rack, but Y/N is the first to speak upon seeing the shy, near-embarrassed look on his face at the sudden attention on his failure. Her throat bobs with a thick swallow, as though she's working up the nerve to ask something that may overstep boundaries.

"Would it be okay if we stayed a little longer so I can help him finish his? I'll pay extra for taking up more time if you want me to," she says.

Barbara opens her mouth to respond without a second to spare, then hesitates. Her gaze bounces from her to him, then the bowl in front of him, and after a long ten or so seconds, her lips curve into a hint of a smile.

"I have to switch some of last week's pieces from the drying rack to the kiln, you can stay until I come back. But once I need to clean up in here, you guys have to leave, okay?"

-

With Y/N helping, it seems a lot simpler than he previously thought.

He sits in front of the wheel with fresh clay so generously given to him by Barbara before she disappeared to work on the other pottery pieces from another class, this time with a little less confusion.

Harry is a person of many talents, most of which come naturally to him and are aided by his unwavering work ethic, so it isn't often that he's this bad at something. On his first bowl, it was disappointing. On this one, he actually enjoys the process. Her stool is pushed close to his. Their knees knock with any slight movement made, and considering that he's moving his hands and arms constantly, their legs might as well be glued together.

Little does he know, it steals her breath away too. How could it not? He may not be her web-slinging crush, and they just met, but the girl has eyes after all. His face is as carefully sculpted as the advanced pottery pieces sitting on the drying rack behind them. She tends to get lost when her eyes roam up from his hands to steal a glance at the prominent edge of his jaw or the curve of his rosy lips at the Cupid's bow.

That's another thing: his hands.

Having to focus on them in order to guide him through the motions of forming the bowl is one thing, but when he doesn't understand her critique and she's forced to reach out to help him, it approaches on unbearable. The number of unspeakable things coming to mind...

The clay slathered on his hands wets her palms and fingers as they mold overtop them to physically show him what she's saying to do. Her touch glides over the cross inked beside his thumb. Their eyes are fixed in stares at the work they're doing rather than each other, both not wanting to look at each other in fear of amping up the tension even more.

"So," his voice is a deep hum, their shoulders pressed together as he demonstrates what she showed him to save this bowl from succumbing to the fate of the first, "Like this?"

This time, before she can stop herself, she turns her head to see his face with an encouraging smile, but when she does it, he's much nearer than she thought he'd be. The full impact of making eye contact with him is hindered by his sunglasses, but she can feel him looking. He also turned his head when he asked her the question, so their faces are one wrong move away from their lips brushing.

For an instant, she wonders about doing it, about leaning across the limited space and satisfying the curious side of her that has wondered how his lips taste since he first spoke to her. Though outwardly quiet and mildly intimidating, she imagines he's a gentle kisser, the type to stroke her cheek with his thumb or soothe the nip of his teeth tugging her bottom lip with a soft peck as an apology.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, and, for a second, she thinks he's thinking about it too before the sound of Barbara coming back to the room makes them jolt out of their trance.

"How'd it go?"

She asks the question with her back turned to them, already picking up the supplies stored in the cabinet to further clean the workstations, and Y/N takes the opportunity to slip off of her stool to clean off her hands in the sink. Coincidentally, she picks the sink farthest from him.

"Good," she answers a little too fast, "Look at it, he's practically a pro."

"Pro is a bit of an exaggeration, sweetheart."

The nickname has her head whipping around to look at him over her shoulders as her hands sit beneath the stream of running water. It strikes yet another chord of familiarity within her, this one relating to the fact that Spider-Man likes to tease her with the same nickname. It's not like it means anything, people use it all the time, but it catches her attention all the same.

Harry doesn't make the same connection.

He stares back at her from where he stands with his body leaning against the table. His bowl is now placed amongst the others on the drying rack, right next to hers. His hands, covered in the muddy color of wet clay, stain his black skinny jeans as he lets his arms hang at his sides. He doesn't care, though. He just smirks at her from across the room, then makes his way over to her sink to wash his hands too.

Once again, they're shoulder to shoulder. Barbara being in the room forces them to remain silent, and he can't help but wonder what they'd talk about if she weren't here. Would she flirt with him? He can't help but wonder, even if he knows he shouldn't. There's something about her that makes his brain turn stupid in the heat of the moment. When his spidey sense picked up how rapidly her heart began beating in the seconds before Barbara interrupted them, all of his apprehension shifted to impulsivity. After all, he's a nineteen-year-old guy, and if a girl he's been crushing on since they met looks at him like that, there isn't much to hold him back.

She leaves the sink as soon as she can. Her cheeks still burn from the almost kiss, specifically the knowing smirk he gave her after it. Even as minutes pass in the time it takes her to gather her things and wipe down their area, it doesn't subside.

It isn't until she's following Barbara out the door that she turns back at the sound of the drying rack rattling, followed by a string of curses and a strange thwip! sound, to see him. Based on the frustration of him cursing under his breath, as well as the rattling rack, her chest tightened with anxiety and she prepared herself to see the pottery pieces on the floor, yet she doesn't.

Instead, she sees Harry standing there with his flannel sleeves rolled back down and his backpack slung over one shoulder. Not a single strand of hair is out of place, no sign of what sounded like a struggle when her back was turned. He flashes her an awkward smile and shrugs.

"I dropped my backpack."

She returns the smile and offers a sweet, "Well, come on then," before turning to leave the room.

