The Spot Across The Spiderverse - Tumblr Posts

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY VEGGIE STRAWS???
e-erm....uh...erm....uhh đŠ

No one ever saw me cry.....until I left the party the other night..

Drew this for myself cuz it's my birthday and I'm unstable
Happy bday to me.....





Ugh
HE SAID HIS NECK WAS HURTING SO I SENT HIM TO A CHIROPRACTOR BUT HE CAME BACK LIKE THIS?????

Hhey....(approaching you shyly and awkwardly) I made something....
Should I upload this to tiktok as well....or naw.....erm..




I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I want to try his face on I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him
More ohnn/spot art because help help help there are bugs under my skin help help help




Pleaseeee I need us to get back w himđđđ
Spots and Stops
Continuation to Cookies and Cream this isn't really a fix-it fic, cause like i got like a request to do so and i'll defs try to, but also i got like two people who wanted a part 2 so here it is
Word Count: 3.6K
A/N: People wanted a part two and i want to please the masses, and i have ideas so like here you go
-
Regret is all that you know. It consumes you, starting at your chest, making it ache the entire day, and settles in your stomach to the point that you canât consume anything without it tasting bitter. You should have reacted better. You should have held him and told him that him being spotted wasnât a dealbreaker.
But you didnât.
Instead, you did everything wrong. He needed you. He needed someone, and he came to you. Somewhere, he thought to himself, that you would have accepted him, past your fear, past your hesitations and desires. He thought that you would want him.
In your entire relationship, you never thought that he would have ever been wrong. But he was, and in the worst way imaginable.
You have to force yourself to hide what belonged to him. You canât bear to look at it- at him, at what used to be his. You hold his nightshirts in your hand, staring at them for far too long, lost in thought of what could have been. You really did think that you two would be together for a long time.
The fabric is wrinkled, the tag of the shirt curled in on itself and frayed at the edges. His toothbrush is still next to the faucet, and his face wash remains untouched. You canât bring yourself to throw it away.
He wonât return. You wonât see him again, and as selfish and awful it is of you to keep something of the man that you rejected- you need to keep his things. You need to keep his shirts, and pants. You need to keep his skincare products. You need to keep his toothbrush. You need to keep some part of him with you.
A part of you wants him to return. You want him to come back; you want to take him up on that deal of starting fresh, of how he wonât hold what you said against you. How he was so willing to hide himself, just to stay with you. At some point, you expected to come into your home and find his stuff gone- the final sign that he has left your life- that he took what was his when you werenât home. But he hadnât. And he wonât. He would always listen to you. Always respected your wishes, and the final one was for him to leave.
Youâre an awful person. Youâre sickening. Tears dot on his shirt, and you place it beside you on the edge of the bed. Your knuckle wipes harshly at your eyes.
Taking in a deep breath, you force yourself to think of something happy. You donât deserve to grieve the loss of the relationship. Not when you still have a home. A job. Loved ones. You have it all. He doesnât. If anyone deserves to cry, itâs Jonathan.
You think of kittens and puppies.
You think of how his voice broke when he called your name.
You think of a memory with a friend where you had a picnic.
You think of how you couldnât handle his touch.
You think of how he would hold your hand, and act as if it were the greatest honor to do so.
You think of him crying without a face.
You think of him lonely, and cold out in the night.
You bite your lips harshly, desperate to bring yourself back to your senses.
The sound of the city is alive outside your window. Lights flash, colors change, and you stand in the middle of your room, willing yourself not to cry.
-
You unlock the door, and throw your jacket on the couch. It slips and you pull a face at the audacity of having to pick it up. In your hand, you clutch the phone and listen to your friend talk.You shake the jacket, ridding it of any dirt that could have attached itself from the floor.
âMhm,â you hum, kicking off your shoes and turning on the standing lamp, turning the knob to let a warm glow illuminate the room. You think you hear something somewhere, but you reason to yourself that it must be a pipe. âNo, no. I get it. I mean, if it were me, I think I would have liked died.â Your grin is sharp when you hear your friend laugh.
