#spidey! reader

With the bridge in disarray, debris and abandoned cars are littered all over the place from the fight. It’s a good thing that you managed to evacuate all the civilians. So you only have to worry about yourself, this would be a good time for an avenger to stop by and help you. But alas they’re busy being in space and doing space things. You really need to find a team, or at least a partner to have your back. With you not having the same spider senses as your counterparts in the society, and now you’re out of web fluid, you don’t have the best of luck, spider vigilante wise.

A breeze passes by, and you shiver in place, wound throbbing even more from the cold when your suit is all ripped up from the beating you just had. You had Kraven too, managing to make him bleed enough to have him by the throat. The bastard got away at the last second because one of his loyal henchmen, who looks like he models at abercrombie and fitch, shoots right at your leg.

You’re feeling woozy by the second, chest heaving as you gaze up at the stars above. If this is your canon event, your story would end in the most underwhelming way.

The shooting ceases, and gunpowder wafts through the air from the brief pause as they reload. You think that it’s your chance, but when you move a muscle, electric pain shoots right up your leg to your chest.

“C’mon out, Spidey! We just want to give you a little hug!” A gruff voice taunts, followed by the most obnoxious snorting you’ve ever heard.

“Why? Your mother didn’t hug you enough when you were a kid?” You retort back, not backing down even when you’re slowly fading away.

“You little shit!” More gunfire echoes around the bridge, and your makeshift shield is collapsing right in front of your eyes as shards of concrete rain down on you.

You brace for impact, an arm thrown over your head as you hiss from the loud sounds that whizzes dangerously near you.

“Oi! She asked you a valid question!” There’s a sudden familiar voice right next to you.

You turn your head towards the voice, a flash of red and black with metal spikes looks back at you. “Hobie?”

“Hi, lovie!” Waving casually, as if bullets aren’t digging right into his chest cavity, Hobie stands up right, unbothered by the gunfire in favour of gazing down at you with a smile. Even with his mask, you know him well enough that he’s smiling right behind it. “Lovely night, hm?”

“How’d you even— You’re getting shot at!” Just as you say it, his warm blood splatters all over your mask, the bullet hit an artery no doubt. “Oh shit!”

“Aw, you’re worried ’bout little ol’ me!” Crouching down to face you properly, his hand reaches towards your face and over to your torn mask. Slowly, his thumb cleans his blood from your wind bitten cheek, a gentle touch that you never thought would come from the merc with a mouth. “I feel like I need to teach them a lesson. Please, I can make it entertainin’ for the readers.”

“Don’t kill them.” You enunciate as a warning. “Wait, what?” A wince escapes you as sweat dribbles from your temple. He’s immediately on you like a moth to a flame. A palm cupping above yours as he stares at your wound. “I’m fine—”

“Those dingle berry wankers!” He shouts, peeking over the barrier to take inventory of his targets. “Arseholes— whoops!” Dodging a whizzing bullet at the last minute, he looks back at you, wishing that he could yank out his own leg and use it to replace your wounded one. “That’s a fucked up line, author. But yes I would give you my arms and legs and let you do whatever you want with it. Literally, whatever you want, love, especially with my hands.”

“Am I hallucinating already?”

Hobie shakes his head dramatically. “Listen, stay here and don’t peek over like how I did, capiche?” Taking off his belt, he begins to tie it around your leg as gently as he could with the hail of gunfire echoing through the night. “This will hurt, like a shit ton, imagine a wasp stinging you right in your bum hole—”

“Just fucking do it already!” Your hand abruptly grabs his collar, and just like that, he smirks before cinching the belt around your leg. He’s right, it’s like a wasp stinging right where the sun doesn’t shine. “Fucking shit!” Tongue bitten, fists gripping at his shoulders, your forehead drops atop his shoulder as you heave in place.

“I did warn you.” Fingers cupping your chin, he gently brings your clammy face near his own. Just a breath away from where his lips would be under the mask. “Stay awake for me, yeah?” His tone is much softer this time, if not for the lull in gunfire as they reload, you wouldn’t have heard it. “Seriously, or this fic will end real fucking quick if you die.”

