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uhhhj13iguess · 2 months ago

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Could you write a Peter Parker story in witch reader has trauma from r4pe from past and while they were having a movie night a scene from movie triggered the memory of it, but Peter comforts them and it's just full of fluff? I would really appreciate it.

sorry this took so long, i rewrote it like a million times lol. thank you for writing me a request, i loved it! everyone please send more!!

let me be near you

peter parker x gn!reader

wc: 0.9k

cw: references to SA scene playing out on tv, reader has flashbacks and a panic attack, but nothing is talked about in detail. peter is a sweetheart the entire time

masterlist and taglist!

peter immediately felt your energy shift.

he looked down to see you staring into the distance, eyes wondering and watery. he noticed as you shrank smaller, hands pulled to your chest as you unconsciously picked at your nail beds, the skin raw and bloody from the action.

he reached out for your hands without a second thought. "hey,"

you twitched slightly, his touch bringing you back to the present as you looked up at him, staccato inhales raking your chest.

peter had never seen you like this. his heart broke as your eyes darted off again, your body stiffening as you forced yourself to look back at the screen. you couldn't do this right now, not in front of peter.

as the scene played out, a heavy sense of dread blanketed your senses, a suffocating weight on your chest as you couldn't stop your mind from wandering. you pleaded, downright bargaining with your brain as the flashbacks forced their way to the forefront, violent images flooding your thoughts. you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, doing what you could to steady your breathing.

peter brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. "hey, are you alright?"

you nodded quickly, wanting nothing more than to disappear and not embarrass yourself further. you stared back at the TV, jaw clenched tight, "yeah, fine."

just be normal.

you're right here. it's just a show. you're safe.

you flinched as peter spoke your name, your vision beginning to tunnel. you felt your heart rate pick up, increasing exponentially until you were convinced it was going to burst out of your chest. you stood quickly, the action dropping your stomach and sending a wave of impending doom throughout your entire body. your knees buckled, and peter's hands flew up to stabilize you.

"'m fine," you slurred out. with shaky steps, you gathered all your strength to head down the hall, incoherently mumbling about 'needing to go to the bathroom quick'. peter watched you run out of sight and a rock formed in his stomach.

as he stood to follow you, a scream from the TV caught his attention.

"no, please! stop!" the woman's voice burned in his ears. he turned towards the criminal minds episode on the screen.

peter watched intently as the scene played out before him. with each act of violence, each scream, he slowly put the pieces together, and a range of emotions flooded his system.

he was horrified. when you'd been flipping through channels earlier with him, neither of you expected this would be what would come on. he felt uneasy himself, but your response was different. it was reactionary, visceral in nature. and as he put together why, he felt scared like he'd never been before.

he was heartbroken, the thought of you having been hurt so badly. the pain in his chest was physical as he watched the assault unfold on the screen and pictured you. how scared you must have felt. how hurt you must have been.

he was angrier than he'd ever been before. peter saw red as he thought about it, yearning for blood on his hands from whoever had done this to you. he hadn't felt this way since uncle ben.

peter shook himself out of it, hearing the bathroom door shut. he bounded down the hall and called out your name, a crack in his voice as he choked down a sob. he reached the door, softly knocking against the wood.

"sweetheart? can i come in?" peter was met with sniffles, and the pain in his chest radiated.

"honey, please. we don't have to talk, just... please. let me be near you," he pleaded.

on the other side, you let out a heavy sigh, crawling out from the ball you'd formed on the bathroom floor. standing with all your strength, you didn't dare look at yourself in the mirror as you reached for the handle. you pulled slowly, meeting peter's gaze with a pit of shame in your stomach.

his shoulders relaxed as soon as he had you in his sight again. "hey, honey."

you looked down at your feet. "i'm sorry, that was a lot over nothing."

peter took a step towards you, a cautious hand reaching out to graze your arm. "hey,"

you looked up to meet his eyes again. "none of that."

you took a deep breath, your nervous system beginning to slow down again in peter's presence. you slowly moved forward and looped your arms around his waist loosely, a limp hug all you had in you as a response. he reciprocated it immediately.

