My name is Talja it's nice to meet you all! I'm a 21 y/o who likes drawing, writing, and women!! โงเผบ
On this here page you may find me thirsting horrendously over fictional characters - my interest ranges widely! My current biggies <3
- Invincible
- Arcane (Jayvik my beloved)
- Lollipop Chainsaw! RePop!
- ATSV / Spiderverse
- COD (i love you ๐งผ)
And umm!! Ermm!! I'm very social!! If you wanna be moots im literally one dm away i love to ramble :] Erhh that's all!! I hope I can start writing on here soon or something... mwahaha!!
If anyone is looking to get their yumeships, ocxoc, oxxcanon, etc drawn, I am offering commissions! The link here is dedicated to my main commissions page, I also have a sketch-prioritized category which starts at $10 per fullbody!
Fully rendered fullbodies start at $30, which is the listing I've linked below! Please check it out if you are interested <3 I am struggling a bit to pay bills haha so anything helps!
spidyrweb's digital art commission form. On Artistree, human creators are fairly paid, organized, and environmentally conscious. Artistree i
hi guys!! some kinda real talk.. my family has gained some financial obligations due to my grandma passing two years ago ... and it's come to my attention that they've been kinda struggling to keep up with the bills.
i really want to help them out!!
i am opening up $10 fullbody sketch commissions as a hobby - both to give me room to support my family, and grow as an artist. anything helps, if you can maybe even repost this, i would really appreciate it!! please do not feel obligated to help. i am an able-bodied person who works a 9-5! i just cant contribute as much as i'd like to and i figured this might soften the load.
please take a look at what i can do!
again, do not feel obligated to help out. however, if you like, i will always appreciate reposts or comments to help boost this. my paychecks are pretty spread apart, and once they're gone, it takes a while for me to recieve income again. thank you for all your help and taking the time to read this blurb!!
easiest way to commission me? discord dms via @spidyrweb. or, follow this link!
"You've got the costume. You've got the power. You're Spider-Woman. Act like it."๐ท๐ธ๏ธ
Main!Mark Grayson x Spider-Woman! Reader
warnings: SMUTTT SUB/SWITCH MARK FINALLY, mentions of murder, mentions of cheating, reader/venom is her own warning
w/c: 8.1k
a/n: SUB WHIMPERING MARK FINALLY GOD! also thank you for all the amazing asks they're so encouraging!!
Youโre half-asleep when it hits you. A wrongness.
Dense and thick, it coils around your bones, clings to your skin like dampness, and nests in the pit of your stomach, like the crackling of static just before a lightning strike. At first, you can't determine whether it's a dream. Everything seems far away and muted. Familiar are the soft blankets twisted around your body, Harry's guest bed, not his, but still ridiculously pricey, still drenched in the smell of money and sterile city air. You recall yesterday night in fragments, sobbing till your throat ached, attempting to wash the guilt off your skin in the shower, almost holding it together long enough to fall into bed.
You ought to feel lighter.
Rather, you feel... crowded.
Your fingertips dance on the sheets. You scowl. Something answers the action, not simply your muscles, but something more. Something wrong.
Your breath catches.
You open your eyes.
Itโs still dark, that odd, syrupy blackness right before morning, where everything appears too soft around the edges. The metropolis beyond Harryโs big windows glows dimly, hazy reds and golds trailing like afterthoughts over the sky. The guest room is still, undisturbed. Silent.
Except for you.
Your heart pumps up violently as you gaze down at your hands.
Black.
Not simply black, alive. Glossy, throbbing veins of oil-slick blackness moving leisurely across your fingertips, up your wrists, sliding past the sleeves of Harryโs large hoodie falling carelessly off your body. It throbs once, like a heartbeat.
You spring upright with a strangled cry, the blankets tangling around your legs. The thing glides with you, smooth and flawless.
Panic flares up your chest, burning hot and cold at the same moment.
You claw at your sleeves, stagger out of the bed barefoot, your heels slamming against the chilly marble floors. Across the room, thereโs a tall mirror set on the wall, and you practically trip over yourself hurrying reach it.
For a second, you scarcely recognize the girl looking back at you.
Your hairโs a mess, your eyes wild, ringed red from the night before. The borrowed sweatshirt dwarfs you, hanging low enough to brush the tops of your thighs, the sleeves swallowing your hands. But itโs your arms that attract your sight, broad, inky black veins spidering up from your palms, snaking under your skin like some kind of living tattoo.
Your stomach twists over violently.
You push your back against the wall, sliding down until youโre hunched on the floor, folding your arms tight about yourself.
โThis isnโt happening.โ
This isnโt happening.
But it is.
You can feel it, not just the slippery, foreign thing coating your skin, but inside you, coiled tight around your bones, buzzing in the pit of your chest. It isnโt assaulting. It isnโt hurting you.
Itโs waiting.
Your breathing catches sharply. Your hands clench into fists, or they attempt to. The dark substance changes with you, cushioning the movement like itโs trying to protect you from injuring yourself.
You choke on a sob.
From somewhere down the corridor, you hear movement. Footsteps. A door opening.
Harry.
Heโs awake.
You stiffen, chest seizing. You hear him murmur something to himself, presumably walking for the kitchen or his office, still half-asleep, and for one dreadful second you consider of racing to him. Throwing yourself at him and pleading for assistance, for answers, for something.
But you donโt.
You can't.
Because some primitive, instinctual part of you knows, if he sees you like thisโฆ
If anyone sees you like this...
Itโs over.
The symbiote stirs again, feeling your dread, and for a minute you swear it purrs, curling closer around your ribs like a protecting hug.
โYou are not alone.โ
The thought isnโt yours. It flows through your consciousness like a ripple over a quiet pond, smooth and incorrect and too natural at the same time.