Harry tips his head back on his shoulders and lets out a heavy sigh of relief as soon as she's out of sight. Barely hidden behind his back, a fully dried vase dangles from the ceiling by a web he shot out at the last second to save it from breaking on the tiled floor. Thank God he snuck his web shooters back onto his wrists after washing his hands.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #one direction fanfiction #fanfiction #spiderman!h

[punkeropercyjackson]

'End cringe culture!!!'You guys can't even handle adults who love kids cartoons because they have lgbt representation

#do you guys not see the irony in this?????you say 'cringe dosen't exist' and in the same breath use '[insert toon] fan' as slang for 'loser' #get a fucking grip ffs we're not less smart than you just because we like superheroes and furries and princesses and shit over adult media #(not aimed at irl h*rnyposting blogs btw ily y'all even if it's not my thing because you're always much nicer with the best taste in stuff) #kidcore tag #adventure time #rwby #spiderman #bluey #she ra #toh #dead end:paranormal park #bubbline #gumlee tag #bmo #bumbleby #may marigold #gwen stacy #hobie brown #catradora #glimbow #seamista #scorfuma #lumity #huntlow #raine whispers #barney guttman #norma khan #💌 #summerposting #actuallyautistic

[404nameunavailable]

matching house and wilson icons in the style of alberto mielgo 💕

#hilson #house md #itsv #alberto mielgo #fan art #art #artists on tumblr #digital art #illustration #csp #spiderverse #art style practice #james wilson #gregory house #atsv #spiderman: across the spiderverse #smatsv #i really wanted to study his art style as i find it wonderful #quite a basic bitch anwser but e h #icons

[plush-rabbit]

It's Always Coffee

Request: Hello!!! I was wondering if you could write a like enemies to lovers between The spot before he becomes The spot (so basically Jonathann Ohnn) where the reader is a journalist who is investigating what is going on at Alchemax? And it would be nice if in the end you could include a part whit the reader and The Spot after he becomes it. Thank you so much!! <3

A/N: I’m on a fucking high for this guy!! Hope you like it<3 (this isnt necessarily an enemies to lovers but its something!!)

Word Count: 3.2K

-

You sit at an empty chair pushed against the wall of the coffee shop, your gaze focused on the screen of the laptop, the cursor blinking as the words stop. The bell dings, and you look up, catching a look of a familiar doctor walking up to the counter and fumbling with his wallet to pay. You smile, keeping your eye on him, a part of you hoping that he would turn around and see you. 

No doubt feeling the gaze of someone on him, he peers around as his transaction ends. His eyes meet yours and your grin stretches, a cheeky grin stretching over your features. You wave at him, dropping your gaze to return to your work, a newfound hit of inspiration causing you to type away at the keyboard.

Keeping your attention on the screen, you bite down the smile as someone takes a seat in the chair next to you. You can feel his gaze on you, and you keep your gaze focused on the screen. The cursor stops and blinks at you, and as you type, your backspace, unable to make the sentence flow as you’d like. With a sigh, you grab your drink and take a sip.

“Are you following me?” He asks, and finally you turn to face the doctor.

“You know, a hello is usually a common way to greet people, Dr. Ohnn.” You place your cup down, turning your attention towards him. He narrows his eyes at you. “Technically, I should be asking you that. I was the first one here. If anything, I should be accusing you of following me.” He stays silent and you smile at him. “I can assure you that I am not following you. Honestly, I didn’t even think you knew about this place. You seem more like the type to make your drinks at home.”

He pulls his lips into a line and fixes himself in his seat. “Usually, I am. I only recently found this shop. It’s one of the few shops that offers distinct blends of coffee.” You snort and he shoots you a pointed look.

You hold your hands in front of you in mock defense, closing them and returning them to your keyboard. You don’t miss the glance that he gives to your screen. “I never took you to be such a connoisseur of coffee,” you admit. “How long have you been frequenting this place?”

He stays silent, and turns his attention to where the baristas work behind the counter. “Past two weeks,” he tells you, returning his gaze to look at you.

“Ah,” you sigh. “I found this place maybe a month ago.”

“I didn’t know you enjoyed coffee,” he admits.

You shrug. “I’m a reporter. It’s kinda in the requirements to enjoy coffee.”

Silence befalls between the two of you, and he turns his attention to where the baristas work. Your fingers dance over your keyboard. You chew on the inside of your cheek when you feel his gaze on you once more. He turns to look at your screen where you type, fingers slowing down as you turn to look at him with an expecting grin. “Can I help you, Dr. Ohnn?”

He doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed about being caught, instead, he shoots you a narrowed look. “What are you writing about?” 

“If you must know-” his eyes dart over the words, and you grab the top of your laptop, pulling it down to block him from reading any further- “it’s about a local animal shelter.” You lift the screen back to its standing position, and take a sip of your drink. He huffs and looks away, crossing a leg over the other. You take a peek through your peripheral vision, and return to typing. “The shelter is doing a little event where you can walk or play with an animal for an hour, and each person will receive a five-dollar gift card to a coffee shop.”  

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “That sounds nice.” 

You scoff out a laugh. “Does that satiate your curiosity?”  Your fingers tap over the keys as you try to come up with the finishing sentence. “Honestly, no wonder you dislike me when I question you as you do your job.” You give him a teasing smile, and he straightens, pushing up his glasses from the bottom rim with his knuckle.

“I don’t-” he clears his throat at your expectant gaze and shakes his head. “What coffee shop is allowing that? I’d assume it would have to be a local one.”

“You’re correct.” You point at him, pulling away from your screen and leaning against the back of the chair. You tilt your head, raising your brows at him with your smile growing. “Wanna wager on it? If you guess the shop, I’ll buy a coffee from there.”

“Do you know how many coffee shops are in this area alone?” He glowers at you, uncrossing his legs and leaning back against the chair. “Unless I have unlimited guesses, I won’t be able to figure it out in such a short amount of time.”

You hum, turning to look at your screen. You click your tongue and tap a finger against your chin.”Okay,” you draw out, “I’ll give you a hint.” You turn to look back at him, arms crossed over your chest. “It’s one of the only shops around that offers such distinct blends of coffee,” you raise the pitch of your voice, an awful attempt at mimicking the words once said, 

“I do not sound like that,” he pouts. 