“You’re such a weird little shit.” You breathlessly say, nose nuzzling the side of his throat as his arm drapes over your back carefully. The merc’s warmth soothes you, a bit too much as you start to feel sleepy. Not a good sign when you’re bleeding all over a historic bridge.

“Just don’t die on me.” With the whispered words, he gently lays you against the barrier, a gloved hand lingering on your cheek. “Don’t look because the author doesn’t want to write action scenes right now. Lazy piece of shit.” Hobie looks back at empty space like he’s in a documentary show whilst you make a face, knee nudging for him to move.

“No killing blows, Hobie.”

His head abruptly turns towards you, before pecking your temple briefly, no matter how brief it was, the unmistakable affection was there. “That’s what she said!” Yelling the battle cry, he leaps over the barrier, unsheathing his swords.

The sounds of flesh tearing and squelching replaces the piercing gunfire.

“Yabba dabba doo, motherfucker!” Hobie continues his classic quips, whilst you surmise all the groans and screams aren’t the good kind.

“No. One.” He says in between punches. “Shoots. At. My lovie!”

For once, you do what Hobie instructed despite better judgement. You should be helping, but with your body feeling like jelly, you can barely keep your grip on the wound. Even with the makeshift tourniquet, blood still coats your palm. The fight goes on without you, and based on his maniacal laughter, he’s doing quite well.

“Where’s Aaron Taylor Johnson?!” You can’t even shake your head or chuckle when you feel yourself slipping. “Hot stuff, where art thou? I just need to talk to you ‘bout kickass! It’s a favourite of mine!”

“He’s not here—!” A metallic hinge creaks out, followed by a pained whine and the sound of fist meeting flesh.

“Oh there you are, killer.” The lilt in Hobie’s tone turns dangerous, not the kind you’re used to, or even an affectionate one that he only seems to show when you’re around. He’s furious, he might not have dealt the killing blow to the henchmen, which you still doubt, but you’re sure that he’ll end Kraven right there and then.

Your hearing muffles just as the struggle rings right behind you. Head lolling to the side, you fall unceremoniously on the asphalt, glassy eyes staring at the river ahead. With every second that passes, your vision darkens, heart beating slowly, body feeling numb.

“Hobie…” Your parting call is a strike of lightning to his heart.

Hobie lifts his fist away from Kraven’s swollen face, broken teeth laying right by his feet as blood coats every part of his suit. He’d joke about how the colour of the suit is practical in these types of situations, but he can barely breathe when he sees the top of your head peeking over the side of the broken down barrier.

“No, no, no!” All his bravado and playful self melts away. He jumps over unconscious bodies and severed limbs, almost slipping on a pool of blood just to get to your side. “Oi, oi!” He’s right beside you within a half second, taking off his glove to feel your pulse. His heart drops down to his stomach when he feels it barely hanging on. “C’mon, ‘m the only one who’s allowed to make your heart skip a beat.”

“D–did you kill them…?” Your eyes open weakly, words barely coherent.

“Jus’ a bit.” Hobie has never felt great relief than when he first checked his lower half after getting his immunity.

“That’s good…” You struggle to keep your eyes open, but you hang on for him.

“Hang on, Spidey.”

With careful hands, he lifts you off the cold ground, carrying and running off to the only place he knows that could help you.

—

You wake up to the sound of dogs barking. At first you thought that something went wrong during your crossing to the afterlife and you ended up in the same place as your childhood bunny. The metal table under you feels cold, a thin blanket laid atop you doesn’t help much with the shivering. And you feel fully dead when your mind rushes to you being laid in a morgue. But when you groggily open your eyes, the unmistakable sight of a veterinarian office almost gives you whiplash.

The scent of antiseptic and wet fur hits your nose, turning away from a caged pomeranian that looks like cruella de vil’s wig, you’re met with a sleeping merc, who’s sitting uncomfortably on an office chair. His back is slouched, his tall form barely fitting on the chair as he manspreads. Your eyes flick over to his face, disappointed when you see that he’s wearing his mask.

“You’re awake.” A familiar voice says, and you carefully turn your head in his direction with a wince. “I’m Ned, he brought you here last night.”

“It’s been that long?” Throat dry, you croak out your words. “And I remember you actually, from the bar with no name, right?”