Tears hurt your eyes. You screw them shut, pressing the heels of your palms hard against them.
This wasnโt meant to happen.
You were meant to weep yourself clean last night.
You were meant to let the guilt drain out of you in the protection of these four immaculate walls and go on.
Not... this.
Not this.
Except...
You push your breathing to smooth out. You focus, shakily, on the sensation in your body, not the panic, not the terror, but the other thing boiling beneath it.
Strength.
Heat.
A violent, protecting sort of power.
You open your eyes.
The mirror catches you again, but this time, you donโt flinch. You meet your own gaze, and the symbiote hums, happy.
Youโre still you.
Just... more.
You hear Harry moving around again, further distant this time. Maybe heโs brewing coffee. Maybe heโs not even thinking about you. You have a window, a precious, short window, to get yourself under control.
You force yourself to your feet. Your knees almost buckle. The symbiote steadies you before you can collapse, slippery tendrils constricting momentarily around your calves.
Your heart pounds so hard it aches.
You stagger inside the restroom, the cold tile searing into your bare feet. The mirror over the sink feels too big, too bright even in the half-light, yet you push yourself to face it.
Your reflection breathes heavily back at you.
The veins of black move under your skin, gently withdrawing like an ocean pushing back from the coast. Your hands start to appear normal again. Human.
You clutch the sink so hard your knuckles lighten, or they would, if the darkness wasnโt still coursing through them like ink bleeding onto paper.
You splash your face with water. Scrub the worst of the tear-streaks and perspiration and stress away.
You are not fine.
You are so far from fine.
But youโre awake.
And youโre alive.
You wipe your drenched face with the hem of Harryโs sweater and straighten your shoulders. The symbiote whispers gently against your bones, fitting in like a second skin, warm and heavy.
You're not the same girl who staggered into this house last night, holding heartache and mistakes to your chest like a shield.
Youโre something else now.
Something sharper.
Something stronger.
And for better or worse...
Youโre not alone anymore.
Not ever again.
You donโt notice it at first.
Youโre too busy trying to put yourself together with trembling hands, too concentrated on cleaning your face, scrubbing at your skin like you can wash away whatโs seeping into you, whatโs becoming you.
But the second you lift your head and meet your own sight in the mirror again, you feel it.
A flicker.
A whisper.
At first, you assume it's your own voice. Your own self-loathing, the lingering hurt from all you lost and everything youโve done screaming horrible things in the back of your thoughts. That would make sense. You expect that.
But this isnโt your voice.
Itโs deeper. Richer. Alien.
โStop crying,โ it says, with something disturbingly near to laughter. โYou're embarrassing yourself.โ
You jerk backward, your elbow banging against the sink. Water falls down your fingertips, collecting at your naked feet.
The voice is real.
Not a hallucination.
Not only in your head.
โWe are strong now,โ it continues, satisfied, twisting the sentences thick around your head like smoke. โNo more weakness. No more pain.โ
You open your mouth. Close it again. Your pulse is pounding in your ears, drowning out everything save that voice, that presence slithering beneath your ribs.
โWhat... what are you?โ you manage to croak, your voice raw.
For a minute, thereโs quiet.
The type of silence that watches you.
Smiles.
โWe are what you needed.โ
Your breath stutters in your chest.
The black veins wriggle slightly under your skin again, like theyโre stretching, waking up. A shadow unfurls at the boundaries of your mirror, something not quite you but near enough to make your gut twist into knots.
โYouโre in my head,โ you say, frightened. โYouโre-youโre not real.โ
โWe are very real, little one. We are inside you. Part of you now. And we will never leave.โ
You clamp your eyes tight, shaking your head fiercely, as if thatโll be enough to dislodge it.
No.
No, no, no. This canโt be happening. Youโre just a woman. Youโre not meant to have anything living within you, slithering around your thoughts, promising you things youโre scared to want.
Strong. Protected. Untouchable.
You stagger back against the wall again, just managing to support yourself before you slip to the floor, grasping at your hair with shaky fingers.
โGet out,โ you hiss. โGet out of me.โ
The voice simply laughs.
Low.
Warm.
Almost loving.
โPoor thing,โ it whispers. โYouโre scared. We understand. But we are not your enemy.โ
Thereโs a gentle, crawling feeling across your skin, and you realize the symbiote is moving again, slow, purposeful, encircling your arms, your legs, like armor.
Like itโs embracing you.
You choke on another sob.
"Youโre using me," you whisper, desperate. "You're trying to control me."
โNo. We are helping you. We felt your pain. Your anger. Your loneliness. We made it ours.โ
You strain your eyes shut tightly, as if that might block it all out. The darkness. The warmth. The deep, gentle voice that snakes around every shattered part of you like it's trying to build a home there.
โYou were falling apart. You were ready to die. We saved you.โ
The worst thing, the part that makes your stomach churn and your throat boil, is that some sick, broken part of you believes it.
Last night, you had been ready to give up.
Ready to fall apart and let the anguish empty you out entirely.
And now?
Now you feel alive.
Different. Wrong. Terrifying. But alive.
You draw your knees to your chest, breathing ragged.
โWhat do you want from me?โ you croak.
The response is immediate. Unhesitating.
โEverything.โ
The room feels too tiny, too cold and too hot all at once. The marble floor steals the warmth from your skin, but the symbiote like a living inferno wrapped around your bones, holding you upright even when your body tries to fold in on itself.
And then, gentler, almost gentle, it adds.
โWe only want to protect you.โ
Youโre shaking so violently your teeth chatter.
Protect you.
Just like youโd tried to defend yourself, last night, with quivering hands and an empty heart. Just as you had failed to defend anything, your pride, your friendships, your dignity, amid the wake of all you lost.
