Work Text
__hey babes <3i couldn’t find any really good spiderverse oneshots or fics on here so…*insert thanos voice*i’ll do it myself~yes this does contain nsfw, if you are uncomfy with that, don’t read those chapters.fluff = ★
angst = ☆
smut/nsfw = 𖤐
scenario/alphabet = ✧i do take requests! any ocs you’d like inserted, x reader ideas/scenarios, just lmk what character(s), and i’ll decide if i like the idea!ofc i don’t own marvel or any characters in this (besides the reader)please enjoy!!
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Ow, fuck y/n!”
“Hold still, or it’ll hurt worse.”
Hobie grimaces and glowers at you, turning as much as he can with your hands tangled in his thick hair. Though you had promised to be gentle, the process was more difficult with Hobie’s scalp fighting back against every minuscule tug.
You sigh, and stroke the next twist gently, though he can’t feel anything. “I’m trying, Hobie, i am.”
He turns and gives you a look, and the pair of you exchange glares.
Sometimes you both wonder how you ended up together, whilst being so vastly different. Hobie, the rule breaking, authority hating punk, and you, the law abiding, strict hero. Being such a sucker for tropes, you had secretly fostered a minuscule crush on him, hoping for some sort of enemies to lovers.
“Fuck. you.”
“You asked for this, what the fuck are you whining about?”
Maybe just enemies to love-ing enemies.
Now, months later, his head is rested in your lap, three week old twists slowly coming undone by your own doings. Begging to mess with your boyfriend’s hair isn’t exactly uncommon, but for Hobie to be screeching like a banshee with every rubber band removed what certainly a scene.
His hands curl into the soft rug at the foot of your bed, face twisted into a grimace as you snap a rubber band against his sensitive scalp.
“How many more left?” Hobie groans, and turns, his annoyance now turning to more exhaustion than anything.
“Just a few, promise.” Your earnest voice provides him some sort of comfort, and his long lashes flutter shut, his hard set, yet delicate, features caressed by late afternoon light from the side window. Before continuing, you take a moment to stare at him, and take in his face.
Light music coats the room, guitar riffs and drum solos coming to a pause as the music silences in time with the stillness between the two of you. Your soft, shared breaths are the only sound as the air filling to room is sweet with early evening sunlight and just one too many hair products, and your eyes only fix on Hobie’s rarely relaxed features as he lays on you.
Without a doubt, you are the luckiest spider-person in the entire spiderverse.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Though the silence is broken by Hobie’s snide comment, you still feel your heart sweet at his singular opened eye, and scrunched nose while he looks up. You take a twist between your fingers and begin your work again, hoping to finish his hair in good time.
It makes sense he keeps his hair tucked under his mask. With such long hair, and thick hair, dealing with it after swinging around at high speeds is not a walk in the park, therefore his reasoning for the usual locks. Hobie, being Hobie, had wanted to try something new, and decided on thick twists. And, it just so happened, you were around when he begrudgingly asked for help getting the twists out.
Dropping the last unraveled curls onto your open palm, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized was being held. “All done.”
“Thank god, you take forever,” He sits up quickly and stretches as he stands, hands stretched high above his head. But, the way he looks at you and gives a gentle smile shows a genuine and sweet thank you that will never be said.
You let out a soft yelp as he suddenly lunges, bouncing you both against the bed as he swallows you into his arms. Pulling you in, he forcefully, but gently, presses your face into his chest, and holds you close.
“Hobie,” you grunt softly, “let me go!”
He chuckles, deep and velvety, “Nah, don’t think i will.”
“Aw, does someone like holding me?” You tease, but the hint of curiosity doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Maybe i do,” he only whispers, before pressing his face deeper into your head, breathing in your shampoo scent deeply, memorizing the smell for later when he needs to find an iota of comfort in a lonely universe. “Let me do what i want, love.”
Though you squirm at first, you soon relax into his arms and feel you eyelids droop as the sun warms your bodies like they were connected. The warmth is comforting, and tension sees itself out as the world beyond your small, unkempt room fades into a monotonous blur. The only things are how his chin feels against the top of your head, the way his musky cologne smells, how his arm muscles flex softly when he needs to adjust, and the sound of breaths taken on the brink of sleep.