"do you want to talk about it?"

you shook your head against his chest. "not right now."

peter nodded and pulled back from the hug, a hand slipping down to intertwine his fingers with yours. "why don't we go lie in bed, bug?"

you whispered out a soft 'okay' as you followed him to the bedroom, climbing into the bed and clinging to peter's side tightly. he wrapped you in his arms, peppering your face in light kisses that tickled your skin. he felt himself relax as he heard your soft laugh, and he vowed to himself he'd do anything it took to keep you safe and happy.

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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1]

Peter’s no stranger to memories that comes as nightmares. There’s something different to them, the taste of terror that’s tinged with a feeling of “that’s happened.”

Flashes of Aunt May, dying as he stood next to her while choosing the city over her? Old hat. Inky darkness surrounding MJ falling as Peter reached for her, over and over again? Been there, seen that, didn’t even get a sick scar out of it. Racing against the clock to defeat some bad guy or an unknown threat? That’s his Thursday.

But this?

This isn’t his. It’s real, Peter could tell that much. Sure, it’s wrapped up in silk hisses and heart crushing terror, but Peter could always tell whether a nightmare was a nightmare or whether it was a memory.

This was a memory. Not his. His. It’s complicated.

“Your father, papito, he-,”

Then, it’d be the ruffle of his hair, brown eyes. It reminded him of his mom. But the crease of these eyes were different. Hardened, mean. Even towards him.

“Well, he said no, but I knew what he really wanted.”

The base of Peter’s neck always crawled when he remembered that line. His spider-sense warned him that whatever he’s remembering, he would not like.

“Ey, Peter.”

“Huh?” Peter blinked, looking up from where his arms were elbow deep in wires.

“Don’cha need gloves with that?” Frank asked, munching on some jerky. They were sitting in the living room, repairing a TV and a washer Frank had somehow managed to lug back to the apartment. It’s a toss up between Frank’s network of orphans (Peter included), street rats (these things are not mutually inclusive), or his own slightly higher than average strength. Not that they needed to thrift broken things, considering Peter’s funneling money from offshore bank accounts belonging to this America’s 1%. They just made it so easy! He and Ned had been hacking into government bases in middle school back on his world. This world? Not even a challenge. Regardless, this was kind of like… Frank’s version of those fancy sensory boxes for Peter.

“Oh, no. It’s not plugged in, see?”

“How’re ya gunna know it works then?”

“Plug it in after I’m done. Turn it off and on, you know?”

Frank stared at him, then rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“If you burn down that portion of the house, at least we’ll be warm for a bit.”

“Thanks. Your confidence in me is astounding.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“I do not! Excuse you! If I’m old, you’re the expired knock off cup ramen in the back of a convenience store!”

“Yo, shrimpy, that’s rude, ya hear?” Frank snickered, impressed at the quip. The Alley kid turned brother stood up to plop next to Peter.

“So… you gonna go��?” Frank made a whooshing sound and held his hand in a web shooter position.

“Tonight? Prolly. Anything I should look out for?”

“You’re gunna get yourself killed, but yeah, heard the gang’s back up north.”

Peter flashed a smile, dimples coming out. “I’ll try not to. Thanks, Frank.”

“Anytime, Spidey.”

Frank, though little (to Peter), was a good friend. Then again, considering Peter saved his ass both in mask and out of it, it’s to be expected. One would think that after eight years of hiding his identity, Peter would be better at it. Then, he got punted into a different world and got made by a child.

To be fair, the circumstances all but screamed Parker Luck, so Peter’s not counting this instance.

See, the first few days of this sudden cohabitation, Peter had asked Frank to find them furniture. Both because he was getting real sick of eating on the floor and because Peter needed to fix his suit to match his much younger body. Then, once he readjusted the shrinking nanotech and the spider legs to fit him in a way that wouldn’t break him, Peter had promptly swung out of the building and went patrolling. He stuck with the wandering Frank, taking out muggers and robbers and everything in between and past that around the area where Frank is.

Looking back, Peter realized how lucky he was when he decided to go on the “helping joyride” at the beginning of the evening. His spider-sense activated way later in the night, the moment where he began seeing and sensing the cameras that kept pointing towards him. He ducked and dodged out of the way, and eventually, the feeling left. Somebody was watching. And he doesn’t know where they stood on the moral side of things.

Anyways, it happened after three weeks and a half of going out and just… settling into life in Gotham. He had already been struggling to find a way home, scouring the libraries around Gotham on any subject that would aid in his multiversal travel. Peter would like to know which emo kid named this city.