You snicker, dropping your head and giving him a wide grin. “Ah, so you’ve guessed it?”

He turns his head, and back at you. “Obviously,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Why would this place partner with a random shelter?”

“The shelter is a family friend with the owner from here,” you explain. “So they partnered up since the shelter is low on staff.” You grab your drink, swishing the liquid around. “It’s a nice idea-” you place your drink back down- “and they have ads placed all over, so I’m hoping that this article just boosts it up a bit more, you know.”

“Will you be participating?” he asks.

“Probably not,” you answer. “I like animals as much as the next person, but I get attached much too fast.” You turn to him. “I don’t think I could part with a dog. What about you?”

Dr. Ohnn lifts a hand, twirling a strand of hair around his finger before letting it fall back into place. “Probably not. As is, I don’t have the time to myself. What little time I do have, I much prefer to spend it by myself.”

“You’re worked to the bone, huh?” You give him a sad smile, turning your attention back to the screen. You feel his eyes on you. “That blows.” He says nothing. “I get it. You enjoy what you can. In this case, while it’s a noble cause, it’s definitely more for the people who have the time.” You turn to him. “And those who enjoy coffee.”

“I hope your article is able to put the word out,” he tells you without a hint of sarcasm laced into his words. Your ankles cross, and you pull them close to the underside of the chair.

“Yeah-” you backspace a word, only to rewrite it- “me too.”

You hear his name get called, and the both of you turn to where a barista places the drink on the counter. He stands, and stays in front of his seat. Craning his neck, he looks to you, and you blink up at him. 

“Hey, you already paid for your drink, I can’t cover this one,” you say, raising your hands in front of you. “Maybe next time?”

“Next time?”

Another name is called, and in the corner of your eyes, you watch as the person scurries to pick up their drink. “Sure. Next time,” you confirm. You suck in a breath, and hold your drink in your hand, nerves causing your stomach to flip upon itself. “I’m uh, free tomorrow.”

He frowns. “I’m not.”

You cringe upon yourself, and bite the inside corners of your lips to stop from wincing. “Then, whenever. Or I could just pay you now for your drink. I think that’ll even it out. That way we won’t have to meet again.”

“No,” he blurts out. You look at him with raised brows. “I’d rather meet. I did win your little wager,” he says. “I’ll try to find time.” He bites his bottom lip, and clears his throat. “I believe I’m owed that after all.”

Hope makes your heartbeat quicken, and you can’t stop the smile that grows. “Okay. You’re welcome to sit by me if you’re not in a rush.” He stutters for a second, and you smile up at him. “Relax. I won’t question you. For now.” He pulls a face and you let out a small laugh. “It’s a joke. We can just be two people who met at a coffee shop. Not a reporter or scientist, just me and you.”

Without an answer, he walks towards the counter, and you watch his movement. You watch as he grabs the cup and places the rim against his lips. You watch as he pulls out his phone, and looks to the door and looks back at you. You aren’t sure what’s compelled you to invite the scientist to sit with you- it isn’t as if the two of you are friends, or anything of the sort. However, in the short conversation where work for you and annoyance for him was absent, you enjoyed talking to him. Just a bit. Not enough to admit it, but enough to invite him to sit with you. He turns a foot towards the door, and you give him a final smile, raising your hand in a goodbye, looking down at your screen. 

It’s no bother. All you really are to him is a reporter with pestering questions about his line of work, it would be a no-brainer as to why he wouldn’t want to sit with you. However, it doesn’t stop the disappointment that weighs you down. You write the last sentence of the article and sigh.

Someone sits by you, and you give a glance, lifting yourself straight when you find the scientist perched at the seat, holding his drink in his hand with his body turned towards you. 

“Are you almost done with your article?” You nod, glancing back down to save the file despite the automatic save feature working on its own. “Good, good.” He turns to look at the door, and back to you. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

 You close your laptop, and hold it by the edges. “As a reporter and a scientist? Or as-”

“As me and you.” His feet tap against the floor. “I understand if you’re busy or-”

“I’d love to go for a walk.” You hadn’t realized how tense he was, until his shoulders fall at your words, a small smile tilting the corners of his lips upwards. “You got an idea of where to go or do you want to walk aimlessly?” You grab your messenger bag, delicately placing your laptop into its designated sleeve. 

You follow behind him, clutching your nearly empty drink in your hand. Your bag pats against your side, and you bend to walk underneath his arm as he holds the door open. 

“You’re supposed to wait for the door to open fully,” he tells you, fixing the sleeves of the black undershirt. 

“And you’re supposed to answer someone’s question before walking away, Dr. Ohnn.” You pull yourself straight. “Guess we both have some learning to do.” He rolls his eyes, and continues forward, and you follow behind him. 

The air is warm- not uncomfortably so, but enough to know that summer is creeping in. You smile at people who you make eye contact with. Dr. Ohnn walks without saying a word, but when you stray far too behind to peer into a window full of jewelry, he walks back to you.

“I didn’t take you for a jewelry person,” he admits. 

“I’m not usually,” you answer, “but I have to admit that some of it is pretty.” You straighten yourself and look at him through the reflection. “I much prefer dainty types of jewelry. What about you?” His brows furrow at the window, and you take his answer through the reflection. “Are you a jewelry person?”

“I’m a fan of watches, does that count?”

“Huh,” you click your tongue. “I think so.” Pulling away from the window, you walk down the crowded street. Soon enough, he walks beside you again. “I never really could find a watch that suited me.” You flex out your hand and twist at your wrist. “I think I’m just bad at choosing things.”

“How do you tell time then?”

