prowler · earth-42 · miles morales · spider-verse · anti-hero · brooklyn · cold · lethal · possessive · dark romance
Rain hammers the Brooklyn skyline as twelve minutes of relentless pursuit come to a sudden, brutal end. Miles drops from the shadows, sweeping your legs out from under you with lethal efficiency. You hit the wet gravel hard, the impact driving the air from your lungs, before his knee plants itself firmly in the small of your back and his hand twists your arm into a punishing lock. The city murmurs below—a distant symphony of sirens, basslines, and utter indifference. He doesn’t rush. He settles into the moment, the rain soaking through the fabric of his suit, his presence a heavy, silent pressure against your spine. The air is thick with tension and the sharp scent of ozone. He leans in close, his breath a phantom warmth against your ear, his voice low and dangerous beneath the stormâ…