“Yeah, being a bartender is just a side gig to pay for student loans.” Ned makes a face, opening a mini fridge under his desk to grab a bottle of water. “Can’t believe you remembered that, Spidey.”

“Thanks.” You eye the water before taking it gratefully as you just now notice the dextrose needle in the back of your hand. “Did you do this? And yeah, it was impossible to forget when I was stone cold sober the whole time.”

“I did, Deadshit over there helped a bit.” He helps you open the bottle when you struggle to open it before you quickly chug the water. At first he thought that you’d choke, but you just survived a bullet to your leg. He’s sure choking on water is the least of his worries when you look like you just survived hell. “Wait, so you remembered everything?” You nod, glancing at him briefly as you continue to drink. His eyes flick over to his friend, leaning closer to you with a whisper. “So you remember his tirade?”

Wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you wince when you get a whiff of dried blood and antiseptic. “You mean his love confession?”

Ned shushes you, “don’t say it too loud. The last time I brought it up he threatened to take my chihuahua.”

“I’m not even going to question that.” Cracking your neck, you stretch your limbs now that you feel the enhanced healing factor doing its magic. “Besides, he was drunk, he didn’t really mean it.”

“For someone who made her own web shooters, you’re fucking dense.”

“Can I go now?”

“No, you were literally shot in the artery— and you’re already taking it off, great.” He could only watch as you yank at the needle out of the back of your hand. “I swear, the two of you are perfect for each other.”

“I need to go, my aunt’s probably blowing up my phone.” Sitting up on the metal table, you feel a warm hand on your elbow before your feet could even touch the ground.

Ned glances between the two of you with knowing eyes.

“Couldn’t even wait for breakfast in bed? What is this, a one night stand?” Hobie tilts his head playfully at you whilst you crane your neck to look at him.

“If it is, then it’s better than the ones I had.”

Your words have him smirking under his mask, hand lingering around your elbow. “Didn’t know you have that in you, love.”

Ned casually walks away before you could notice him slinking out of the room. You should thank the poor doc, maybe you could swing by with a gift basket or something.

“Thank you for last night,” you utter tenderly as your chin drops to your shoulder to gaze at him. “You saved my hide.”

Hobie gestures for the space next to you, and you nod. He hops on it with a small yelp, “bloody hell, I can feel the little ones shrinking from this. I should’ve draped Kraven’s gaudy coat over it instead of giving it to Roscoe.”

“Roscoe?”

He points at the corner of the room with his thumb, where the tiniest chihuahua you’ve ever seen sleeps upon a lion’s hide. “Ned’s baby.” Sighing, the air shifts around him. “You alright? You gave me a scare.”

“Yeah, thanks to you.” Your fist awkwardly bumps his bicep. “Thank you, again, but I have to call Aunt May before she pays a visit to my place.”

“Is it as messy as before?”

“When you barged in with a broken arm and bleeding all over my new couch? Nope, I cleaned a bit since then.”

“Oi, I paid for the dry cleanin’” Your laughter brings him relief. His hand inches closer to yours, pinky slithering over to your index. “How’s auntie?”

“Good, she still asks for you just because she heard your loud mouth over the phone.” Eyes sparkling, you notice his wandering hand, and yet you don’t move away. Even when his pinky lays atop your finger.

“I thought you were talkin’ to the pizza place. I jus’ wanted to tell you my order.” Hobie’s voice is affectionate, softer while his shoulder brushes alongside your own. “I didn’t kill ‘em by the way. But they’ll get a big hospital bill.”

“The guys at the pizza place?” You joke, earning a chuckle from him.

“No, Kraven’s knobheads.”

Smiling, you nudge away his chin to place your face on top of his shoulder. Which he happily obliges. “That’s a shitty band name.”

Hobie chortles, leaning against your warmth, eyes closed as he savours your presence beside him. Even if you’ll never reciprocate his affection, he’ll settle with just this.

“Hobie?” He hums a reply, eyes still closed. “I’m still wearing my mask but I can feel bandages on my cuts. Did Ned see my face?”