âExactly. So, thatâs why I can never return to that specific bubble tea shop. Honestly, I just- it was so embarrassing,â they whine. You hear them sigh over the phone, and you stretch yourself over the couch, letting your head fall back. âAnyways, how was the date?â Your mouth pulls into a frown. âItâs been a good minute since-â they trail off, not wanting to mention his name, and you whisper a silent âthank youâ at the courtesy. âDid you have fun?â
You straighten yourself back on the couch, pulling yourself close to yourself. âIt was okay,â you mumble. âI donât- I mean, he was nice and stuff, but I donât know. I donât really see it going anywhere.â You ate across from your date, and you wished that it was Jonathan.
âIt doesnât have to go anywhere,â the counter. âYou can just have fun. Youâre allowed to have fun after your last relationship.â You clench your jaw. âI know you really liked him, but heâs- you know.â Youâre trying to find your words, but none come to mind. âYouâre a catch- honest. Youâre allowed to go on dates and enjoy yourself.â
Tears sting in your eyes, and you swallow the lump thatâs made itself into your throat. âYeah, youâre right,â you agree, without even trying to add faux emotion into your words.
âYou uh-â they clear their throat- âHave you heard from him? Or about him? Itâs kinda hard for a guy covered in-â
âI gotta go,â you mumble, not waiting for a response before you end the call. You toss the phone to the other end of the couch. You close your eyes, trying to steady your thoughts, and on the other end of the couch, you hear your phone buzz.
Thereâs another sound in your apartment, and you hope that itâs an intruder. You hope that they rob you blind and leave no witnesses. You hope- selfishly hope- that you can be put out of your misery without having to do anything. Then maybe, you wouldnât have to feel guilt and regret eat away at you. You wouldnât have to go on anymore dates or live in an apartment with items that donât belong to you.
The room spins and closes in on itself and itâs difficult to breathe. Your chest feels as if itâs being crushed, held tightly with the palms of guilt and regret, squeezed until your ribs would splinter and heart would burst. Your breaths are quick and uneven. A hand clutches at your chest, and the other muffles any cries with the palm. You havenât grieved, and the date that you went on, only confirmed that you shouldnât. You tossed out your previous partner when he needed you the most. He cried in front of you, begged for you to accept him and you couldnât. Youâre able to continue your life as if nothing happened, he doesnât have that same luxury. Even if you werenât the one to cause the incident, youâre positive that you caused something worse to happen to him.
You miss him, but you shouldnât be allowed to miss him.
Loneliness covers you in a warm blanket. Itâs suffocating, and burning, holding you down as you wrap your arms around yourself. There is no comfort that you bring to yourself. There is no one that you can call. You wheeze and hold yourself. Tears burn themselves onto your face, and drip down your chin. You close your eyes tightly, biting on the bottom of your lip. You canât cry. You wonât cry. You wonât allow yourself to feel bad about the ending of a relationship that you brought upon yourself.
Nearby, you hear a door click open, and footfalls thump softly against your floor. Thereâs a knock somewhere- too rhythmic to be a pipe or anything of the sort. You cry more, hiding your face in your palms, hoping that whoever is there will take pity. Thereâs another knock, and you shrink in on yourself. You canât mumble anything other than a plea for nothing and anything. Finally, the other person speaks.
Your name is said softly, and you donât respond. âI- I know you donât want to see me, but are you okay?â Your chest shakes and heaves. Youâre being tortured, you have to be. Youâve thought about him for far too long that youâve begun to hallucinate his voice. âDo you need anything? I can um- I can get you a drink?â You take in a wheezing breath, one that hurts your lungs and chest. You hear rushed steps that echo away and come back in a flurry, and something blue is placed in front of you. You peek through the gaps between your fingers, and grab at a tissue.
Time seemingly doesnât pass for as long as you cry. You sit there, whimpering and sniffling. You must look pathetic to him. And even then, he stands there. The thought of his previous form is what you picture. Picturing him as who he is now, only makes you cry harder.
You tried to get over your silly fear. You forced yourself to look at spots and holes in clusters. You forced yourself to eat cookies and cream flavored snacks. Even after all that exposure therapy, it still made you sick to look at spots.
This isnât fair. None of this is. You wish that he had met someone better before he became what he is.
You bite the inside of your cheeks and look at him through wet lashes. You canât even tell if heâs thin or not. His body is too off- too stretched at the limbs and compressed at the torso. You canât remember if he looked like this all those nights ago.