And here it is.
Offering you a second opportunity.
Or maybe not even offering, insisting.
You hide your face in your arms, the sweatshirt sleeves soaked with cold water and perspiration and tears.
You stay like that for what feels like forever.
At some point, you realize you can feel Harry moving around in the kitchen still. The quiet clink of a coffee cup. The gentle hiss of the espresso machine.
Life outside this chamber carries on, unaware.
Normal.
And youโre hunched here, in the darkness, with a monster purring comfort into your head.
You should tell him.
You should shout for help.
You should implore him to contact someone, anybody, to get this thing out of you before itโs too late.
But you donโt move.
Because deep down, youโre not sure you want it gone.
Not when the alternative is going back to the woman you were before.
Broken. Weak. Alone.
You elevate your head carefully. Your reflection is still there in the bathroom mirror, but thereโs a shimmer about it now, a distortion at the margins of your body where the symbiote pulses just beneath your skin.
Waiting.
Patient.
Yours.
You wipe your nose on the sleeve of the sweatshirt, forcing yourself up to your feet.
Youโre shaky. Raw.
But youโre standing.
Youโre still here.
And the symbiote hums in appreciation.
โGood,โ it murmurs, pleasure heavy in its voice. โVery good.โ
You swallow hard.
This isnโt over.
Not even close.
This is only the beginning.
And whether you like it or not, whether youโre ready or not.
You are not alone anymore.
You will never be alone again.
The floor feels sticky under your bare feet, the chilly tile piercing through the delicate warmth of Harryโs borrowed sweater as you lean heavily against the counter. You gaze at your mirror, your pulse beating behind your eyes, your whole body alive with a horrible, buzzing energy that you canโt shake off no matter how hard you try.
The symbiote, the creature inside you, is quiet now. Watching. Listening.
Waiting for you to fall apart again, maybe.
Or waiting to build you back up.
You donโt know.
Youโre not sure you want to know.
You pull in a breath that vibrates against your ribs. You open your mouth, wanting to utter something, anything, but what comes out instead is a broken little whisper.
"Why me?"
And the voice, that low, rich, alien voice, coils in the back of your mind like smoke, thrilled to be questioned.
โBecause you were hungry.โ
You flinch like it struck you.
โHungry for love. Hungry for value. Hungry to be seen.โ
Your fingers tighten into fists against the counter. The dark veins twitch in response, snaking pleasantly up your arms.
"Shut up," you whisper, but itโs feeble. Pathetic.
You donโt even sound like you believe yourself.
The symbiote merely chuckles, a faint, oily rumble, like itโs fond of your intransigence. Like itโs indulging you.
โWe saw you. We knew you. You thought he saw you too. Didnโt you?โ
You donโt have to ask who itโs talking about.
Itโs him.
Itโs always him.
Mark.
The name hurts inside you like an open sore.
You clench your eyes tight against the abrupt, harsh onslaught of memories. His laugh. His hands. The way he looked at you like you were his, like you were enough. The way he tore that all away with the way he looked at Eve.
You grit your teeth. Hard.
"You don't know anything," you snap hoarsely. "You weren't there."
The symbiote hums again, a deep, deliberate vibration that vibrates your bones.
โWe know what you felt.โ
And worse, you can feel it probing, not through your thoughts precisely, but through the ghosts of your feelings. Sifting through the remnants of last night like itโs flicking through a book you left open and bleeding on the floor.
It savors it.
Your rage.
Your heartbreak.
Your disgrace.
โYou loved him. You trusted him. And he chose her.โ
You recoil so forcefully that you smash back into the wall, the air blasted from your lungs.
"No," you rasp. "No, itโit wasn't like that-"
But soon as the words leave your tongue, they disintegrate into dust.
Because it was like that.
You just didnโt want to see it.
โYou wanted him to stay. You offered him everything. And still he left.โ
A nasty noise fights its way out of your throat.
You put your fists against your mouth, wanting to muffle it, desperate not to hear it.
But the symbiote doesnโt stop.
It leans in closer, delving into the gaps of you, voice gentle now, almost compassionate.
โPoor thing. You thought if you loved him hard enough, he would never leave.โ
Tears sting hot and fierce in your eyes. You scrape them away with the sleeve of the sweatshirt, angry at yourself, angry at everything.
"Shut up," you gasp out. "Just shut the fuck up."
But you canโt drown it out.
You canโt drown it out.
โWe will never leave you. We will never betray you. Let us in. Let us make you strong enough that no one will ever touch you again.โ
You sag against the wall, shaking, your heart thumping so hard it seems like your whole bodyโs about to fall apart.
And the worst part is, you want to believe it.
You do believe it.
Because it hurts less.
Because itโs easier.
Because whatโs left for you out there, anyway?
Mark was with Eve.
Mark deceived you.
Mark left you to languish in the ruins of what he broke.
But the creature inside you?
It choosing you.
Itโs choosing you still.
You wipe your nose harshly on your sleeve and gaze back at the mirror.
The black veins glimmer just beneath your skin, alive with something hot and hungry and devoted.
You don't recognize yourself.
But maybe that's a good thing.
Maybe the woman who trusted too easily, who loved too blindly, who got left behind.
Maybe she deserves to disappear.
You tilt your head slightly, examining the way the shadows change over your face.
The symbiote purrs in your blood, satisfied.
โGood. Let us help you. Let us make you whole.โ
You think of Markโs hands on Eveโs body.
You think of the way he looked at you, full of remorse, of pity, and you want to burn the memories out of your mind.
You bare your teeth at your mirror, the first twisted flash of something black curling at the corners of your mouth.
Maybe youโre already halfway gone.
Maybe thatโs okay.