Eventually, Parker Luck decided to strike once more.

“Get back, freak!” The lady brandished a wicked knife.

Talk about deja vu.

“Oh no! Knives! My greatest weakness!” Spider-Man yelled, sticking to the shadowed windows as he let his voice echo in the alley. Gotham had a lot of nice hiding places. Spider-man dropped down on her head like a bat out of hell and webbed the knife out of her hands. He webbed the mugger up onto the alleyway above normal reach, and told the man to call the police.

Frank screamed, just as Spider-man wrapped it up, loud enough to reach his enhanced hearing.

“Wait-!” The man tried to stop him, but Peter, small, trained, and having readjusted his reach, slipped away.

“What’s your name?!” The guy he saved yelled at his back.

Spider-man, distracted, yelled back, “SPIDEY!”

He shot webs upwards and used them to slingshot his way towards where Frank was. And… car! Peter used his webs to swing up, up, and let himself fall to gain momentum. At the last moment, Peter shot a web to the top of the car and pulled himself to it.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s stupidly attached to the kid, and he was stupid enough to let Frank go out into Gotham looking both well-fed and well clothed.

The world slowed as he locked eyes with a terrified Frank, who was getting dragged into a car.

The world narrowed to speed and Spider-Man landed on top of the car roof, sweeping his leg out and thankfully remembering his much shorter reach. His foot collided with the kidnapper’s face with the equivalent force of a grown up, slightly annoyed Peter Parker who’s letting his strength go a bit unchecked. Basically, they went flying, blood spewing out of the undoubtedly broken nose Spider-Man had just given them.

Standing on business, the shorter webster promptly flipped down wards as he all but glued the would-be kidnapper to the curb.

“You alright?”

“You’re- You’re that new mask.” Frank whispered, scuttling away from the car where he’d been dropped.

“Yeah, man. You okay?” His voice modulator came in clutch.

“Fuck. Fuck, I gotta-” Frank stumbled. The kid looked like he was one bad break away from snapping. Peter hated it when kids got that terrified look on their faces, it reminded him of himself, helpless as Ben bled out because they should never have to fear something that much.

Something’s wrong, though. As much as Peter wished otherwise, Frank was a Gotham bred and true alley kid, through and through. These kids don’t spook easily. Peter already stopped a couple of kidnappings and at least two of the kids had yelled at him to stay out of the way before unloading a rain of nut kicks on their kidnappers that left Peter wincing for days in sympathy. Frank being this spooked? Something’s going on.

“Woah, easy there, I’m not gonna hurt you,”

Frank shot him a half hysterical, half condescending look. Yeah, that’s more like it.

“Ob-obviously. I have to go before more of them comes,” Frank muttered.

“More of them? You know what they want?”

Frank stared at him, looking up and down at his blue, red, and gold ensemble.

“I can help,” Peter promised.

“What’re your thoughts on metas?”

Suspicious.

“Uh, they’re fine? Depends on the person, why?”

Frank sighed. The skinny teenager, barely 14, tugged at his hair. “They’re traffickers. Meta kids, mostly, so the Bats don’t do nothing. I- uh, I got caught.” He held up a thin wrist, showing Peter his new accessorie, a think metal bracelet that was beeping red.

Peter cursed in his head. Fuck, of course he’d stumble into a-

“Caught? You’re a meta?”

Frank nodded. “Strength. This is an inhibitor, illegal kind, you know?”

Well, that explained how he got all of those furniture without struggle.

“Right. Hey, don’t stress, kid, I’m a meta too.”

Frank blinked.

“What?”

Peter walked up the side of the car and did jazz hands.

“You’re a meta?! But- but you’re a mask operating in Gotham!”

“Yeah…? Is that weird?”

Before Frank could reply, Peter’s sense screamed and Spider-Man shoved Frank away from the spray of bullets.

“Move, Frank!”

Peter flipped away, vaguely aware of Frank’s gaping realization. He took down the shooters in quick succession, stopping the speeding car with his bare hands and some webs.

“Shooters, no shooting!” He yelled, liberally applying force he tended to keep under wraps. Frank was like a brother to him, and there is no universe where Peter Parker would hold back when his family was in danger.

When he got back to Frank, who had oddly stayed instead of running, Peter found out why the kid stayed.