âI know you told me to get out but I needed some stuff.â His voice rushes at the end, and he shifts his weight, tightening his hands around the clothes and pulling it close to his body. You watch as their clothes and other items fall into a hole, and fall in a crumpled pile near the door. You turn back to look at him. âI meant to do that,â he says weakly. He clears his throat, and stands taller. âIâm allowed to come in here and get my stuff. Okay? Thatâs fair.â The holes swirl around, thin black lines that wrap around the edge of the circle, smaller, black dots that linger around the bigger holes. You turn your head, tears still making their way down over the curve of your face. âBut um, are you okay?â He connects his hands, and fiddles with his fingers, and you can picture who he was before.
Even after everything, he still asks if youâre okay. He does the one thing that you didnât do for him.
You should tell him no. You should be honest. Itâs not as if lying will do any good, especially at this state. Your face is wet, and youâve cried. In the corner of your eye, you see your former partner stand and tilt their head, trying to get a better look at you.
Looking at him hurts in a way that it hadnât before. âIâm sorry,â you say in a quiet voice. He doesnât respond. âIâm so sorry,â you repeat, lowering your head. âIâm really sorry.â You cry, hiding your face in your hands once more. âIâm so sorry,â you wail, gasping for breath. Your shoulders shake, and your chest hurts. âIâm sorry, Jonathan,â you say as you gasp for breaths.
He stays silent, and you hope that for his sake, he left you. You hope that heâs the one who gets to leave.
Only quivering breaths that are coupled with a flushed face and teary eyes are the remnants that you mourned. Faintly, you remember a time where he held you, where he came home to find you crying, and how he raised over still in his work attire to hold you and rock you to sleep. You blink rapidly to rid yourself of that memory.
He sits beside you, and heâs made sure to keep his distance, perched on the other side of the couch. He turns to you, and your tissues crumble and drop to the carpet. âYou look nice,â he compliments. âI always liked that color on you,â he mumbles, looking away.
You nod. âI went on a date.â Bile burns your throat at the admission.
âOh.â Jonathan pats his thighs, and his nails claw, the spots seemingly swimming away from his touch. âLucky guy.â He pauses, and clearing his throat, he turns to you. âHow did it go?â He asks slowly.
âI didnât like the guy.â Your shoulders slump, and tears prick your eyes once more. âUm-â your voice cracks, and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand jump, reaching over to comfort you, before having to pull himself back. âHe was nice. But I wasnât-â You stop yourself. You werenât what? You werenât ready? After all this time, after the break-up that you initiated, you werenât ready to put yourself back out there. You werenât feeling the date because it wasnât what you wanted? You didnât want him. You wanted- You clear your throat. âI donât think Iâm going to see him again,â you mumble. You cast a glance over to where he watches you, the hole where his face should be, spiraling and growing smaller under your gaze. âHave you been seeing anyone?â
He snorts despite the lack of features. âPeople arenât really fond of my new look.â You wince and turn back to look at the floor. âBut itâs fine.â
âHow have you been?â You grab at another tissue, folding it into little squares.
âWell you know me, Iâve just been here and there. Messing with my holes and stuff.â You give a small smile, turning your head to look at him. âMoneyâs been a bit tight, but-â he lifts his hand in the air, doing a see-saw motion with it- âEh. What can you do, ya know?â You force yourself to look at a small cluster of spots that have congregated at his shoulder. He turns to look at you, and when noticing where your eyes have landed, he covers the spot almost self-consciously. âAnd you? How have you been?â
You give a shrug. âMy boss has been a bit of a dick as of late,â you mutter.
âThe one with the mole?â
Your smile brightens up a bit. âYeah, that one.â You look to the side, and back to him. âCut my hours after I asked for a day off.â The tissue in your hand tears. âI probably should quit.â You tear the tissues into strips, letting them fall to the floor. Youâll worry about the mess later. âBut after the lack of hours and the rent, I really canât afford that.â
Jonathan stays silent for a moment. âYou think youâll be okay?â You give another shrug as your answer, and when you donât elaborate, he presses on. âI have some money saved up. I wouldnât mind- itâs you, you know. I know-â His offer only makes the tears start up once again, and he stops.
You take in a quivering breath, and rub at your eyes. âYou shouldnât,â you mumble. âIâll figure it out.â You look away from him. âPlus, Iâm sure you got your own things going on. Um-â you turn back to him- âwhere are you living?â You hope he gives you an address. You hope he has an address to give.
âTurns out, when you work for seedy people, they know even seedier people.â He doesnât offer anything more than that.
