#🎟 // atsv

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: miles morales x hispanic spider gn reader (featuring my accent)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you pretend like you don't know who miles is.

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 398 ~ established relationship

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: light hearted name calling

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: let's pretend what happens after this scene does not happen

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Word on the block was that Miles finally got invited into the Spider Society HQ–whether on good terms or not–and you were more than excited to see him again... but Miguel might not like that. He knew you'd met him when you were shot out of your universe into his over a year ago, but he didn't know you've been visiting him ever since; at least that's what it seemed like. You didn't know exactly.

As you walked into his office, or more the long hallway of useless technology before it, you heard Miles shout from the distance, "Te trajE una empanada!" (I brought you an empanada!)

You knew his Spanish was bad but it still hurt to hear it. You covered the rest of the way with big steps, getting a quick glance of Miles and then turning back up to Miguel to give him an excuse, "Hey Miguel. I just got back from–"

"(y/n)!!" Miles exclaims, wrapping his arms around you in a hug you struggle not to reciprocate. He was ecstatic at everything here, you could tell, but he was even happier seeing you.

You pretend you don't know him, but squeeze his shoulder in the hopes of sending him a silent message. "Miguel, quien es e'te man?" (who is this man?)

"What do you mean?" He gasps outlandishly, "It's me, Miles!"

"Millas?" (miles?)

"Not Miles like la distancia, pendejow. ¿Qué te pasou? ¿Te dieyron un golpetóne en la cabeyza?" (like the distance, idiot. What happened to you? Did they punch you in the head?)

"¿Qué-?" You recoil with convincing disgust, "¿Qué 'tas diciendo homb'e?" (What? What is this man saying?)

"Hombre??" Miles's nose scrunches up and his eyebrows furrow, clearly he was insulted, "What happened to "mi amor", ah? Who do you think you are??" (Man??)

Okay he wasn't getting the memo. "Miguel, solo dime quien es e'te man con el español de primer grado." (Miguel, just tell me who this man with the first grade Spanish is.)

"You don't have to keep up the act." Miguel finally regards you with his scowl, which is deeper than usual. "I know you've been using my gadgets to give your little "bf" a kiss every weekend. Very primitive use of the technology I lend you."

So he's known all this time. You sigh, but at least it means you can wrap an arm around your boyfriend. It also allows him to press a relieved kiss on your cheek.

"Sorry, mi amor." Hopefully he's not caught up on what you've said. You glance at him and see that his eyes look like <3 <3 so he's definitely not taken it too hard.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

miles very much seems like a !! and ?? kinda boy

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: pavitr prabhakar x gn spider reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: pavitr was a touchy guy, you know this firsthand.

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 852 ~ established relationship

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: a lot of kissing and hugging

All Pavitr has wanted for months was to be with you. Maybe it was because you'd only just started dating, but it felt like could never have enough of you. He yearned for your kisses, sought out your hugs, and melted at your praise. There was nothing more he wanted.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There should probably not be two spider-men in your universe, regularly that is. It was your universe, after all, but that didn't stop him from popping over for a visit.

The people of New York would ask who he was and why he only seemed to work part-time forever, but he didn't care for it. Also why you would work so much slower, even when there were two of you; and to that, there was only one answer.

"Pavitr..."

"What?" He groans.

"Police sirens." Ah, a rude awakening announced aloud by your angelic voice.

"Just a couple more minutes." Pavitr pleads, stuffing his head into the crook of your neck.

When you move your hands away from him, Pavitr yanks them back and holds on tight. He was being stubborn, even when New York was potentially in danger. "If I yanked us over the edge of this rooftop right now..."

"You wouldn't dare hurt your beloved."

"That may be true, but–" Pavitr's laugh interrupting you meant that argument was definitely over, so you began anew, "If I kissed you, would you let me go save New York?"

"Hmm.." Pavitr pulled away only to weigh his decisions, although he only knew there was really only one choice. At least he got a kiss out of it. "Okay."

It seemed your city was at the mercy of Pavitr's whim.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

PDA feared Pavitr. It was true. Nothing could stop him.

As the Spider-person before you exchanges stories with you, Pavitr waltzes over to wrap his entire being around you. Whilst you continue to speak casually–it was a normal, frequent occurrence–the other Spider-person halts in her conversation.

"Hey, I think you've got a spider on you."

You chuckle at her joke, "Don't worry about him. He's non-venomous."

Pavitr grumbles about how it feels offensive, something about feeling weak, but he's not helping it by staying curled around you. If the Spider-person before you weren't there, he'd have probably tried to climb into your arms.

Another time you're just eating in the cafeteria. A lot of spiders had different timezones, so at any given time, no one table was empty.

You were sharing one with spiders whose names you couldn't quite place when Pavitr plops himself down next to you and plants a kiss on your cheek.

His tray holds a single apple, but you didn't really think about it. Lunch was one or two hours ago in Mumbattan.

Throughout the meal, however, he keeps kissing you, and kissing you, and kissing you; on the cheek, of course, he wasn't evil.

"I think that's enough, Pavitr."

"You really think so? You say so? I wouldn't say so." His words come out fast, like a rollercoaster, just so he can kiss you again just as quick.

"I really do think so."

"I beg to differ."

You wrap an arm around him to feed his insatiable need to touch you all the time, even if it costs you your dominant hand, and spare the spider-people around you.

Thankfully, he seems pleased with just that.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Was he too annoying? Nah, he couldn't be. You loved him at least as much as he did you. Probably.