“Peter?!” Frank hissed lowly, looking more pissed off than terrified. “Are you fucking insane?! Why are you running ‘round as a mask?!”

“Shhh!” Shit, he got made. “Come on, get back to the apartment and we can talk there. I’ll get rid of this-”

Peter casually snapped the bracelet in half, tearing the tracker out, and tucked it away to study later.

“Fuckin’- shit, fine, but you’re explaining everything, motherfucker!”

They split, Peter guessing correctly that he was in another lecture of a lifetime.

——

“Your vigilante name is Spiderman?”

“Hey, I can hear you say it without the hyphen! There’s a hyphen in there!”

“You’re not a man! You’re a twerp!”

“I’ll show you twerp, you-”

Five minutes of tussling later, in which Peter did not try to bite Frank’s arm off, thank you very much, Frank leaned back on the couch.

“Besides. People in the streets are calling you Spidey, anyways.”

“Spidey?”

“Some dude you saved from a mugging said you told him.”

Peter slammed his head on the floor where he was laying face down.

“Ughhhh.”

——

“He could have been great. I saw his potential.”

Anger. But he shouldn’t be afraid. The woman loved him.

“Hey, Peter. You’re up here again.”

“Hi.” Peter stayed curled up. His mind had refused him sleep for the last three nights, causing dark circles to appear underneath his eyes. The memories of what he assumed to be this world’s Peter was merging with his. What he’d seen so far did not fill him with confidence of a happy childhood. Flashes of wielding weapons, the sterile smell of a metal dissection table, and hundreds and hundreds of spiders crawling over him, getting startled into biting down. Plus, the stress of tracking down the meta trafficking circles in Gotham was no joke. He doesn’t know Gotham nearly as well as he knew New York, and he had to be extra careful running around and trying to catch every bit of the circle before making any moves. Frank was helping with his network of homeless Meta kids, but the traffickers were everywhere except for Crime Alley.

He should be dead. They sold his body to an organ harvester who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version.

“Everything all right?” Red Robin clambered down to sit next to him, cowl hiding the concerned scrunch of his brow. He’s never seen Peter like this.

Peter grumbled, staring down at another alleyway. He knows his alternate died. His shit excuse for another sold his body to an organ harvester, when he seized on the operating table, who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version. He does, however, have to worry about missing vital organs.

“I… remembered something.” Peter remembered a lot of things. And pretty much none of them were good. This Peter suffered a lot in his short life.

Red Robin nodded. The issue of Peter’s spotty memories had come up in their discussions over the past month.

“Ah. Something unpleasant?”

Peter thought back to the voice who, despite all of the other, highly traumatic memories, haunted his brain like nothing else.

“He didn’t live up to it. He refused to kill. So I made the decision for him.”

“Yeah. Not for me, but unpleasant that I know about it.”

“Yeah, I get that. You wanna talk about it?” Peter hid a small smile. Even though Red Robin kept his tone light, the concern still bled through. Warm. It made Peter feel warm. Even if it appeared that the Bats don’t really care about the trafficked meta kids… maybe Red Robin would come save normal kid Peter if he got kidnapped. A backup plan to consider. For now…

“Sure,” he said. Red Robin waited patiently.

“I think, I remember someone. Maybe, maybe my…” Peter grimaced. “My mom? She… told me something. And uh, I think I’maproductofrape.”

“Oh,” Red Robin said, so awkwardly that Peter had to crack a small smile despite the gravity of the topic. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too. Not myself, but for…” Peter waved a hand. “You know.”

“Yeah.”

“She wasn’t a good person,” Peter whispered and hated how he missed the browns of her eyes- her middle name was Marie, and god, Peter wished he hadn’t known that because he gets why her eyes reminded him so much of his own mother- and she besmirched everything Mary Parker stood for.

“You have our combined potential, Peter. Make sure not to be like him too much and live up to it, papito.”

“It’s okay, to love her even if she hurt other people,” Red Robin said, gently ruffling his greasy hair. Peter’s spidey-sense tingled and he ducked away. Red Robin withdrew his hand. “Because you can’t really help that. Trust me, I’ve tried. You just have to make sure they don’t get the chance to do what they did again.”

Cold, cold voices and his voice gave out from screaming. “You really are your father’s son. Never being able to do what’s necessary.”