Silence befalls the both of you. You should say something. You should close the gap between you. You should do anything.
Your hand slides beside you, reaching out, and you see his spot, lower itself, acting as his eyes, lowering his gaze to watch you. Sucking in your bottom lip, you turn your head. Your nails claw at the couch.
This is wrong. You shouldnât do this to him. He deserves better than what you can give him. You havenât even gotten over your trypophobia. But you still want to kiss him. You want to reach over and hold him, and beg to be forgiven. You want to cling to him like you used to after a long day. You want to kiss him, and hold his hand.
To whoever is listening to you, you plead for him to reach over. You want him to take another leap of faith and beg for you. You want him to need you as bad as you need him. The box of tissues becomes blurred, and your cheeks are wet.
âI should go.â The silence is broken, and you watch as he stands. His spots seem to drag, weighted at the bottom and stretching as he walks further away from you. âI think I got most of my stuff.â
The hole is his stomach bubbles around the rim, the circle wavy and imperfect. You rise with him, and he stands so much taller than he did before. âDo you want to borrow a tote bag or something?â He tilts his head at the offer. âItâs just that when you hold onto things, it um- it looks like they fall into you. I thought a tote bag would make it easier to carry,â your words trail off, softer and softer by the syllable.
âIâd appreciate that,â he replies.
You nod your head and rush to your room, grabbing at a tote bag from the closet, holding and running your thumb over the stitched handles. Heâs going to borrow it. You bring the handle close to you, and press your lips softly against it.
When you walk back to the living, he stands at the end table, holding a photo frame of the two of you on an early date from what seems like a lifetime ago. You let your gaze linger on him, and when he turns, you scurry to the door, grabbing at his clothes and items, placing them delicately in the bag. You take your time to make sure everything is neat.
He meets you halfway across the room, and when you hand the bag over, he makes sure to hold the bag above your hands. His pinky touches briefly against your index. You clench your jaw, and try not to look at him.
âThank you.â He pulls the bag close to him, and you give a curt nod.
âAnytime,â you answer.
Turning on his heel, he walks further from you, and he stops. âIâm going to use the bathroom. I donât want you to see what Iâm going to do.â You want to see. You want to get desensitized. âIt wonât be long, I promise. Iâll be out of your way soon.â
âJonathan?â You ask, tears springing to your eyes once more.
âYeah?â
âI-â You need to apologize to him. You need to tell him that youâre sorry. You need to tell him that you miss him. You need him. âYou can- You can always drop by if you need something.â
He visibly deflates. âOh. Yeah- cool. Um, Thanks.â
All he has to do is say that he wants you. He needs to just say it, to ask one more time- thatâs all he has to do. You canât do it. Not when you broke his heart, not when youâre unsure about where you stand in his life and his wants.
He just has to look back, and youâd tell him that you need him. Youâd kiss him, again and again. Youâd plead for him to stay. Youâd get over your dumb fear, and youâd be happy with him. He takes another step away from you, and you need for him to hear your heart beat against your ribs in an attempt to bully itself out of you. You need for him to stand there for a second longer, to watch and look at the lines that wrap around his body, and the holes that sift and move. Youâd get over it, all for him.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Heâs walking further away from you. He grabs at his body and pulls out a spot. Your stomach churns at the thought. Over the sound of cars and life, he needs to hear your heart break. He needs to understand that you need him the way that you need air. Youâd die without him. Youâd let yourself suffer. You stand, and lift your hand up, wanting to reach out for him.
Turn around.
Please.
Turn around.
Thatâs all he has to do. Nothing more. He doesnât have to be someone else. Heâs yours. Heâs already himself.
The door to your bathroom closes, and you suck in a breath, tears springing to flood. âJonathan,â you croak out, finally, and you rush to open the door to the bathroom, and when you do, he isnât there.
You rush to your bedroom, and move the pillows, and you cling to the one shirt that he missed. The one that you hide underneath your pillows. The one that no longer smells like him, but still belongs to him. With all your might, you wish that he would return, but your prayers remain unanswered. Instead, you sit alone in a bedroom, clutching a shirt that no longer belongs to you. A shirt that has no owner. A shirt that is all that remains of someone who you need.
To the lovely anon who sent this idea I present to you...
Spider!reader flirting with Johnathan Ohnn