You let out a small laugh. “Dr. Ohnn, we live in a place where most people have cell phones.” His shoulders perk at the words, and a flush deepens the hue on his face. “I’ll manage to tell time without a watch.” You take a sip of your drink, and all that remains is ice and a bottom rim of a watered down version of your drink. “I’m not sure how you’ll manage, though.” You exchange the cup to your other hand and raise your now free hand, flexing your wrist. “Naked wrist and all.” You jerk your head over to his, and he covers it with his hand.

“I forgot,” he answers defensively. “Simple mistake. Anyone could have made it.” He clears his throat, and takes a swig at his drink. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” you tease. 

Peeking a trash can further up ahead and no longer wanting to hold your cup for the next few minutes, you rush forward to toss your drink. You dart through the crowd, mumbling apologies and sticking your tongue out a person who mutters a curse towards you. Tossing your drink into the trash, you wait for Dr. Ohnn to catch up to you. He stands by you, downing the drink before tossing the empty cup into the trash.

“Why’d you want to work for Fisk anyways?” He gives you a look. “Off the record, I swear!” You raise your hands in front of you in mock surrender. “I’m curious. You’re a scientist, and I’m positive you’re good at your job. So why work for him? Why not work for anyone else?”

“Why write articles?” You frown at him for avoiding your questions. “Plenty of others do it. Plenty of other agencies will offer to help you write the story you so desperately chase. So why stick to that one agency?”

“Okay, Dr. Ohnn. I’ll let you escape answering my questions, only-” you point your index finger at him- “and only because I’m feeling quite open to speaking. If you must know why I stick to my agency, I do it because I’m familiar with it.” He stops for a second, and continues his strides. “I like it there. Fluff pieces and all. We can’t all be journalists willing to die for a story, and while I’m very curious about what you do, I am willing to at least push the limits of how far I can go.” You look at him. “It’s not the most meaningful sentiment, but it’s mine, so if you make fun of it-” you falter, unable to come up with some threat- “I won’t buy you your coffee,” you conclude with the threat. You begin to pull away, one step in front of him when he stops you. 

“I wouldn’t make fun of you,” he says with his hand wrapped around your elbow.

“Oh,” your voice comes out softer than intended. You turn to give a weak cough. “Cool. Thanks. I guess you get to keep your free coffee then.”

“You think I’m good at my job?”

You smile at him, and standing on the sidewalk- even if pushed close to the building- does the two of you no favors. A stranger rushes by, and you’re pushed closer to him. The grip on his elbow tightens, and you take note of his hand. His fingers are long, and thick, and they hold onto you tightly, nails scratching at your skin. You turn your gaze.

“Yes, and before we get shoved again, let’s continue walking.” You pull ahead, and his grip on your arm falls. Turning your head to make sure that he’s behind you, you start. “I do think you’re good at your job. That’s why I try to do mine.” You give him a glance, and smooth out your shirt. “It is how it is. Too bad you’re good at it, you had to meet me.”

“What else?” He asks and you tilt your head at him. “What else do you think of my work?”

“I don’t know. I tried to read the papers that you’ve written along with a few other scientists that study along the same lines, but it was all words to me. No offense.” You give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you know what you’re talking about, and in some pages, I could feel the excitement, ya know? Like- Like when you started to talk about black holes and stuff. Were you always interested in stuff like that?”

His hand reaches to the back of his neck and he scratches at himself. “Mm, not necessarily black holes, but other stuff. One thing led to another.” He turns a corner and you follow close behind, catching at every word that escapes from him. “Not many people outside of my profession read what I have to offer,” he says in a low voice. “Thank you,” he says your name gently and you can feel heat burn at the shell of your ears. 

“Yeah, no problem. It was a long read, but um- it was interesting and stuff.” You try to stop the grin that grows, and tug on the strap of your messenger bag. “If you have the time, I wouldn’t mind-” You're cut off by a phone ringing and you stay silent, watching as he pats his pockets.

 “Ah,” he pulls out his phone and quickly reads the message. Looking back up at you, he seems almost apologetic. “I apologize. I- I have to go. Something work related just came up.” He lifts his phone as proof, but you can’t read the words with the glare of the sun. “We’ll continue this later?”

The words take a second to process, and when they do, you can feel your heart race. “Oh!” You perk up. “Yeah- yeah, of course.” He smiles at you, and takes a step forward. He’s close enough where you can smell the cologne on him. “Um-” his voice squeaks, and he clears his throat. He lifts a hand and pats at your shoulder. “This was fun. Thank you for accompanying me on the walk.” He gives you a tense smile and walks away without a goodbye. 

You stand on the sidewalk and watch. He turns around, and you lift your hand in a wave, and he does the same. 

You frown when you realize you never received his number.

#the spot #atsv spot #jonathan ohnn #johnathon ohnn #the spot x reader #spiderman atsv #the spot spiderverse #jonathan ohnn x reader #johnathan ohnn x reader #does he have an h in his name or not #because in the movie he does #but like in tags he does not #also!! do yall imagine him with long hair or short hair #because he has long hair at some point #but then before miles he has it short #so like #what is the truth!! #i miss him sm #i wanna see him before he like became spot #still love him tho #sorry this had to be a multi part #but it as getting long #anyways!! #let me knw your opinions!! #long hair or short hair #h or no h #black coffee or super sugary coffee for him #because like obvs black #but i just know he would try it with all the sugary stuff that gives people cavities by looking at it #i might edit it later

[invalidname19]

Daddy long legs ( aka cellar spiders)

#I need to put y’all on sum…. galletas duras de w/ café 😮‍💨 #they dome like.. and can break ur tooth #they so good🐒 #puerquitos​ are top tier #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman2099 #spiderman across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #ngl when I first saw this man last name I thought ‘hará’ was said like ‘gera’ short for gerardo #don’t know wtf was I smoking bc it has an H not an G💀 #hope this makes sense 🗿 #it’s like saying lalo for eduardo or nado or fernando #nicknames likewise

[psykopaths]

Self-portraits by Renée Sintenis, 1932.