And Peter wondered what happened to Red Robin and who hurt him. Peter would just like to talk. Red Robin reminded him of himself, way back when being Spider-Man meant finding out Harry became Green Goblin. Pained. Tired.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. But that’s not really a problem, considering the last thing the organ harvester said before dumping him in an alley. “She’s dead in a ditch in Siberia or something. I’m not really worried she’ll do it again.”

“Uh.”

“It’s cool,”

“Right. Have you… remembered your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s in Gotham,” Peter unfurled a little.

“You want help tracking him down? I’m good at that kind of thing.”

Peter glanced at Red Robin. “I think you just admitted to being a stalker.”

“Vigilante,” Red Robin shrugged, like it explained everything. And yeah, it kind of did. Peter snorted.

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want to meet him anyways.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about me,” Peter ticked off his fingers. “I’m a literal walking, talking, breathing reminder of his trauma. And I don’t need a dad.”

Red Robin looked at him silently. Peter doesn’t think about it.

He never wanted to see his parents suffer. An alternate version of his dad, hurt so irrevocably by an alternate version of his mom?

Peter hated that this Catalina dirtied his mother’s name, and went against the most fundamental parts of what the spider symbol was meant for. And considering he’s been doing this longer than her, he had first dibs on defining it. He’ll look after his dad, as long as he’s stuck in Gotham. It’s only right.

“His name? Oh, my son, it’s Richard Grayson.”

——

Peter, who Trusts his instincts: no head rubs?? awwwww

Tim, who’s been trying to get a dna sample for the last month: how does he keep evading me?? He must be a genius or a spy or- *spirals down the conspiracy board*

——

Tim: I’ve connected the dots!

Peter: you’ve connected jack shit

——

Listen, the moment I learned Catalina Flores’ middle name, the pieces clicked, okay? Like legos. It’s like, former FBI agent in this one and former CIA agent in Peter’s home universe? Wow. Middle name Marie? Mary Parker? Incredible. Spider themes run in the blood apparently?? They both have brown eyes!! Trying to do good with no qualms about murder!! (I’m assuming since Mary Parker was SHIELD and I don’t think SHIELD cared much for the sanctity of human life if it threatened the country or something)

#tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon #Peter Parker #I think you know who his mom is #nightwing #batman #red robin #Frank the Crime Alley kid #Tim Drake #Tw: mentions of torture #Tw: human experimentation #bruce wayne #dick Grayson #gotham #Tw: mentions of human trafficking #Catalina Marie Flores #tarantula #Spider in Gotham AU

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beauleifu · 2 months ago

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TW implied spider demon death! Mayor is feeling a little underappreciated.... <3

#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk syntax #lmk mayor #toxicinsanity #because i can #he feels guilty #personal vent #my art #digital drawing #angst #lots of angst #lmk lady bone demon #monkie kid lady bone demon #tw implied spider demon death

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the-kr8tor · 5 months ago

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Y'know what I'm gonna ask, right? 💅

About that SpiderPunk x Criminal!Reader idea

Please include all of that ideas that we talked about

I'm craving it

I would love it if it turns into a series ou mini series, if it's not too much trouble of course 👉👈

You're the best 💅❤

I finally got to this req!! Thank you for requesting this cool ass prompt! Hope you like it ❤️ and thank you for being patient ❤️☺️

Also requested by @rexlroze : I copied and pasted the idea from @hao-ming-8 reblog cuz I'm too lazy to write it down so I apologize 💀 Y/N and Hobie (Hobie, not SpiderPunk) have a history. Then R got arrested and shit, but she managed to scape by herself. BUT she needs to stay low for a while. Then she just disappear for a long time, leaves the city or whatever. After a long time she comes back with this new persona, the criminal one, she uses mask and stuff, never showing they real face. At this point, Hobie has already become SpiderPunk. They starts robbing rich people, Hobie/SpiderPunk makes this deal where R only steals from the rich and gives it to those who need it.After some time, they start to get quite close in the meantime, then they discover they true identity.There may be times like where Criminal!R reminds SpiderPunk of Y/N and/or vice versa.

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), mention of death, CW vomit mention, CW violence and implied violence to R (not from Hobie), Hallucinations, established relationship, CW injury, R has her own vigilante persona, A dash of hurt/comfort, angst.