Even if you argue, and bicker, and sometimes the world crashes down around you, these moments are worth fighting- living - for.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Your hands shook, and you look down with tear blurred eyes. The shivering of your body, along with your only lightly stifled pants as you hyperventilate, consume you fully, as your heart threatens to tear through your chest.
There was no reason for the panic attack - there often wasn’t. Having an anxiety disorder, you occasionally were gripped by the plight of severe, sudden-onset panic attacks. Of course, the stress you had already been through recently didn’t help, but this night was just a cherry on top to break you.
It was burnt bread. That’s all it was. A burnt batch of chapati. You would’ve felt the shame of being triggered by such a small inconvenience if you weren’t about to throw up from the tension in your body and the drool spilling from your lips from panting so hard.
You were too consumed by your sobs, lying in a small heap on the floor. Child’s pose, is what they called it in yoga, but it was your current panic position. Trapped in your own distress, you didn’t hear the sound of swinging and swishing as someone landed outside the window and thumped quietly.
Pavitr pulls off his mask as he faces the window and smiles softly as he smells food from the kitchen. He never asks you to cook, or even needs you to, but the fact you do always makes him feel slightly giddy.
The smile fades as he opens the window and is greeted with a slightly burnt smell, and the sound of poorly stifled gasps and sobs. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as his senses tingles wildly, sensing distress and panic. It was the type of thing he only picked up from accidents and severe situations, where emotions are high strung and rampant.
“Shona?” He calls out nervously, striding through the living room, nearly tripping over the couch in his stumble to dash to the kitchen.
He can’t explain how hard his heart breaks as he finds you curled up pitifully on the floor, an only slightly-too-cooked batch of chapati laying on a pan on the counter above you.
“Oh, my love, oh..” he coos softly and sits next to you gently stroking your hair as he nervously stares at your trembling figure. “Is it okay that i touch you?” Asking seriously, he lifts your head gently. Somewhere, he had heard sometimes people did not want to be touched during panic attacks, so he did his best to see what his partner needed.
You somehow manage to choke back a sob and nod, before falling into his open arms. He holds you close to him as you keep breathing heavily, tears and snot dripping in one flow onto his suit as he whispers to you. “Shona, hey, i’m here, it’s okay.” His hands run through your hair as he clutches you close, feeling a lump form in his throat as he notices you hands clutching to his shirt, holding on for dear life like he’ll leave.
“One second, okay? I’m still here, just let me move a little,” Pavitr’s sweet voice soothes you ever so slightly as he leans away from your iron hold, just for a moment, to grab an ice pack from the freezer right near you two. He immediately comes back, placing a tender kiss on your still deathly tense and sweat coated neck, before gently pressing the ice pack to you.
A sharp gasp emanates from your lips as the feeling of ice cold claws sinks into your veins, sending a jolt through you. Though it doesn’t harness you immediately, the feeling of long, slender fingers brushing your back, and the loving nothings whispered into your ears, telling you of a calm, a safety you couldn’t feel, bring you down the Earth.
Your sobs turn to cries, then to sniffles, as you lay your head in Pavitr’s lap. Tracing little circles into the thighs of his suit, you look away.
“I’m.. sorry-“ You croak out before being interrupted.
“Don’t even think about apologizing- it’s not your fault, you can’t help it, and i love you so much either way,” Pav rambles a little as he stares intensely into your eyes.
You sigh and smile, just a little. “I meant the chapati, my love.”
“Ah, yeah, well that doesn’t matter,” He makes a slight shooing motion with his hand. “I always prefer my food a little more cooked.”
Laughter echoes around the cabinets as you hear him comforting you, going so far to make you feel okay again.
Pavitr rises to his feet, gently bringing you with him, placing your ice pack on the counter. “Better?” he whispers softly, looking at you with such love and tenderness you almost melt.
“Only because you’re my hero, Babu.”
—
chapati
- a traditional indian breadshona/babu
- indian pet names and affectionate terms for a significant other
—