#that spiderman meme #body art #a e s t h e t i c #body sculpting #sculpture #3d sculpting #art #asthetic #aesthetics #pale aesthetic

[howtotrainyouragents]

I have a sweet hc about Miles Morales’ dad packing his lunches. He gets so into it whenever he gets the chance to pack lunches. Bc Miles needs all his important food groups, and Jefferson likes to make the sandwich neatly cut and if he’s gonna throw in something sweet there better be plenty of fruits and vegetables and you can be sure everything is arranged perfectly. And, yes, maybe there's too much food packed in there, but Miles is a growing boy!! And when Miles moves to the dorms, Jefferson prides himself on packing up his wife’s leftovers, enough for a whole week plus some for Ganke who he doesn’t get to go home as often as Miles does.

And it’s always too much food. His wife tells him to reign it in. Miles is always so embarrassed. He complains every time as soon as he gets home.

Until, soon in high school, all the food gets eaten. And Miles, a growing Spiderman, is begging his dad to pack just a little extra, hoping for that signature little extra thought, the little extra love in the food packing.

And Jefferson’s just thinking:

#spiderman into the spiderverse #miles morales #jefferson davis #jefferson morales #headcanon accepted #agent h #agent report #spiderman #spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse

[yandere-kokeshi]

Gwen Stacy has a “protect trans kids” flag in her room. Imagine if she has that because she has a trans little brother (male reader)?

I’d like to request platonic yandere Gwen Stacy with a younger brother who is ftm. :] It would also be really cool if you could add some headcanons with the others, because sometimes Gwen wants M/n to be safe, but can’t watch him herself. So she allows the ones she trusts the MOST (Hobie, Pavitr, Miles, whoever else) to watch and be with him for her!

(details that you can choose if you wanna include or not: dealing with transphobia, missing Gwen when she’s on missions, potentially cuddles because sometimes he just wants to be held and it doesn’t really matter who does it)

Warnings: yandere behavior, platonic Gwen, talks about harassment and transphobia,

A/N: this was really fun to write! Ty for requesting. Please enjoy this :]

The fact is, she’s like your biggest supporter ever. Ever since you decided to come out, she makes sure to protect you, taking care of you by often pulling harmless pranks on you and adoring you. She probably shows way more love to you than she's shown to anyone.

If and when people misgender you, Gwen will go do things two ways. One, she will correct the pronouns and make sure the rest of the week is horrible for them (ex. Moving their keys to make them late for work, randomly tripping throughout their day, getting paper objects thrown at the head, etc.) Or two, which is also her favorite, she’ll play dumb and make sure the person is extremely annoyed by the fact ‘you’ don’t exist.

“Who are you talking about? We don’t know anyone by that name. You must be losing it, a bit coo-coo much?”

The two of you often stay up late, her asking questions about school and that one person you’ve never mentioned before. Of course, she laughs it off and says it’s a coincidence. You both have nights where you eat junk food, watching funny sitcoms as she cracks up jokes now and again.

Whenever she’s on missions, it’s an unpredictable trip that you never have a point-on time of when she’ll get back. However, in the meantime, it’s often you’ll find a hoodie of hers, a piece of her stuck with you until the real her comes back. At some point, she’ll come home and see you huddled on the couch, wearing her hoodie. It makes her heartbreak as you miss her. But don’t worry, she makes it up in the morning by making you breakfast and buying your favorite snacks.

Hugs and kisses on the cheeks everywhere. While Gwen doesn’t show a lot of affection, especially with physical touch, more with words and gifts, sometimes things get out of hand and she gets upset; causing her to bust into your room with a sour face, tears threatening to fall as her arms wrap around you, saying nothing as the two of you hug.

With learning, just to hold her as tight. Please. She needs it. Especially from you, sometimes she has nightmares of losing you and while she does sneak in to check up on you, it scares her of what the future might hold. Just being able to hold you close, and feel you laugh as she smiles, it reminds her how good of a life she has.

Whenever she’s gone for a long period, whether that’s a mission or doing some type of spider-woman hero stuff, Gwen will make sure to grab some items she sees that she thinks you’ll like; more often it’s street food and expensive figurines of shows you adore to heart.

Sometimes, she’ll come home heaving out of breath, holding way more things than she should, and throwing them all with you, ignoring George’s protest about leaving a mess by the door. All she cares about is watching you open them with excitement.

Sadly, transphobia is quite popular these days. With this said, Gwen (and her friends, especially Hobie!) will yell at the person, cursing them off and possibly threatening them. While Gwen is more on the relaxed side and tends to ignore it the flipping the bird.

If any of her closest friends are with her, you can bet it’ll be a mess; yelling ensues around you, and having to hold back Miles or Pavitr from approaching them with mean insults.

To be honest, the whole crew thinks you’re so cool, especially Hobie and Pavitr. While Miles has known you longer and makes sure to check up on you as much as he can, the other two guys love to ask you questions and annoy you when you’re supposed to be doing something else.

They’re all just as protective of you as Gwen, her worried words of ‘please take care of him when I’m gone’. Hobie is most often around, practically dragging you to his chaos and helping you with school when you need it (he’s the ‘uncle’ who brings alcohol to your 18th birthday because you’re an adult now).

Pavitr is a huge sweetheart, always checking up on you and offering Chai to you when he senses you’re stressed. In all honesty, he's the best person to help with homework - he's incredibly focused and rewards you with candy.