Navigation

The room is dark, moist clinging on its metal walls. Save for a single lightbulb hanging on the low ceiling, James could barely see. His hands are tied behind a creaky wooden chair, feet bound together. Sweat dribbles off his brow as his fear claws on his throat, unable to scream with the handkerchief gag shoved in his mouth. He blinks as the room sways slightly, metal creaking and groaning. His stomach flips from the movement, the chair slides a bit to the right before the room shifts back in its upright position.

He feels like he's gonna hurl. Eyes frantically roaming, he makes out a shape in the far corner. Its shadow looming over him, a clear threat to his well being.

“Hello, James Jameson.” A voice echoes from the corner, tone reverberating all over the dank walls. A pair of glowing red eyes appear within the dark, and he swears he felt his heart stop for a moment.

His muffled desperate yells increase as heels clang against the rusted metal floors.

“Did I rough you up too much, rich boy?” The seemingly familiar voice gets closer and closer until James can see a pair of boots. His eyes shoot up just in time as arms cage him in, gloved hands grasping the chair and a masked face of a fox greets him head on.

The fox tilts her head, clawed finger gently lifting up his chin as she rubs her thumb over his jaw. “You did not change one bit.”

James blinks, realization hitting him like a truck. The voice was a dead giveaway, even with your different look and face hidden, he knows his band mate anywhere.

You've been missing for years.

His muddled words are tamped out by the cloth gag. And he swears he heard you chuckle. With a careful hand, you yank out the piece of cloth and James dry heaves on the floor, making you forcefully grab his chin to face you once again.

“Look at me. You remember me don't you?” The intimidating red eyes of yours glows in the dark.

“You're alive?” He says in bewilderment. “H–How?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, crack in your façade. “I saved myself.”

“I– we've been looking everywhere for you!” James leans forward, smile slowly growing on his lips, and relief flooding his senses. “But you weren't in any system! We checked hospitals, prisons, shit— even goddamn farms just to look for you! Hobie would be so happy to—!”

“Enough!” Your fists tightens around the chair. With a swift kick, you twirl James around on the rickety chair until his head is spinning. He never really had a strong stomach for vertigo.

“Shit!” He suddenly stops mid turn, almost emptying the contents of his stomach on the cold floor. “C’mon, mate! What did I ever do to you!”

“You left me!” Your booming voice rings in his ears. “Hobie—” your neck cranes at an odd angle, as if you've hurt yourself from saying his name. “—left me in that fucking river to drown and for what? Just for a few quid?”

James hears shuffling behind him, and you suddenly crouch down in front of him. Elbows placed on your knees, head atop of your palms. If he could see through your mask, he knows you'd be smiling. And not the same sweet smile the band is used to.

“It was a botched job! We tried to get back to you but the coppers were on our arse!” He exclaims, fear etching back on his face as you make your clawed fingers walk on his legs. “We didn't mean to fucking leave you!”

“I was in the fucking raft, did you know that? Five years in that hell hole with only one thing on my mind.”

“Fuck.” He whispers in bewilderment. “W–Why were you put there, that's maximum security—!?”

“I don't fucking know.” You suddenly grab his ankle in a neck breaking grip. “All I know is that the band left me. I waited for everyone to save me, five years of waiting on nothing! But now that I'm finally out...” You exhale. “Tell me where the rest are and I might consider letting you go.” Your jaw clenches, eyes watering from the name etched in your mind. “Where's Hobie?”

“W–Why?! Fuck no!”

“Aww and here I thought we were mates.” You pout under the mask, nails digging into his skin.

“I–I don't fucking know you anymore.” A tear escapes from his blue eyes.

Somewhere deep in your memories, your heart breaks from his harsh words.

Rage fills you, but before you could break his ankle, a string of webs shoot right at you, flinging you away from James and into the wall in a thud. Your wrists are restrained, chest heaving and frustration rolling off of you.

“Oi oi, you're not allowed to do that without knowin’ his safe word.”

You kick and scream, his voice echoing deep into your mind. Head shaking, you try to tamp out the voices bouncing around in your skull, overlapping with the stranger's voice.

“You alright, bruv?” The leather clad vigilante unties James while keeping his eyes on the threat— you.

“Shit, Spider-Man!” He yelps and jumps up to embrace him.

