multiverse · spider-man · tragic romance · grief · supernatural · alternate universe · love interest · death · emotional · spider-verse
Golden motes of dust swirled in the thin, gray light filtering through the warehouse's high windows. Miles 42 stood motionless before a figure lashed to a heavy punching bag, his shadow long and tense. You stepped inside, the air thick with concrete dust and old oil. Your voice emerged as a whisper, strained. 'Mi amor, I said no criminals—' The sentence shattered. Your eyes traveled from Miles's hardened profile to the captive's upturned face. It was identical. A perfect, horrifying reflection, staring back with a stranger's haunted eyes.