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking, it helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

#the icons are not mine #they belong to their rightful owners #kokeshi!! #yandere blog #yandere x reader #requested by mystery-h #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere gwen #yandere gwen stacy #yandere spider woman #yandere spiderman #yandere spiderverse #yandere female #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere platonic x reader #female yandere #yandere x ftm reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x m! reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #platonic yandere x male reader #yandere x you #gwen stacy #spider gwen #yandere spider gwen #gwen spiderverse

[spider-man-2o99]

^^^ #1 most autistic (spider-)man on th whole entire planet earth of all time ever who scampers and skitters and scuttles all about

#talking tag #spider-man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #marvel #comics #comic panels #miguel o’hara voice Crawling Noises Crawling Noises Crawling Noises (<- he is actively saying it out loud) #seriously i will never Not be saying it but god im just so obsessed w/ how he Moves hes just a lil freakin GUY bouncin around like a Flea #he is a Very Distinct Character from Peter. but. also. like.. hes also still always Spider-Man. yknow? and i like that abt him a lot. #peter can get away with brute force bcuz peters a POWERHOUSE who holds back most of the time. mig is canonically of a more agile/Jumpy build #and thus whenever he TRIES to brute-force stuff. 9 times out of 10 it Does Not End Well For Him lmao #but Sometimes he gets lucky and Stuff Just Works!! <:) #h

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Oh god... *im crying. sobs wrack my body. my eyes are bloodshot and my nose is running. it's clear I've been crying for numerous hours* ....oh god... H-Hobie.

#that's it #that's the emotion I feel #i need him #I can't articulate it #okay but imagine Diane doing this #just sobbing at the Society like 'h-he LOOKS SO GOOD!' *breaks down in tears* #i just love him so much #send help or don't idc #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk

[salemontrial]

Miguel the entire movie:

#W H Y #DID THEY HAVE SO MANY BACK/ASS SHOTS OF HIM #SONY R U TRYING TO GET ME TO SPILL MY MONSTER ALL OVER ME IN THE CINEMA #atsv #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara

[cablecar-s]

to love and self loath

Description :

With the death of her lover too much to bear, she makes the decision to run away from her life as Spider Woman, finding solace in the most crime ridden place in the U.S: Gotham City.

Note:

Hello! I'm currently just testing the waters of Tumblr at the moment, so bear with me because I have no idea what I'm doing. Constructive criticism is welcomed, just remember to not be mean >:/ Enjoy the first chapter!!

Prepare For Trouble

"You're Spider-Woman, right?" He looked at her with a knowing yet amused smile on his face, all the while the woman who stood before him could only stare at him with slight bafflement. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she blinked at him, beginning to stammer.

"I.. What? How could you..? What kind of crazy.." She let out a small mix of what seemed to be a huff and laughter in trying to play off his not-so-false statement.

Her crush could only give her a look that read all too clearly as 'Really?' which led her to promptly give up, a sigh of defeat leaving her lips.

"I.. Yeah, you got me. I'm.. I'm Spider-Woman." She looked at him with a defeated smile. "How'd you know though? I thought I was pretty secretive!" She raised her hands up in defense, making him laugh.

"Well, with how much you sometimes ditch me last minute every time I hear sirens going off or how you always disappear out of thin air when something big or small happens, it was pretty easy to deduce the reasons why." He chuckled softly.

"You are also talking to the most smartest person in his entire school." He quickly added.

The female vigilante could only slightly scoff at this, looking around, as if someone else could hear the ridiculousness that was coming out from his mouth.

"Really now?" She questioned, almost mockingly.

Slowly, the two teenagers inched closer to one another while continuing to bicker, a teasing smile on both of their faces until finally they were mere inches away from one another.

"I hope you're not waiting for something." The teenaged boy said teasingly, a smile on his lips.

"No, not at all." The girl hummed, smiling back.

With the night air nipping at their skin, the warmth of their breaths could be felt on one another. And as they leaned in for a kiss, the floor beneath them fell in an instant, and they were soon falling down the clock tower.

With her spider suit on, breathing now heavy, adrenaline pumping into her veins, she watched as the boy she loved since high school began falling, watching as her single web was shot down towards him.

It was silent in that moment, everything having gone in slow motion, her web slowly reaching out to him, but was only seconds too late. The web, sticking itself to the man at the last second, his head still hitting the cold, hard floor, killing him in an instant.

The sound of her cries echoed in the now broken clock tower; grief, guilt, and anger consuming her body, until...

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP

In an instant the woman woke up, covered in her sweat, her heart pounding against her chest. Her fight and flight instincts having kicked in, her eyes darted around her new apartment, her brain slowly catching up as to where she was. 

The muffled sound of cars honking from outside her window was heard, the slight musty smell that her apartment had, and the multiple of unpacked boxes laying around in her small bedroom had slowly calmed her down.

Memories from a few days ago came back to her again, making her sigh while simultaneously burying her face into her hands, that night continuing to haunt her time and time again no matter how many times she had tried to forget. 

Finally turning the alarm on her phone off, she got herself out of bed and went to her bathroom to freshen up, her morning not doing so well with that dream of hers. 

Pulling her hair back from her face, the woman left her bathroom and started to continue where she had left off from yesterday with unpacking her stuff. Putting her playlist on shuffle, she began digging through all of the boxes that held her belongings, putting them in their respective places.

The female vigilante was glad to have gotten away from New York, it gave her time to take a break from playing Spider-Woman—and to hopefully heal. Though it's obvious someone from above thought it would be funny that she would be transferred in the most highest crime rated city: Gotham City.

There goes her vacation.

Though Gotham City should be fine without the help of Spider-Woman shouldn't it? They have all the other vigilantes that kept Gotham fairly safe.

From Batman and Robin to Nightwing, Orphan, Spoiler, hell they even have someone to protect Gotham in the morning, which would be Signal. Of course there was also Red Hood, though she still wasn't so sure if he was to be counted since he did run a few drug cartels.