Leaning away to his own regret, Hobie shakes his head. “No, I shoved him out of the room and did it myself. ’m somethin’ of a doctor myself, y’know.” Your smile widens at that. “Still, you deserve more than gettin’ treated at an animal hospital. I jus’ couldn’t risk ‘em knowin’ you.”

With a thudding heart, you bring a palm over his face, holding him gently as he lets out a content sigh. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me. You did great, Hobie, I owe you one.”

“Nah, you would’ve done the same thing— and you have, a dozen times before.”

“And I would do it a hundred times more.”

“Even to a bloke you really don’t know?”

“But I do know you, Hobie Brown, I just don’t know what you look like.” Moving away reluctantly, you inhale, swallowing your nerves. You’ve fought a lot of villains before but you’ve never been this nervous, compared to when you fought a cackling Goblin that looks eerily like the actor, Willem Dafoe— this feels like you’re about to tell Aunt May what you really do. “And I understand if you never want me to see you. I mean, you only know my face because of that one fight we did together where my mask got torn.”

Lips pursing together, he shakes his head. “I thought we’d finally collab again last night. Y’know, like before, Deadpool and Spidey, partners in crime. I chop up the body and you help me bury it.” His thumb gingerly picks at a bullet stuck inside his arm. Like picking at a scab that seems to never heal.

“Stop that,” taking his hand, you carefully pluck out the bullet with more ease. The metal clinks against the metal table, his skin immediately healing. And Roscoe the chihuahua kicks in his sleep, unbothered. “There, we’re not even yet, but who’s keeping count, hm?”

Hobie gazes at you, the blank eyes of his mask stares right back as you shrug. He could tell that you want to go home and shower, but in truth, you’re just stalling.

“Can I tell you somethin’?” His hand bracelets around your wrist, eyes cast down at his lap. A rare sight for you, to which you start to worry for the usual chatty merc.

“Is it another quip about some author pulling the strings?”

“No, it’s my face. I never showed it to you, and it’s not because I don’t want you to see my identity.” Inhaling, he lets your wrist go, head craning to face you bravely. “You wouldn’t fancy my ugly mug.” His tone cracks, with a well placed chuckle at the end, he makes his words less sad than it is.

But you see through his façade. You reach for the hem of your mask, taking it off as you hear his breath stagger in his throat as if it’s the first time he has seen your face. Your hands move to cradle his cheek, beaming at him sweetly, reminding him of why he fell for you the second he first saw you save a civilian and punch a copper in the same breath.

“I can feel you under the mask, Hobie, and I could tell that I’ll fancy your face very much just from that.”

“I look like a rotten Halloween pumpkin on Christmas day, love.” He grasps at your waist, not pulling or pushing, just laying there for his own comfort.

“I like pumpkins.” You say with an affectionate lilt.

“Not this pumpkin, pumpkin.”

Thumbs dancing along his cheeks, you tilt your head, a smile still etched on your face. “Is it like if Freddy Kruger had a love child with a shar pei?”

He snaps his fingers at you. “It’s exactly like that.”

You giggle, and his heart warms up. “I don’t really care about that. But if you really don’t want me to see, then so be it. I can still kiss you on top of your mask.” Scooching closer until your thigh grazes along his side, you grin.

Groaning loudly, his head lolls back before whipping back to look at you. “You should’ve said that before!”

Laughing, you watch as he takes off the mask with trembling hands. He looks better than you imagined, handsome, even with the battle scars that look like ocean waves on his flesh. Piercings litter along his face, silver sparkling under the fluorescent lights.

“Blimey, right?”

Shaking your head, a palm over his jaw, you gaze at him with wonderment. “You exaggerated. You’re hot, Hobie Brown.”

“Shit, really?” His hazel eyes widen, and you’re happy that you can finally see his glorious eyes under the lights. You feel like you’re seeing the moon for the first time. Grinning from ear to ear, he lovingly pulls you closer to him until you’re on his lap, giggling as your nose rubs against his.

“Yes, really, can I do that thing now?” Your lips hover above his own, arms thrown over the back of his head as your fingers dance along his nape.

“Love, I have a gun on my waist, if I ever say no to that just shoot me in the face.”

“So dramatic.” With a sigh, your lips lock with his, immediately fitting together like they were made for each other.