Your head tilts at his punk suit, flashes of memories flowing in your mind with every detail you see on him. The buttons on his vest move, as if they're laughing at you. His spikes glimmer in the single light, blinding you. And his laced up boot gives you waves of memories from the past before you were dragged into hell and faced death itself.

“What's up with fox ‘ere?” He clasps James’ shoulder, eyes wandering around your twitching form.

“Don't know, but I have to warn my band mates.” James stretches his aching wrists.

“Why?” The vigilante asks, tugging James back to question his band mate. Sometimes he forgets that his friends don't know his identity. Not yet anyway.

“She's bonkers, thinks we did this… whatever this is—” he gestures to you whilst you bang your head against the metal walls. “to her.”

“Who's she?” His palms sweat underneath his gloves, the eyes on his mask widens, heart thumping loudly. Hope sparks in him, but also fear of what you've become all these years.

Then James says your name. The same name he whispers everyday, the same name he wishes to see written somewhere— on the news, the paper, anywhere, he even checks the obituary everyday. He wants closure to what exactly happened to you, everyday his guilt eats at him that he wasn't fast enough to save you in that raging river. All he has left of you are memories and a jacket you left in his houseboat before that fateful day.

He has wished to see you alive again, but he never thought it would be in this circumstance.

As he turns to face you, you've managed to free yourself from the webs, already lunging at him at breakneck speed. Hobie pushes James away, your name slipping from his tongue as his arms shield his face.

“Who are you?!” Your guttural yells ricochet around the walls as James slinks away from the scene. Fists gripping his vest tightly, you straddle him while he doesn't even fight back. “And why— why do I know you?!”

What have they done to you?

“I—” Hobie lifts his hand up slowly to hold your cheek. The mask prevents him from feeling you, finally touching what his soul craves. He'd do anything to see you smile again. To stare into your eyes once more. “Love—!”

“No!” Raising your fist, Hobie aims above him and outside the room. He shoots up and away from you before your punch could connect at his face. “Get back here!” A headache throbs on the back of your head, another memory flashes, one that has the sun shining on you and a face smiling down on you but his face is blurred, scratched out from your memories. You hold onto the floor before shaking your head and bolting after him.

Heels clicking rapidly against the ship's bow, you see him raise his hands up in surrender. The moon shines on him, making you close your eyes tightly under the mask, knuckles trembling as another headache rips through your skull.

“Look, I don't know what they've done to you—”

You groan, voices whispering and screaming in your ears. “You have no idea!”

“Then let me understand.” His boots thump on the floor as water laps against the fishing boat’s hull. Hobie slowly makes his way towards you to not startle you. His hand reaching, heart beating loudly on his chest.

He lost you once, he's not going to lose you again.

“Please, let me help you.” Hobie's warm hand touches your shoulder, and you immediately feel the voices fade. Vision returning to normal and heart beating at a normal pace. He smiles underneath his mask. “There, breathe slowly, yeah?”

You snatch his other wrist, pulling him closer and placing his hand right atop your heart. His warmth eases you in place like nothing else has done in years. Taking deep breaths, you stagger backwards until the small of your back hits the cold metal railings of the boat.

“Who are you?” You ask, and your voice has never been this stable before. It's like his mere touch alone has saved you. “Do you— is that your power?”

Hobie chuckles, teary eyes blinking at you beneath his mask. He has dreamed of the day that he gets to hear your voice again. If only he was brave enough to ask you to take off your mask. But he has to be patient for this to work, something was done to you, and he intends to help you find your old self, even if it takes him years of not seeing your face. Or for you to not know him truly like before.

“That's not my power. Spiders have the opposite effect on some people, y’know.” He shrugs, acting nonchalant in front of you when it's the opposite. Hand sliding down your bicep, he expected for you to move away, but you can't seem to find it in yourself to move. It's as if you're magnetized to him.

“I guess it's different this time.”

“Yeah, I guess it's different with you.” He only hopes that he could reach into you and bring back your old self. Yet, in all those years, will he still be able to find you in there? “You the same bird that terrorized Oscorp last week?”

“And the one before that.” You nod, eyes searching his mask, not truly knowing what you're even searching for.

“Big fan, foxy.” He smiles, and you can briefly see it underneath his mask. Your mind is still quiet, peace that you haven't felt in forever.

“Let's make a deal then, Spider-Man.” You put up your walls again, and yet your hand never left his own.

“Name your terms.”

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