You were doing your usual routine. Check around the city to make sure no suspicious activity was going on and then stop by a gas station to get something to munch on.
When it seemed like almost all of the city was clear and crime was put to rest for the moment you stopped by the closest gas station. You walked inside and decide to grab a slice of pizza. Then you heard a bunch of racket coming from the back.
Your spider senses tingled like something bad was about to happen. You readied yourself and crept closer to the noise. When you looked down the aisle the sight made you stop in your tracks.
There was a man trying to get an ATM in a black hole. You snorted and a smile graced your lips. "Hey there handsome what are you trying to do?" You say and lean on the shelf. He immediately jumps and turns around. You can see what he looks like more clearly now. He is all white with black spots everywhere, there is a big black one in the center of his face. It seems to shrink and it hides behind the sunglasses he is wearing.
"So do you have a name love?" You say and glance at him up and down. He seems nervous by the way his hands fidget. He stammers before speaking "I am the Spot" he takes off the sunglasses and jacket revealing all of himself.
You bite your cheek to contain your laugh. You stay quiet for a while making him grow anxious. "Oh? And how'd you turn out like this hun? If it was a mad scientist please point me the way to where they are so I can thank them for making you look so cute" you stand up fully and walk closer.
"Y'know just cause you look like that doesn't mean you have to be a villain cutie. You can get a regular job I've seen it happen" The Spot stays quiet for a while and stared at you. It seems all the nicknames are still processing in his mind. He clears his throat and if he could blush he'd be red as blood.
He awkwardly rings his hands together and stands up fully. "I am the Spot and you will take me serious" he tries to make his voice a little deeper and louder but fails miserably. You let out a short laugh and cover you mouth with your hand. You place hand on your hip and tilt your head to the side a bit. "Ok ok handsome whatever you want.." you purr the last part
You then shoot webs at him but he quickly opens a hole and falls through. The webs land on the wall and you see him behind you. "Aww I missed" you turn around and shoot at him again but runs out and opens up another hole. You watching in amusement as he struggles.
You sling around and watch ashe tires to escape but you keep catching up. "You need some help love? Y'know not to brag but I haven't had any complaints" He stutters and falls through the black hole and lands on a rooftop. You sling over and land on top right next to him. He struggles to get up and you web his hands and legs down.
"You look so much better like this all helpless and pathetic really gets someone going" you lightly thrust your hips "But I won't do anything you don't want of course" you look down at his still form. "You babe?" You ask and he seems to be speechless. "Well Ill leave you here for the authorities to get. Call me if you need some stress relief" you wink and jump off the roof and continue doing your regular duties. Leaving poor Jonathan flustered and confused and a little horny.

Request from my brother