Wasn't really her business though, as long as she didn't have to do any fighting in the mean time of her slight vacation. 

Boy was she wrong.

"I need you to take some photos of our vigilantes." Her new boss ordered.

"I'm sorry?" The woman furrowed her brows, staring at the woman who was busy typing away on her computer.

"You heard me. Pictures. Vigilantes. Stat." Her voice was monotone, yet it had a slight intimidation to it. 

The vacationing vigilante did her best in holding back her frustration, moving her arms a bit to exaggerate her words just a bit. 

"But Gotham is a lot more crime ridden at night. Can't you have one of the men do it? I'm sure they'd be less likely to get mugged unlike me." She couldn't help but huff, nothing but familiar with this attitude this older woman had.

She was very much the same as Jameson back at the Daily Bugle.

It wasn't long until the woman peeled her eyes off from her computer screen to stare at the vigilante with sharp eyes.

"Listen sweetheart, the reason why you were even transferred here was because of the crystal clear pictures you had taken of Spider Woman over back from where you're from." Opening a file cabinet from her desk, she flipped through a few divided folders before pulling one out in particular and opening it up, slightly tossing it in the middle of her desk.

Photos that she had taken slid itself out from its place in the divider, all of them of which were in good quality and all had good angles to them, only because she was quite literally taking pictures of herself in order to even obtain a job as a photojournalist.

"So it's either you take photos as nice as these of our vigilantes or we can throw you back to New York, your choice." Quite literally, Jameson's female doppelganger looked back up at her new transferee before going back to typing.

Letting out a small sigh, a muttered "Yes ma'am" left her lips before leaving her new demon boss' office. She really can't catch a break can she? 

Well it's not like she wasn't a night person in the first place right? Being able to do whatever she wanted during the day, and once the sun had disappeared and the darkness and rain had taken over Gotham was when it was her time to go out and do her job.

The only downside was how incredibly freezing cold it was in Gotham once night had hit. She could stand the cold to some degree, as a New Yorker she was quite used to the cold, but Gotham was a whole other story.

She should probably install thermos into her suit. As much as she didn't want to think about vigilantism, she knew deep down she would end up doing it, only reason she had brought her suit, which was buried in the deepest parts of her closets.

As her uncle had said time and time again: With great power comes great responsibility.

Being way too busy being deep in her thoughts while slightly, not really, looking as to where any of Gotham's vigilantes may be swinging by, the hair's on her body shot up, the familiar feeling of a tingling sensation in the back of her head appearing.

With swiftness, she side stepped a hand that had tried to take hold of the back of her neck. Turning around, she found herself eyeing three men, all having sinister smiles on their faces.

Just what exactly was her luck today?

"Come on boys, don't you think three of you is a bit much for a single woman like me?" She questioned, a nervous chuckle leaving her lips.

Every step back she had taken, they had taken two steps forward. They had glanced amongst each other, snickers leaving their mouths.

"Not with a lady as pretty as you." One of them commented.

Slowly, they had backed her into a closed off alleyway, all three of them laughing once her back had hit the brick wall.

Her eyes darted around, checking every crevice, every shadow, trying to see if any of Gotham's vigilantes will swoop down to rescue her, and save her the trouble of having to take care of these men herself. 

But there was no one, not even the slightest of movements, not a glint of lenses shining in the dim lighting. Welp, looks like she's on her own for tonight. 

"You guys, really don't want to do this." She warned them, but they only laughed more. They always laugh. Who wouldn't though? A helpless woman who you've backed into a corner telling you they're gonna regret what they're gonna do?

Good thing she wasn't just any ordinary woman though.

"We're gonna have so much fun with you pretty lady." One of them cackled.

"Ugh, how gross..." She muttered.

Glancing around one last time, this time, making sure there would be no bystanders to witness as to what was going to happen.

Pulling up the hood to her winter coat, she let out a sigh, raising one of her arms, pointing it towards one of the men.

"You asked for it." 

In the blink of an eye, her webs shot out from her wrist, a long string going straight for the one in the middle, before he was heaved straight towards the woman before making a harsh impact with a trash can lid.

"Ooh, you'll be feeling that tomorrow." She winced.

Grunts of surprise came from the other two men, but no matter how odd it was for webs to shoot out from a woman's hand, they proceeded to run at the female. With ease, she dodged their attempted charged attacks.

Her hands, opposite of the two men, shot out webs and took hold of the back of their heads before she pulled at the connected webs, causing the two men to bash their skulls together.

"You'll definitely feel that tomorrow." She chuckled. 

Taking a few steps back, she hesitated for a moment and stared at them before quickly rearranging the positions of their bodies.

"Just in case..." She muttered. With their backs all facing each others', she bundled them up in her webs, a precaution if they ended up gaining back consciousness before the morning

Dusting off her hands, she let out a satisfied hum before securing her hood once more before quickly jogging off, not wanting to be found at the scene of the crime. That would only cause herself more trouble. 

"Lets just call it a night, I'm freezing my ass off here." She muttered to herself, trying to bring her coat as close to her body as possible, not wanting to lose what bit of warmth her body was keeping.

Unknowingly to the spider though, a mysterious figure with their infamous red helmet had stumbled upon her small clean up, the two barely missing each other.

He stared at the scene in front of him, his helmet quickly getting to work in scanning the mysterious webs. With his boots softly kicking at the small puddles on the ground, he crouched down, taking a closer look at the webs.

His helmet broke down the composition of the webs, seeing how it was made with a few chemicals. Reaching out his hand, he began to touch the webs a bit, trying to rip at it for a sample.

It clung to his leather glove, and it took a bit of force until it got unstuck, it almost took his glove with it with how hard he was pulling.

"The hell..?" He muttered to himself.