Pavitr was usually sure about everything. He was sure that he could protect his city, that he was good at being Spider-Man, that he had good friends. He was even sure about things of the future. He could do anything he set his mind to.

He just wasn't too sure about you. He wasn't being annoying to his friends, but he could be annoying to you.

The blissful ignorance was no longer a novelty.

He stopped being so clingy, although he got as much physical touch as he needed to get going. It was better to be safe than sorry, after all.

What he didn't account for, however, was that it was really easy to notice his withdrawal from physical touch.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Pavitr, right now, seemed to be glowing more than usual. He was so much happier being in your arms than he would've, say, a week ago. He was giving you much less physical affection, and it certainly wasn't a welcome change.

"Pavitr?"

"Hmm?"

"I miss your kisses," Pavitr perks up in your hold. "and your hugs. You've been kissing me less and less. Is everything okay?"

He turns around to look you in the eye, an unintended pout on his lips. "I thought I was annoying you."

"Aw no, Pavitr, you've been perfectly fine. The other spiders don't really seem to care and I–well," You chuckle, "I really like your touch."

Pavitr lights up. He snuggles closer to you, letting out laughs in relief. "I like yours too," He pauses, realizing, "obviously."

"Obviously..."

"Okay, when you say it–"

"Hahaha."

"What??"

Clingy wasn't so bad. Not when it made your ray of sunshine so happy.

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: miles morales x hispanic male reader (featuring my accent)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you're speaking spanish and he can hardly understand.

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 635 ~ established relationship

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, kissing, miles sitting on your lap

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: if i miss any tildes just know im not a man who paid attention to his tilde classes and also the difference between por que and porque and when they have tildes (dont think too hard about the wingdings)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Was it wrong to admire him? Maybe it was, you didn't know; staring at strangers was wrong, but this was your boyfriend.

Miles had an effect on you. You couldn't quite name it, especially not when he asked. You just knew it had you staring, staring at his wide smiles or his expressive eyebrows or how he looks like when he's focused on drawing. You often stared when he wasn't looking, but when he was, when he returned your gaze, offered you an automatic smile, raised a teasing brow, you couldn't help but to kiss him.

But, for now, you were just looking, admiring. You could only imagine how dopey you looked right now. It's probably hilarious.

"E'te man me tiene loco." (This man drives me crazy.)

"What?"

You shake yourself out of your stupor, "Nothin'. Keep drawin'."

"No, no, dijistes algo." ((you) said something.)

"Ahahaa, no." You try to laugh it off, but Miles can see in the way that you tense up that he's right.

"Mira yo se que me mientes." He lifts himself off his seat, pointing a finger at you. (Look, I know you're lying to me.)

You cringe internally at the fact he didn't pronounce his r correctly but continue on. You raise your hands in feigned surrender, "No sé de que me 'tas hablando." (I don't know what you're talking to me about.)

"Me 'tas? Metas?" The confusion was visible on his face, which was frankly adorable, "Like goals?"

"No, mi amor," Miles sits himself down on your lap–so casually–and you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around him. The normality of it makes you relax again. "I mean to say, "me estas", but because of my accent, I cut out the "es"."

"So just say "me estas"." He replied, like it was that simple.

You roll your eyes, "I don't think about the way I say things all the time, you know. Just like how you forgot to roll your r's."

"I did not!" He shouts, pretending like he's offended.

"Oh, but you did."

"Ok, mira, carrro," He exaggerates it for you, "carrrrrro." (Ok, look, carrr. carrrrrr.)

"Okay, okay, now remember it."

"Whatever." He scoffs, "You've been deflecting."

"Have I?" You bring a hand up to fiddle with the unshaven hair at the back of his neck in the hope of distracting him.

"Yes." He digs his accusatory finger into your chest, turning the tables on you and your criticism of his shit Spanish. "Ey, stop trying to distract me."

You don't drop the hand but you stop playing with his hair, "Lo siento." (I'm sorry.)

"Dime lo que dijistes." (Tell me what you said.)

"Dijiste." You correct.

With a groan, he says it correctly. "Dijiste."

"Dijequemetienesloco." You say fast. It was a bit embarrassing to admit it, even with the many times that he's caught you staring.

Combined with his bad Spanish and how fast you said it, Miles did not understand a single word. "Dijek met ien lowcou." (👎︎♓︎🙰♏︎❑︎◆︎♏︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♓︎♏︎■︎♏︎⬧︎●︎□︎♍︎□︎)

"What language are you speaking?"

"That's what you said." He laughs. "But seriously the curiosity is killing me!"

"Fine..."

He fiddles in your lap excitedly as he anticipates your words.

"Me tienes loco." (You drive me crazy.)

They were simple words but he didn't understand them. "I have you crazy? Do I drive you mad? Do you think I'm that annoying?"

Stuck in your own embarrassment, you ignore his rambling and begin your own, "I mean I actually said "Este man me tiene loco" but you know it's practically the same thing and you'd complain about me calling you man porque it's so impersonal and–" (This man drives me crazy.)

Meanwhile he's over here still trying to figure it out, until, "Wait it's "You make me crazy!". Ohhh."

You prepare yourself for teasing but are instead met with a soft little kiss.

"I drive you crazy, huh?" Miles smiles one of those smiles you always adore.

"Yes." There would be teasing later, you were sure of it, but for now you relished in kissing him. You couldn't have enough of him.