You place your palms flat on the cool marble counter.
Your voice is steady as you whisper back.
"...okay."
The symbiote thrums through you, a wild, euphoric ripple of pleasure and pride, and before you can second-guess yourself, the darkness rises again, pouring across your skin like wildfire.
Itโs not suffocating.
Itโs freeing.
It stretches you out.
Lifts you up.
Fills up every hollowed-out, shattered space inside you with something crisp and sleek and hungry.
You arch your neck back, gasping, as the metamorphosis concludes.
You catch sight of yourself in the mirror again, and this time, you stare at yourself without dread.
Youโre something new now.
Something constructed from the ashes of all you lost.
Something that doesnโt need Mark Grayson.
Or anyone else.
The symbioteโs voice coils in your head, low and satisfied.
โWe will show them. We will make them all sorry.โ
And this time, you donโt dispute.
You donโt run.
You don't cry.
You just smile, harsh and vicious and hungry, and let the darkness take you.
You pull yourself off the bathroom floor like a snake losing a skin that doesnโt fit anymore.
Everything inside you hums. Not the shaking, brittle sort of energy from yesterday, the kind that shook your bones and made your hands shake.
No.
This is something thicker.
Heavier.
Alive.
The symbiote beats gently inside you like a second heartbeat, breathing when you breathe, extending itself along the length of your spine like a contented cat.
"We are awake."
"We are better."
Your legs move on instinct, solid and confident, propelling you down the hall into the kitchen.
Each step feels intentional, heavier than it should.
You hear Harry humming off-key in the corner, a gentle, tuneless little song that floats out into the otherwise peaceful home.
The smell reaches you first.
Burnt toast.
Expensive coffee.
Harry's absurdly expensive fragrance hangs slightly in the air.
You go into the kitchen and there he is, standing at the stove, pajama trousers disheveled, a baggy t-shirt falling off his body, hair sticking up in three different ways like he lost a fight with a pillow.
You halt in the doorway.
You justโฆ observe him for a second.
He looks normal.
Soft and distracted.
The type of man who would fall over his own feet trying to impress you, then blush like he intended to do it.
The type of boy you wouldโve leaned on. Cried to.
Begged not to leave.
Yesterday, you flung yourself into his arms without thinking.
Today, you wonder what he'd sound like if you smashed his ribs one by one. (Youโre not going to, of course. But the idea runs through your head so fast and crisp it nearly makes you grin.)
"He is adorable," the symbiote purrs, nearly cooing. "Keep him. Feed him. Protect him."
You chuckle beneath your breath.
The sound is harsher, darker than you're used to hearing come out of your own mouth. You don't bother to disguise it.
Harry turns at the sound, and his whole face lights up.
Like the goddamn sun rising up over the skyline.
"Hey!" he shouts, voice a bit too loud in the silent room. He struggles for a second, almost losing the mug he's carrying, but catches it at the last second and thrusts it toward you like a peace offering.
"Coffee. Itโs dreadful. But... youโre definitely stronger than me, so youโll survive it."
You slide across the floor and take the mug from him without hesitation.
Your fingertips touch his.
He flinches a bit, not because he's terrified, but because he senses the change in you now.
Even if he doesnโt grasp it yet.
You take a long sip.
The coffee is burned, bitter, and far too strong.
You sip it like it's OK. (It's not fine.) (It's perfect.)
"More. Stronger. We need bacon too."
Harry stares you over the lip of his own mug, attempting to seem nonchalant, but you can sense it. The slight tensing of his shoulders. The way his foot taps frantically against the floor.
Youโre ringing off warning bells in his mind and he doesnโt know why yet. He just knows something's wrong.
"He smells nervous," the symbiote remarks, amused. "Not afraid. Yet. Should we fix that?"
"No," you thought firmly, putting the emotion down.
For now.
"You, uhโฆ" Harry lays his cup down, runs a hand over his unruly hair. "You look better today."
You smile at him.
Itโs a slow, broad smile that probably doesnโt do much to reassure him.
"I feel better," you remark sincerely. In fact, youโve never felt more alive.
Harry scrapes the back of his neck, an old, anxious habit you recall from well before any of this, and offers you a crooked grin.
"Thatโs good," he says. "You had me kinda worried last night."
You tilt your head at him, evaluating the contour of him. Small. Soft. Breakable. (You wouldn't, though. You like him too much.)
"Tiny person. Soft hair. Big eyes. We will keep him safe."
You fight down a laugh and walk to the counter, nibbling at the plate of eggs and toast Harry uncomfortably laid out earlier.
"You donโt have to worry about me," you remark, spearing a slice of toast with your fork.
Harry sits across from you, observing you like youโre a puzzle missing half its pieces. "Youโre justโฆ acting a little different," he adds gently. Not bad different. Justโฆ you know. Different."
You shrug and shovel a mouthful of rubbery eggs into your mouth.
They taste like plastic.
They taste like triumph.
"I guess dying inside changes a girl," you say softly.
Harry chuckles, a tense, uncomfortable little noise, and rubs his palms on his thighs. "Yeah, uhโฆ guess so."
Heโs trying so hard to be normal.
To not scare you.
Itโs nearly sweet.
"He is stupid," the symbiote remarks warmly. "Stupid and soft. He believes you are still the same."
You drink your coffee again, loving the way it burns all the way down.
"You sure youโre okay?" Harry asks finally, leaning forward, elbows on the counter. His voice lowers, quiet and honest. "Iโm your friend, you know? You can tell me if somethingโs wrong."
You set the mug down softly and glance at him.
Really look at him. The way his hair curls slightly around his temples when he forgets to comb it. The way his brown eyes are too open, too trusting. The slight, familiar concern line cut between his brows.
You feel the symbiote nudge at you, intrigued.
Affectionate.
"We like him. We will keep him."
You grin, slow, indulgent, almost nasty without wanting to be.
"Iโm fine, Harry," you say. "Better than fine, actually."
Harry's lips twitches like he wants to believe you but canโt quite achieve it.
"Okay," he replies finally, beaming too broadly. "If you say so."
You turn toward the enormous windows, the city shimmering far below, and your pulse thrums with something electric and eager.
Not broken anymore.
Not terrified anymore.
Not begging to be loved.
No.
Now youโre taking.
Youโre choosing.
And Harry, gentle, uncomfortable, faithful Harry.
You suppose youโll chose to keep him, too.
Just for a little while longer.
"Good pet," the symbiote purrs contentedly. "We will feed him bacon. And punch everybody who looks at him badly."
You bite on another slice of burned toast, smiling around it. Harry watches you with the same lost, anxious gaze.
Still your friend.
Still faithful.
Still foolish enough to assume you're the same girl you were yesterday.
And youโฆyouโre just a bit more horrible.
A little more lively.
And youโre starving.
For everything.
And youโre not planning on starving yourself ever again.
You scrub a hand down your face, pausing at the door like you need a second to center yourself. The cool metal of the handle feels grounding, cold against the heat roaring under your skin. Your heartbeat drums steady in your ears but itโs not fear.
Not anymore.
Itโs anticipation.
The symbiote shifts lazily inside you, a heavy pulse youโve stopped trying to fight.
Itโs not controlling you.
Not really.
Itโs just... there.
A second skin. A second mind.
Yours when you need it.
"We will make him pay," it murmurs, not cruelly, not urgently, just matter-of-fact, like itโs discussing the weather. "He will cry. Maybe bleed. Then cry more."
You exhale through your nose.
A laugh, maybe.
Or something like it.
Because honestly?
That doesnโt sound half bad.
You twist the handle and step out into the hallway, your boots striking the marble floor with sharp, clean sounds.
Each step feels like a choice.
A promise.
You hear Harry behind you, still puttering around the kitchen, still trying to pretend heโs not worried about you.
God, you love him.
He doesnโt get it.
He doesnโt have to.
You pause at the elevator, jabbing the button harder than necessary.
The doors glide open with a mechanical ding, and you step inside, the cold, sterile air closing around you.
You catch your reflection in the mirrored walls.
Messy hair. Dark shirt. Wild eyes.
Something coiled and watchful inside you, peeking out through your own pupils.
You donโt look broken.
You donโt look small.
You look dangerous.
And you like it.
"We look beautiful," the symbiote says approvingly. "Sharp. Strong. Full of murder."
You smile lightly, tapping your fingers against the railing as the elevator hums downward.
Campus isnโt far.
Just a few blocks.
You could walk it easily. Hell, you could run it without breaking a sweat. (You kind of want to.)
The elevator shudders to a halt and the doors slide open.
You step out onto the busy morning sidewalk, the city already in full swing.
People everywhere.
Cars honking, pigeons flapping, the hot-dog vendor on the corner shouting at someone for not paying. Life, noisy and chaotic and oblivious.
You weave through it, light on your feet, ignoring the occasional stares you get, maybe for the way you move, or the look in your eye. Maybe because youโre radiating the kind of energy that says, Touch me and die.
"They should bow," the symbiote grumbles. "Pathetic worms. None worthy."
You roll your eyes internally. Youโre not exactly in the mood to start eating people before 10 a.m (Probably.)
The air is cool and crisp, and your lungs ache a little with how alive it feels. The world vibrates around you, buzzing like a live wire.
Itโs intoxicating.
The campus gates loom ahead, ivy-draped stone and wrought iron, and you slip inside with the crowd, letting the tide of students pull you along.
You pass a group of freshmen loitering near the fountain, giggling about something stupid. You donโt even glance at them.
You pass a girl on her phone, walking too slow, practically begging to be shoved into the bushes. You twitch, just a little, fingers curling at your side.
"Trip her," the symbiote urges gleefully. "No one will know. Tiny shove. Funny noise."
You choke on a laugh and keep walking, biting your lip hard enough to taste blood.
No.
Not yet.
Focus.
Your building comes into view, modern glass and concrete sandwiched between old brick.
You pick up your pace automatically, feeling your pulse ratchet up, not with fear, but something else.
You can feel him.
You donโt know how, but you can.
Somewhere inside that building, Mark Grayson is breathing the same air you are.
And you're about to walk right into him.
You push the door open hard enough that it bangs against the wall and strut inside, your boots echoing off the linoleum.
The hallway is crowded with students, buzzing with that pre-class energy, last-minute cramming, coffee chugging, half-asleep conversations.
You thread through them easily, feeling like a shark gliding through a school of fish.
Your backpack thumps against your spine with each step. The symbiote purrs under your skin, vibrating with excitement.
"Soon," it promises. "Soon we will see him. Crush him. Maybe eat his spleen."
You snort under your breath, drawing a few weird looks from students passing by.
You donโt care.
You spot Dr. Connors' lecture hall ahead, Room 205, the heavy doors already propped open. The scent of old paper, stale coffee, and blackboard chalk hits you as you step inside. You make a beeline for your usual seat, third row, aisle seat, easy access for quick exits or dramatic storm-outs.
You sling your backpack onto the floor and drop into the chair with a muted grunt, crossing your arms over your chest.
Your knee bounces with restless energy. You tap your fingers against your thigh. You roll your shoulders like youโre warming up for a fight.
Every part of you buzzes.
And then, you feel it. The shift in the air. The prickle at the back of your neck.
You donโt have to look. You know.
Markโs here.
Mark's close.
You let yourself glance toward the door casually, like it costs you nothing, and there he is.
Mark Grayson.
Golden boy.
Traitor.
Heโs standing just inside the lecture hall, backpack slung over one shoulder, tugging awkwardly at the strap with one hand.
He looks the same and somehow worse.
Hair a little messy.
Eyes tired.
Mouth pressed into a thin, worried line.
You wonder, distantly, if he lost sleep last night.
If heโs been thinking about you.
If he even knows what he did.
The symbiote recoils violently, rage snapping through you like a whip.
"We hate him," it snarls, voice vibrating your bones."Hurt him. Break him. Bury him."
You clench your hands into fists against your thighs, breathing slow and deep, willing yourself to stay still.
Not yet.
Markโs eyes scan the lecture hall, looking for you, you realize, and the second he spots you, something flickers across his face.
Regret.
Relief.
Fear.
Good.
He should be afraid.
You tip your chin up, meeting his gaze head-on.
You let him see it.
The new thing living behind your eyes.
You let him feel it.
He swallows visibly.
Takes a hesitant step toward you.
You lean back in your chair, crossing one leg casually over the other, your mouth curling into a slow, dangerous smile.
Youโre not going to run.
Youโre not going to cry.
Youโre not going to beg.
Not this time.
This time, youโre going to make him wish he never met you.
And the symbiote hums in your blood, delighted. "Good. He will learn. Pain is a wonderful teacher."
You settle deeper into your chair as Dr. Connors begins setting up the projector at the front of the room.
The first slide flashes up, "Introduction to Vertebrate Anatomy,โ and the chatter slowly dies down.
Mark hesitates a beat longer, then trudges toward his seat.
Two rows behind you.
Close enough that you can hear him breathe.
Close enough that you could crush his heart in your hand if you wanted to.
You smile to yourself.
Sharp.
Slow.
Terrible.
You donโt storm out of class like everyone else.
You stay sitting until the last stragglers trickle out, notebooks shoved half-open into backpacks, shoes creaking against the tile.
You feel Mark twitching behind you, anxious energy nearly sizzling off him.
You couldโve gotten up.
You couldโve left him behind.
You couldโve made things easy.
You donโt.
You wait.
You make him come to you.
You donโt wait for him to catch up as you exit the building.
You donโt even peek over your shoulder.
You just go, steady, purposeful, like the full weight of the sun pushing down on you isnโt enough to slow you down.
The courtyard yawns out wide and vacant.
A few people cross it in leisurely loops, heads bent to their phones, bags dangling, lost in their own lives.
You glide toward the old tree without thinking.
The location you used to wait for him.
The spot you used to think meant anything.
You stop.
Drop your bag at your feet.
Cross your arms and lie back against the trunk, the bark scratching harsh through your jacket.
You wait.
You feel him draw to a halt a few feet away, hear the scratch of his shoes on the sidewalk, the way he holds his breath like he's ready to run a marathon he knows he's too fatigued to complete.
He hesitates long enough that the stillness grows.
Long enough that you know heโs second-guessing saying anything at all.
You tilt your head slightly.
You don't say anything.
You don't make things easy.
Finallyโฆ finally, he shoves his hands further into the pockets of his jacket and scrapes the words out of his throat.
"I slept with someone else."
The words hit like a punch thrown underwater.
Slow. Heavy. Delayed.
You donโt move.
You donโt blink.
You feel it, someplace deep, something little and fragile shredding, but you crush it before it can emerge.
Instead, you let a slow, languid smile tug at your mouth. The type of smile that says you donโt matter anymore. The sort that tastes like blood and burns on the way out.
"Good for you," you remark, voice sweet enough to rot your teeth. "Must've been dying without someone to hold your hand through your midlife crisis."
Mark flinches. You watch the way his jaw twitches, the way his shoulders hunch like heโs trying to make himself smaller.
"It wasnโt like that," he replies hurriedly, tripping over it. "You werenโt-"
He shakes his head, digging the heel of his hand into his forehead. "I was justโIt reminded me of you. It justโit felt like you."
You murmur beneath your breath. Low. Careless. Sharp enough to cut.
"Guess Iโm pretty easy to replace," you muse. "Good to know."
Mark's fists clench inside his pockets, his jaw clenching till the muscle there jumps. He breathes through his nose, quick and rapid, like heโs trying not to shout. You push off the tree with an effortless little tilt of your hips. Saunter a step closer, slow and predatory.
You stop near enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to, but you donโt.
You smile broadly, teeth gleaming.
Predatory.
Fake.
"You werenโt the only one, you know," you say. Light. Airy. Like itโs gossip over coffee. Like it doesnโt taste like ash in your tongue.
Mark blinks.
Hard.
Like he didnโt hear you correctly.
"You what?" It croaks out of him before he can stop it.
You shrug, loose and lazy, like your skinโs too large for you now.
"Yeah," you say breezily. "I slept with someone too."
Mark simply stares. Frozen. Like you kicked his legs out from under him and heโs still standing out of pure tenacity. You see it all ripple over his face, uncertainty, disbelief, something twisting nasty in his lips like heโs tasting something horrible.
"You...?" he says, voice trembling on the word. "Youโslept with someone?"
You can see him attempting to compute it. Trying to cram the version of you he knew into this new shape youโre wearing like a second skin. It doesnโt fit. It doesnโt make sense. Because he knows you. Knew you.
Careful. Slow. Terrified of surrendering your heart to someone who wouldnโt catch it. Terrified of being touched like you were something anybody could just have.
He was your first. Your only.
And now youโre standing here throwing your body away like spare change. At least, thatโs what he believes. Thatโs what you want him to think.
You grin at him, relaxed and confident, like the agony rattling through your ribs isnโt sharp enough to rip you from the inside out.
"No strings attached," you add, voice dripping mock-sweet. "Doorโs always open, Grayson. You get lonely, you know where to find me."
Mark looks like heโs about to be sick.
His hands tremble at his sides, powerless and useless, like he doesnโt know whether to reach for you or hit something.
"Youโre not-" He cuts himself off, tossing his head hard enough that his hair flops into his eyes. "Youโre not like that," he replies finally, voice rough. "You neverโyouโre not that type of person."
You laugh low in your voice, moving back, pushing the air between you taut. "Maybe I am now," you remark, shrugging one shoulder. " Or maybe you just never knew me at all."
Mark flinches again, his whole body recoiling if the words impacted harder than a fist.
You hoist your backpack up over your shoulder, slow and deliberate, letting the strap groan loud in the solitude.
"You wanted freedom with Eve," you say over your shoulder as you start to go. "Guess you got it."
Markโs breath catches, you hear it, harsh and tortured, but he doesn't move. He doesnโt chase you. He just stands there, stranded, disoriented, like someone took the earth out from under him.
You keep walking.
Fast.
Hard.
You donโt look back.
You donโt slow down.
You donโt let him notice the way your throat tightens.
The city cacophony rushes up around you - traffic horns, a bus screaming to a stop, laughing spilling out of a coffee shop door. You let it consume you completely.
"Good," the symbiote says, purring inside you like a delighted beast. "No strings. No pain. Just power."
You breathe through your teeth, your hands squeezing so hard within your sleeves your knuckles ache.
You keep moving.
Step after step.
Until youโre not sure if youโre walking away from him or from the bits of yourself you canโt stand to carry anymore.
The city breathes below you, quick, shallow, shattered.
The lights paint the horizon, oozing neon across the muddy pavement, reflecting in the potholes you swing over without a second thought.
Youโre not wearing your suit anymore.
Youโre wearing it.
You.
The symbiote clings close to your body, humming low and steady under your skin, a second heartbeat you didnโt ask for but don't want to give up.
It moves with you, anticipates you, filling up the crevices you didnโt realize were breaking wide open.
You donโt feel tired.
You donโt feel frightened.
You donโt feel anything you can name.
The city yells below.
And you howl with it.
Your webs lash out without hesitation, burrowing into the brick, the concrete, the steel, carrying you faster and faster between the buildings.
You don't move like you used to.
You don't swing for efficiency, for rhythm, for elegance.
You swing like youโre trying to rip the air open.
Like youโre trying to rip through the whole damn universe and see if thereโs anything left within.
You fall hard on a rooftop and the surface splits under your feet.
You donโt care.
You roll through it, your body absorbing the shock with horrifying ease.
Another howl cuts the night apart, piercing, urgent, coming from someplace below.
You move before you think.
Instinct.
Blood.
Hunger.
You descend into the alley like a blade, hitting the ground so fast the air breaks out around you in a stinging shockwave.
Thereโs a mugging underway, three men around a guy half their size, his backpack already taken off and spread over the ground.
The first one notices you.
He doesnโt have time to yell.
You grab him by the front of his jacket and push him into the wall hard enough that the masonry crumbles around his head. He sinks in a boneless heap.
The second grabs a pistol, you shoot a web out, pulling it from his fingers with enough power that it spins into the garbage heap down the lane. Before he can even react, youโre on him, fist crashing into his stomach, then his jaw, the shatter of bone deafening in the small space.
The third one runs. You let him run three steps before your web hooks his ankle, pulling him off his feet and sending him falling face-first into the pavement. He doesnโt get back up.
You stand there, breathing gently, feeling the suit pulse with you, feeling the symbiote hum low and content inside your bones.
The person they were mugging looked at you with wide, fearful eyes. He says something. You don't catch it. Maybe thank you, maybe please don't murder me, maybe something else completely.
You donโt wait around to find out.
You shoot another web and throw yourself back into the blackness.
The city sprawls out below you, loud, fractured, shining, a live creature breathing heavy and hot beneath the thick night sky.
The roofing under your feet is damaged and collapsing.
The wind blades sharp over the ledges, bearing the bitter stink of smoke and oil and too many unfulfilled promises.
You squat near the edge, the black symbiote suit smooth and alive on your skin, breathing with you, pulsating with every violent heartbeat.
You should go home.
You should stop.
But stopping would imply thinking and you canโt.
You wonโt.
The air changes. You feel it. A tremor over the surface of your skin.
You glance up, languid, lethargic, like you donโt care.
Pretending you donโt feel the way your chest tightens.
And there he is.
Invincible.
Blue, black, and yellow floating across the scarred sky, too clean, too brilliant, cutting through the dark like he still believes he can cure any of this.
He stops when he sees you, hovering stiff and uncomfortable over the rooftop, his silhouette rigid, muscles clenched like heโs preparing for a fight he doesn't understand.
You straighten from your squat, rolling your shoulders back, feeling the symbiote ripple silky across your arms.
Tendrils curling lazily against the air.
You smile behind your mask, slow and broad, and yell up to him, your voice ripping the night open clean.
"Didnโt think youโd run off so fast after last night, handsome."
You see it hit him like a slap.
Like a bullet he wasnโt ready to take.
Invincible stutters midair, jolting violently, fists squeezing hard at his sides, boots kicking slightly like he forgot how to hover correctly for a second.
You tilt your head at him, casual, mocking, and take a leisurely step closer to the edge of the roof.
"No morning after text?" you add, mimicking a pout under your mask. "No โyou were amazing, letโs do it again sometimeโ?"
The symbiote changes around you, responding to your pulse, your coiled amusement. You let it.
Invincibleโs mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out.
You see the perplexity flashing over his face, the way his brows knit together, the way his lips twists like he canโt quite find the words.
Like something about this doesnโt match the way he thought it would.
You let the moment stretch taut between you.
Then you come closer again, the black suit glinting under the broken city light.
You tap a clawed finger against your masked chin, pretending to think.
"You were good, y'know," you add, lighter now, joking. "Real good."
Invincible blinks sharply behind his googles, as if you physically hit him. You can practically feel the blood racing to his cheeks, the rigid pull of his shoulders, the way his breathing goes all wrong, harsh and shallow.
You smile widely under the mask. Itโs too simple. Too brutal. Too much.
Because the fact is, you donโt know. You have nothing to compare him to. Youโve only ever had Mark. He's the only one who's ever touched you like that. He's the only one you've ever devoted yourself to.
And speaking it now, acting like youโre some worldly, flippant, unbothered woman, makes something little and frail twist and shatter inside your chest.
But you donโt let it show.
You bury it deep.
Invincible shakes his head again, hard and frantic. You notice the way his fists clench and unclench uselessly at his sides, the way his lips pushes into a narrow, wretched line.
"IโIโm notโ" he mutters, voice strained, raw. "Iโm not doing that again."
You cross your arms casually, letting the black suit stretch with you, relaxed and teasing. You let your voice curl soft and syrupy around the following words.
"Thatโs a shame," you purr. "You were...memorable."
Mark's face twists, anguish and guilt oozing through the gaps in his mask like you just plunged a knife into his ribs and twisted it slowly.
He glances away fast, brushing a palm over his mouth like heโs trying to erase your sound off his skin.
"I made a mistake," he whispers, low and furious, like the words taste like poison. "Iโm not that type of person. Iโm not doing that again."
You murmur softly beneath your breath, lazy, thoughtless, feeling the way the wind rushes past you, cold and nasty against your mask.
You bounce back on your heels, letting your weight settle comfortably onto one hip. The black suit gleams in the neon flood from the streetlights.
"You keep telling yourself that, hero," you say, half-laughing. "Youโll believe it eventually."
Markโs whole body stiffens. You're ready to swing away, leave him there bleeding in the air, when the darkness rips open with a screech.
A scream. Gunfire.
Sharp and real, slashing the rooftop tension neatly in half.
You jerk your head toward the sound, instincts snapping taut. The symbiote surges hot and hungry under your skin, black tendrils slithering down your arms. Without thinking, you fire a web and fling yourself from the rooftop, diving into the cityโs shattered belly below.
You hit the alley hard, the pavement breaking under your boots, and snap into action without losing a beat.
Three men.
Ski masks.
Guns.
A lady pressed against a wall, screaming, hands raised uselessly in defense.
You donโt hesitate.
You move.
You crash into the first man shoulder-first, sending him falling into the garbage with a terrible crunch. He doesnโt get up.
The second lifts a pistol, you whip a web around his wrist and jerk, hard enough that the bone comes out of the socket with a snap. He drops screaming, holding his worthless arm.
The third turns to run just like all the others, but you seize him by the ankle, tear him from his feet, drag him hard over the asphalt till heโs whimpering.
You descend on him.
You donโt think.
You don't plan.
You grasp the front of his jacket, haul him off the ground like he weighs nothing, and force your fist into his face.
Once. Twice. Three times. โGood riddance.โ
You feel his nose split under your knuckles, blood spilling hot and slick over your fist. You hear him choke on it. You feel the way his body sags, weak, sad, in your hold. And you don't stop. You cock your hand back again, ready to cave in the rest of him.
"STOP!"
The voice smacks into you, harsh and urgent, but you recognize it.
Itโs Invincible.
Just another fool who thinks he can tell you what to be.
You pause, the symbiote snarling low against your bones, enraged, but your fist hangs there, shaking.
The man in your hands groans weakly, blood spilling from his mouth onto the black of your suit.
"FINISH IT," the symbiote hisses, enraged and delicious. "KILL HIM. MAKE THEM FEAR US."
Your hand shakes.
Your breath rasps hot within your mask.
For one dreadful, scorching second, you want to.
God, you want to.
But you donโt.
You open your palm, the man crumples to the ground in a gory, quivering heap, and you push back a step, your chest heaving.
Above you, Invincible floats, and hands lifted like heโs frightened youโll turn on him next, his face broken wide open with something too painful to define.
You look up at him, quick, sharp, nothing more than a flash of disdain.
You don't know him.
You don't owe him anything.
You fire a web without a word.
The web flies out, catches the side of a building, and you swing off into the darkness, the wind tearing at you in ravenous, shattered fingers.
Behind you, left standing in the blood-slick alley, Invincible just stares.
His fists trembling.
His mouth slightly open.
His chest heaving.
He watches you leave into the dark, feeling like he just lost something he doesnโt even realize heโs already lost.
hitting over 7000 with the wc for chapter 11 and whew over 4000 of it is just smutโ this chapter is gonna be a little longer then usual because i gotta remember i canโt just have them fuck all the time ๐๐๐ and i gotta actually move forward with the plot ๐๐๐
so new chapter might come out saturday or sunday ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ monday the latest ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ
RABAGAHAHAHHHHHHH THIS IS SOOOOO CUTEEEEEEEE AJAHAHSGSAHSGSG ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถโจโจโจโจโจโจ๐๐๐๐๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถโจโจโจ๐๐๐๐๐ wlw stays winning again ahscshsgsgasgsg
RABAGAHAHAHHHHHHH THIS IS SOOOOO CUTEEEEEEEE AJAHAHSGSAHSGSG ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถโจโจโจโจโจโจ๐๐๐๐๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถ๐ซถโจโจโจ๐๐๐๐๐ wlw stays winning again ahscshsgsgasgsg