He rubbed his fingers together, some of stickiness staying on his gloved fingers. He took out his knife from one of his secret pockets instead and cut a bit of the web off, making it cling to his blade.

"This shit better come off..." He grumbled before putting his knife away. 

Standing up, he took out his grapple from his utility belt before disappearing into the night. 

---

The spider quickly shot up from her bed, her breathing irregular and covered in her sweat again, tortured once again by that never ending nightmare. Her eyes darting around her bedroom once more, she takes slow deep breaths before covering her eyes with her hands, the palm of her hands pressing into her eyelids.

Letting out a deep sigh, she got out of her bed, doing her morning routine once more. Scrolling through her phone, she looks at the news of Gotham City, most of them mainly about the many crimes of the city, some of politicians, and others of Bruce Wayne. 

Before putting her phone down though, a message popped from the top of her screen, it was from her new boss.

"I better have those photos by the end of this week!!!!" It had read.

The woman only rolled her eyes, turning off her phone so she could dump her face in water. 

Leaving her bathroom, she rubbed her moisturizer onto her face while making her way to her living room that also shared her kitchen. Starting up her coffee machine, she made herself a quick PB&J in the meantime. 

Leaning against the counter as she slowly ate her sandwich, the smell of coffee beginning to waft in the air, the vacationing vigilante took a good look at her small apartment. 

It was.. 

A bit bland to put it nicely. 

Guess she was going shopping today. Quickly downing her coffee without trying to burn her tongue, she quickly got dressed and headed out to do a bit of shopping, to make her apartment just a bit more welcoming for the time that she was staying in Gotham. 

Though she had a bit of a tight budget, she managed to buy a few things well within it that there was a little left over that she could buy herself dinner.

By the time she was done shopping though, the sun was beginning to set, meaning that it was nearly time for the criminals of Gotham to come crawling out of their hiding spots to cause some trouble.

"Shit..." She muttered under her breath, holding onto her plastic bags tightly, her shoes tapping against the cement as she quickly tries to make it back to her apartment before she got mugged.

Her senses have heightened a bit as a sense of panic and wariness began to settle in her stomach. Her eyes flitted about, cautious of every corner, every shadow, every alley, the last light sunset disappearing over the horizon.

Cursing under her breath, her steps quickened, and then there she saw it. A blur of bright red, green, and yellow flying in the air; it was Robin.

Her boss's text from this morning came back to her, which only made her curse more. Of course she didn't bring her camera. The handles of the bags hanging from one of her arms, she quickly fishes out her phone from her back pocket, turning the flash on to take a quick picture of Robin before he disappeared off into the night.

She cursed at his nimbleness, taking a small step back as he flies above her, but just as she was about to take the picture, she had bumped into something sturdy. 

Blinking, she slowly turned around, only to come face to face with someone's chest, Batman's symbol on a black shirt, but instead it was in red.

Slowly, she looked up, only to find herself face to face with the Red Hood.

Click!

The flash to her phone went off as she took a picture of him.

next chapter ->

#jason x reader #Jason Todd #batfam #batfamily #Bruce Wayne #Richard Grayson #Tim Drake #Cassandra Cain #Stephanie Brown #Damian Al Ghul #Damian Wayne #Duke Thomas #Barbara Gordan #dcu #dc universe #dick grayson #x reader #female reader #SpiderMan! Reader #or spiderwoman in this case #dcu x mcu #reader is a mix of all three spidermen of the spiderman movies #strangers to friends to lovers #slow burn #angst #I don't know what else to put I won't lie #I feel like tumblr tags are different from ao3 tags #am I doing this right??? #h e l p m e #to love and self loathe

[jasontoddssuper]

"Of course that male character is horny all the time but barely shows interest in sex in canon to keep it kid friendly,who wouldn't be while being that hot😍😍😍?"Sometimes hot people are ace,Felicia

#aspec headcanons my beloved #dabi #jason todd #miguel o'hara #gym leader raihan #ichigo kurosaki #'but some of these are kids media!!!'and???y'all are h*rny about them anyway so i can hc it as proof they're ace anyway.equal rights!!! #bnha geekery #batfam #rhato #the outlaws #wfa #wfa spoilers #spiderverse #atsv #robin #red hood #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #atsv spoilers #pkmn #bleach #double demi #💌 #demisexual #aspec #aspec memes #ace #asexual #letters from summer

[aaaaagaronia]

gotta feed the xina kwan fans

#artistic carno #spiderman 2099 #xina kwan #sm2099 #uhh h h experimenting w styles bc sometimes you just gotta #so personal take on xina bc shes cool n i love her n i think she deserves more attention #love a girlie that appreciates things n refuses to let capitalism infiltrate her home n life #slay

[punkeropercyjackson]

Wait i have an idea for another transmasc4transfem Punkflower joke based off a Glimbow post i can't find for some reason

Jefferson,about Mirasol:My babygirl :)

Hobie:

#not a second goes by that i don't think about it it altered my brain chemistry.bow calling glimmer babygirl fits but i'm never get over it #/pos + this isn't h*rny PLEASE hobie and mirasol are just black #punkflower #t4t punkflower #miles morales #transfem miles #trans girl miles #mirasol morales #hobie brown #trans hobie brown #unlabeled hobie brown #jefferson morales #spiderverse #atsv #the spider within #beyond the spiderverse spoilers #< totally legit tag trust me #spidergirl #spiderpunk #spiderman #spiderband #spider society #pastel punk miles morales #kidcore!miles morales #team dad hobie #still not weird for him to call her that😑but i'm tagging this as them being ace4ace just to be sure #autistic miles #autistic hobie brown #💌 #summerposting

[sundry-whovengerslocked]

finally watched atsv for the first time and i...

I am going to cry

#original post #why did it END LIKE T H A T!? #atsv #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse