Mao

Everything had started much earlier, in a house where conversations about missions were as normal as talking about the weather, and where you learned that observing would always be more important than reacting.

Your parents were always proud to belong to S.H.I.E.L.D. They believed that, with their knowledge and skills, they were contributing to making the world a better place. Because, in theory, that was how it was.

But when the agency fractured under the weight of corruption and HYDRA's infiltration, your parents' work ceased to make sense. Three years later, that same spirit to find answers and do the right thing ended up costing them their lives.

You were left adrift, under the care of the State until you reached adulthood. Then the blip happened. And now, six years later, you worked the same way they had, clinging to the hope that, maybe, the world could still be a little less fucked up.

The problem was your teammates; who had lost that hope long ago and, furthermore, had actively contributed to making the world the fucked up place it was now.

They were a rather peculiar collection of people. You knew that, of all of them, perhaps the least terrifying was Bob. Although, from the stories the others told, if you had known his other side you probably wouldn't think the same.

You were a strategist, so you always believed your place was behind the scenes. However, you soon discovered that, for a plan to succeed, you needed more than just giving instructions through a communicator. Especially considering the team you were working with.

One way or another, everyone had something to teach you. Little by little you learned to shoot, to fight, and, only when strictly necessary, to kill. That last one was always your last option.

A priority that seemed unshakeable, until Spiderman started crossing your path.

You had met him during a mission with John. You had spent weeks tracking a small criminal group that Yelena considered "small potatoes." However, you insisted that, if they didn't stop them right then, sooner or later they would end up becoming a bigger problem.

The operation consisted of intercepting a weapons transaction before the merchandise left the building. While Walker guarded the only escape route, you had to disable the security cameras, block communications, and give the signal to enter when all the buyers were gathered. No gunshots, no chases, and, if everything went well, no casualties.

What you didn't expect that night was for a red and blue blur to burst through the building's window, ruining any attempt to follow the plan.

You had seen him countless times on the news and knew the city adored him. No headline questioned his work as a hero —something that did happen constantly with your teammates and, by extension, with you—. He was always recognized for his bravery, his ingenuity, and his ability to save the day.

The problem was that, at that precise moment, you didn't need the friendly neighborhood guy. You needed him to stop ruining a perfectly planned operation.

In the end, the target was captured and the mission was a success. The credit, of course, went to Spiderman.

On the way to the tower, Walker asked you why it bothered you so much, if in the end they had gotten exactly what they wanted.

What Walker didn't understand was that the problem had never been the outcome. What was truly unbearable was knowing that the masked kid had ruined what would have been an impeccable operation. He was chaotic. And chaos was not tolerable to you.

When you told Bucky what happened, he made sure to remind you that that hadn't been your first encounter with the arachnid; or, at least, the first time your paths had crossed. Spiderman had fought on Tony Stark's side during the events related to the Sokovia Accords, the same time Steve had turned to you for help. After all, he knew your parents and —it went without saying— held a special affection for them. He confessed to you that he hoped you possessed the same brilliance they did.

While you had provided him with the strategy to advance their mission without being detected by the government, that kid had fought against him on the battlefield. What for you had been nothing more than a consultation, for him had become an experience that would mark his life. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. And, as if that weren't enough, your rejection of Spiderman only increased.

Soon, it turned out that the arachnid wished to maintain communication with the team of self-proclaimed "new Avengers." Yelena was in charge of doing so, luckily, because if it had been up to you, you wouldn't have accepted a single one of his meetings.

Sometimes you were forced to work with him, although you had never openly mentioned that you didn't completely like him. Some suspected it, because of the expression you made every time someone mentioned him or your refusals to ask him for help with anything minor.

Almost a month after your first encounter with him, another case appeared on your desk.

It didn't come from a mission assigned by Valentina nor was it among the team's priorities. It was a police report that someone had filed as a simple attempted robbery: a group of armed men had broken into a small convenience store in southern Brooklyn, taking a safe and disappearing before the authorities arrived.

Nobody seemed interested in investigating it. Yelena barely gave the file a glance.

“Not worth it. We have more important things,” she had said.

Maybe for her, but you had been studying criminal organizations long enough to recognize a pattern when you saw one. Those men had acted with too much precision to be improvised criminals. Furthermore, one of the faces captured by a security camera matched that of a buyer who had managed to escape during the operation Spiderman had ruined days ago.

It wasn't an isolated case. And you were convinced it was your duty to do something about it.

You didn't need the rest of the team, checking an address was enough to make it real.

The next forty-eight hours were spent discreetly following one of the suspects to an old commercial building. They entered and exited carrying unmarked boxes, always at different hours, always taking different routes.

To you, it looked more like a distribution point than a warehouse.

You waited until nightfall to approach, and getting inside turned out to be ridiculously simple. The lock gave way after a few seconds, with an alarm system so old that disabling it barely took you a minute.

The ease of it should have warned you, made you back off. Instead, you moved forward.

The interior was practically empty. Just a few stacked boxes and metal shelves covered in dust. You navigated the place cautiously, photographing documents and noting down serial numbers printed on several containers.

You found exactly what you were looking for. And you also understood too late why it had been so simple to get in.

When a metallic click echoed behind you, the lights came on and a voice resonated saying:

“I knew you'd come back.”

Looking up, you discovered the man who had escaped. Around him several armed figures appeared, occupying the upper walkway while as many others emerged from between the shelves.

They had used that warehouse as bait and you, stupidly, had fallen right into the trap. You sighed just a moment before reaching for your weapon, trying to hide your nerves from the men.

The first shot came even before you could say anything.

You threw yourself behind a concrete column as several bullets shattered the boxes you had just inspected. You took advantage of the brief silence to return fire, forcing two men to take cover.

You only hit one, as he uttered a scream upon taking a hit to the side.

You changed position before they could surround you and you knew your training was paying off. You knew where to position yourself, when to shoot, and when to move. You closed distances, forced the enemy to make mistakes, and made the most of every second of cover.

But there were too many of them.

You didn't realize when one had already come up from behind, and you turned just in time to dodge a blow from the butt of a rifle, responding with an elbow that made your attacker stagger. You managed to disarm him, but another man hit you in the ribs before you could recover your balance.

The air escaped your lungs, but even so you managed to fight your way to an emergency door and pushed the metal bar with all your strength.

It didn't budge at all.

Understanding that they had blocked it from the outside, you looked for another exit. However, a second later you took an impact to your vest, forcing you back several steps as pain spread through your entire chest. Once there, another shot grazed your shoulder.

It didn't take long for them to surround you –and of course they were going to, it was just you out there in the middle– until panic took hold of you. You had never thought it was reckless to go alone and now you feared it was going to cost you your life.

One pointed at you and you had no time to react.

A web attached itself to the barrel of the rifle, deflecting it toward the ceiling just as the shot echoed through the warehouse.

The gun flew out of the man's hands, while a red and blue figure descended swinging between the ceiling beams, landing with the lightness of someone who seemed to have rehearsed that movement hundreds of times.

“You know?” he commented while another web immobilized two more men “There are much healthier ways to receive visitors.”

You felt something tighten in your jaw.

No.

It couldn't be him.

Spiderman dodged a burst of gunfire with an almost insulting ease. He jumped between the shelves, used webs to disarm some, knock down others, and leave those trying to escape immobilized.

Chaotic. Unpredictable. But ridiculously efficient.

You took advantage of the distraction to get up and return to the fight. Between the two of you, you quickly reduced the rest of the group, until the warehouse was plunged into a silence interrupted only by the groans of the criminals stuck to the floor.

You were breathing heavily when he approached.

“Are you okay?”

The question sounded so natural that it almost managed to irritate you more. You looked at him for a few seconds before answering.

“I had it under control.”

Spiderman tilted his head slightly, observing the vest marked by the bullet impact and the blood slowly trickling down your arm.

“Sure.”

He paused.

“If it helps, from the outside it didn't give that impression.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Who called you?”

“Nobody.”

He answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I heard gunshots while I was patrolling.”

He wasn't following that investigation. He didn't know your operation, he didn't even know who those men were. He had simply heard that someone needed help.

And he had shown up.

You wished you were upset with him, but you couldn't be. Especially not after he had probably saved your life.

He remained there until you obtained all the information you needed. Afterward, he even offered to take you back to the tower, which you immediately refused. Still, a part of you knew, even before crossing the main door, that he had stayed close enough to make sure you arrived safe and sound. He was absurdly gentlemanly. And you hated him for that.

The days kept passing. From time to time, his figure appeared on the news or flooded social media: saving a child trapped under the rubble of a building, thwarting a robbery on the subway, helping an old man cross an avenue after an evacuation. He was always there. He always arrived on time.

You kept doing your job, but you couldn't get him out of your head.

You weren't thinking about the boy hiding his face under the mask. You were thinking about Spiderman.

Since Tony Stark's death and Captain America's disappearance, the world had ceased to have figures who seemed to belong to something larger than themselves. Sam Wilson was doing what he could to fill that void, trying to assemble a new team under Steve Rogers' legacy. However, Valentina had built hers first, and you were already part of it.

That was supposed to be the right path.

Wasn't it?

Bucky had known Steve better than anyone. If anyone understood what it meant to continue his legacy, it had to be him. So why did you keep feeling like something didn't fit?

It was enough to remember the past of each of your teammates for the contradiction to appear again. Murderers, mercenaries, spies... people trying to do good while carrying decades of mistakes. You yourself were no exception.

It was frustrating.

And then you went back to Spiderman.

He didn't need to belong to any team. He didn't answer to anyone, he didn't wait for orders or permission. He simply saw someone in danger and acted. While the rest argued over governments, jurisdictions, or who had the right to call themselves an Avenger, he kept roaming New York, saving one life after another without asking for recognition.

That was what hurt you the most to admit. Because he was exactly the kind of hero you had always wanted to be. And, instead, the last time you tried to do something on your own, you had ended up needing Spiderman to rescue you.

You hadn't even been capable of completing a simple reconnaissance mission without turning into someone who needed to be saved.

The feeling was unbearable.

You felt... small. Pathetic.

That night, unable to fall asleep, you ended up wandering around the tower. The balcony was one of the few places where silence still existed. You liked to imagine that, years ago, Captain America had also stopped there, observing the city with the same weight on his shoulders. Maybe wondering, just like you now, if wanting to do the right thing would ever be enough.

It was then that a noise alerted you. It had been barely noticeable, but for a trained —and sharp— ear like yours, it was enough. The first thing you thought of was Bob.

Maybe he had another nightmare. Maybe something had gone wrong.

However, you discarded the idea almost instantly. Bob was incapable of moving discreetly. He tried to, yes, but he ended up tripping over anything or announcing his presence before even entering a room. Getting scared easily had that effect on him.

Then, who?

You frowned.

The tower was practically empty. The rest of the team had left hours ago and you had stayed behind as support in case Bob needed anything. There was no one else who should be there.

That only left one possibility. An intruder.

Out of pure instinct you reached a hand to your waist, searching for a weapon that you knew perfectly well wasn't there. You had gone out to the balcony convinced it would only be a few minutes; you hadn't considered it necessary to carry one. You were at home, why the hell would you walk around with a gun in your own building?

You took a deep breath and advanced slowly, making sure not to make noise. If whoever had entered didn't expect to run into anyone, you still held the element of surprise. And if they also didn't know how to fight...

Well, you would have a chance.

As soon as you turned the corner, two familiar colors appeared in front of you: red and blue.

You closed your eyes for a second and let out your breath in a sigh heavy with annoyance.

Of course it was him.

“What are you doing here?”

Spiderman gave a small start upon hearing your voice.

“Oh! I'm sorry, I...” he raised both hands immediately, as if he had just been caught doing something wrong “I didn't expect to find anyone.”

He pointed inside the tower with his thumb.

“I was looking for Agent Belova.”

“Yelena?”

He nodded.

“She's not here,” you explained, regaining your composure “In fact, nobody is. They went out on a mission.”

Wishing that he wouldn't underestimate you or believe, for a moment, that they hadn't wanted to bring you along, you added:

“I stayed behind to keep Bob company.”

For a moment, Spiderman remained completely motionless.

Although the mask hid his expression, there was something in the way he slightly lowered his shoulders and averted his gaze that conveyed a silent apology. It was evident that he hadn't wanted to barge in that way, much less startle you.

“It's just… I need help with something and I thought she could help me.”

“Well, she's not here. Call her when she gets back.”

He let out a brief laugh, more out of nerves than amusement.

“Yeah... that's what I was planning to do.”

He kept quiet for a moment, as if he were deciding whether to say something else or simply leave.

He ended up doing the former.

“It's just... I've been following a group for a couple of days that has been stealing tech equipment. Nothing especially eye-catching separately, but when you put all the robberies together... they start to look too specific.”

He reached a hand into one of the compartments on his belt and pulled out a small metallic device, the size of a USB drive.

He held it between two fingers.

“This dropped during the chase of one of them. I thought it might tell me something, but I haven't been able to figure out what it is.”

You observed it for barely a second. You didn't recognize the device.

“And what does that have to do with us?”

He scratched the back of his neck over the mask.

“Well, I thought that… Yelena would know how to identify weapons, military tech, and stuff like that. Or that there would be something in the databases.”

You couldn't argue with that logic.

“Besides,” he continued “I was told that before forming this team she did a lot of intelligence work. I thought maybe she could help me figure out who is behind it.”

He slowly lowered his hand.

“But if she's not here, I'll find another way.”

He took half a step toward the edge of the balcony, ready to leave. You noticed by the way he slightly flexed his legs, preparing to shoot a web.

You could have let him leave without any problem because, at the end of the day, you didn't even care about helping him. But a part of you felt that it wasn't the right thing to do.

One always had to do the right thing.

“Wait,” you murmured, before he left “Let me see that.”

In barely two strides he came back to you and placed the device on your hand.

You turned it over a couple of times between your fingers. It had no visible markings, no serial number, no inscription.

“I don't know what it is.”

Spiderman nodded with barely perceptible disappointment.

“But we can investigate it.”

“Really?”

“Inside. We have analysis labs, databases, and reconnaissance equipment that are considerably more advanced than any home computer… or whatever it is you use.”

There was a brief silence.

“Come.”

You led him into the building. The balcony doors closed automatically behind you both, and the silence of the night was replaced by the constant hum of the electrical systems.

Spiderman walked a few steps behind you, discreetly looking at every corner.

The lobby was immense. Glass panels lined the walls; several screens remained on displaying maps, satellite readings, and real-time reports. Even at those hours, the tower seemed to keep functioning as if it never slept.

“Wow...”

His voice came out almost as a whisper, genuinely impressed by how imposing the inside of the tower was. You wondered if he had ever been inside during its prime, that of the original Avengers, but you doubted it.

You led him to an analysis room located several hallways further ahead, where the doors opened upon recognizing your ID.

The lab was practically empty.

In the center rested a huge interactive glass table. Several holographic screens remained suspended above it, while different analysis modules surrounded the room.

Spiderman stood motionless as soon as he crossed the door. He slowly turned his head from one station to another.

“All of this is… next level, right?”

You smiled faintly to yourself. It was impossible not to notice the genuine awe with which he observed every piece of equipment.

There was no ambition in his voice, nor greed. Just curiosity.

You approached the main console and activated the interface, making the room come alive immediately.

You asked him to put the device in one of the slots and a few seconds later, the scanner began to slowly move across the surface of the object.

As the system initiated the analysis, you crossed your arms.

“Don't get used to it. I'm only helping you this time.”

His white lenses narrowed slightly, as if trying to interpret the reason.

“Why?”

You looked at him directly.

“Because you helped me last time.”

You paused briefly.

“Consider it a settled debt.”

Spiderman remained silent for a few seconds. Then he tilted his head slightly.

“I don't… think we were in debt. I didn't do it for that, really.”

“I know,” you admitted.

Silence settled between the two of you again. He didn't press.

He simply watched as the screens began to display the first results, understanding that, behind that distant attitude, there was a person incapable of ignoring someone in need of help. Even if she wasn't ready to admit it yet.

When it was all over, you told him you hoped the information would be useful to him and he thanked you before leaving.

A few days later he returned to the tower, but this time, he wasn't looking for Yelena, but for you. He told you that thanks to the information he had managed to discover the origin of the robberies; it was an altered weapons trafficking network. He managed to dismantle it thanks to the lead he had.

It surprised you that he had decided to tell you about it, as if the trouble of using the machines ought to be rewarded with good news. You accompanied him to the balcony and as you watched him swinging through the city, you promised yourself it would be the only time you were going to do him a favor.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

He appeared more often than you wished on the tower balcony to ask you endless questions and request that you investigate something for him. It was almost always minor things, something that would only help him take the necessary step or find an adequate starting point for his investigation.

The news was right about something: New York was safer thanks to him.

When you got fed up with being surprised at the window of your room in the complex or having to go to the balcony to meet him, you told him he could have your number. Only in case of emergencies.

Thus, you ended up getting calls at least once a week from the vigilante from Queens.

“But it makes no sense,” you heard him say, on the other end of the line.

You were leaning against the kitchen island resting, after having handled off-the-record matters assigned by Valentina.

His voice came through broken up by the wind. You didn't need to ask him where he was to imagine him swinging between buildings with the phone held between his shoulder and his mask.

“What makes no sense?”

“Last week we dismantled a substance trafficking network. Today I found another one. Two days ago I stopped a robbery in Queens and, while I was taking the guy to the police, I received three more alerts. It's like the city always finds a way to fill the gaps.”

You remained silent for a few seconds before answering.

“That's crime for you,” you admitted bitterly.

If he had been in front of you, he would have seen you press your lips together and shrug. You heard a sigh on the other end of the line.

“I guess I hoped that, over time, things would get better.”

“Do you think they haven't gotten better?” you asked, almost offended.

It took him a moment to answer.

“I don't know.”

“Well then you're dumber than I thought.”

“Do you think I'm dumb?”

“Naive would be a better adjective.”

The silence that followed was brief, but different. It wasn't uncomfortable; it sounded more like someone thinking while traversing the city.

“The city is safer,” you assured him “Even if you don't believe it.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“Because the numbers say so. The news too. I thought you watched it... especially since lately they won't stop talking about you.”

The kid let out a low laugh.

“I try not to read much of what they say about Spiderman.”

“Why?”

“Because one day I'm the neighborhood hero and the next, responsible for all of Manhattan's problems.”

The conversation seemed to remain suspended after that. You stood looking at an indefinite point in front of you, with the phone pressed against your ear, while the distant noise of the city formed an indistinguishable murmur.

On the other end of the line, he waited. First one second. Then two. He didn't push; he thought you were simply thinking of a response. But the silence stretched long enough for it to stop seeming like a natural pause.

The only thing he could hear was your breathing.

“Are you okay?”

You frowned slightly.

“Why?”

“You sound weird.”

You let out a nasal laugh.

“Great. Now you can tell how I am by the way I talk?”

“And how do you know I'm not spying on you through the window?”

By reflex you turned your head toward the huge kitchen window. The city was still there, immense, illuminated, and completely empty.

Then you heard his laugh.

“You turned around, didn't you?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You're a dummy.”

“But you did turn around.”

You shook your head, surprised to have let yourself be fooled so easily. Why had he made you smile?

“But seriously, is something wrong?”

The smile faded bit by bit. You rested a hand on the kitchen counter, debating whether you should tell him what was bothering you or not.

“Today I was in a meeting,” you began.

A part of you expected him to interrupt you, but since he didn't, you continued.

“There were people arguing for hours over who had the authority to intervene in a situation that's been getting worse for weeks. In the end they resolved nothing. They only agreed to meet again.”

He kept silent.

“And while they talk about jurisdictions, permits, and diplomatic consequences… someone else ends up doing the job.”

You weren't going to admit it out loud, but both of you knew exactly who you were referring to. Silence returned. You paid attention, almost out of habit, and noticed how the wind disappeared on the other side of the call.

“I'm starting to think the world spends more time discussing problems than solving them.”

Spiderman's breathing became more steady, closer. He had stopped moving. You imagined he had just landed on the roof of his building and that, for the first time since you had started talking, all his attention was on you.

“Sometimes I don't know if it's worth it.”

This time his response came almost immediately.

“You don't want to be in the new Avengers?”

“What? No! I didn't mean that. Of course I want to be there. But...” you let the air out slowly, searching for the right words “sometimes it's frustrating to want to do something and discover that, no matter how hard you try, you simply can't.”

He remained quiet for a few seconds. This time he didn't try to contradict you or offer an immediate solution.

Silence settled back in, although it no longer felt so heavy.

“Well… there's always space on my team.”

You smiled involuntarily.

“Spiderman works in a team?”

“I could start doing so.”

You raised an eyebrow, even though he couldn't see it.

“What a terrible way to recruit people.”

“I don't have much experience.”

A laugh escaped from both of you, small, genuine.

For the first time since you had answered the call, the conversation no longer revolved around a case or an investigation. You were simply talking and, honestly, neither of you seemed to be in a hurry to hang up.

“Did you get home?”

“Just now. Honestly, I hope no emergency pulls me out of bed. I'm exhausted.”

You smiled faintly.

“Crime doesn't rest. But you should.”

“I'll try.”

Thinking that there was nothing left to discuss, you sighed:

“Good night, Spiderman.”

“Good night.”

He made a brief pause before adding:

“I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

You frowned slightly.

“Thank you.”

The call ended a few seconds later.

You would have never thought you'd end up swinging through the city in Spiderman's arms. In fact, if someone had told you a few weeks ago —a few months, actually— you probably would have thought it was one of the most absurd ideas you had ever heard.

And yet, there you were.

Your arms were around his shoulders while the lights of New York passed beneath your feet, trying to ignore how un-normal the situation was.

Spiderman always called you when he needed a favor. A clue, a location, an answer that only you could find. That night had been different: this time it was you who had called him.

You had hesitated before dialing his number. Not because you didn't trust him, but because asking for help had never been easy for you. You were used to solving things alone.

A tracking device had disappeared during an operation and the last signal located it inside an abandoned building in an industrial zone. It wasn't something that justified mobilizing an entire team, but you couldn't simply go in either without knowing what you would find. There were too many variables and very little information.

Spiderman had agreed to help you without thinking twice about it.

You had spent the last hour following the signal, checking the place, and making sure no one else was using the building as a meeting point. In the end, it turned out to be less complicated than expected: the device was hidden among abandoned equipment in one of the upper rooms and it had only been impossible to retrieve because the structure was unstable.

When you finished, the tension of the mission vanished almost at once.

That was when you mentioned that you were dying for a burger. It hadn't been a request or an invitation, just a comment after a day that was far too long. But Spiderman seemed to have taken it as a new task.

“Is it much further? I feel like you're going to drop me any second.”

“I would never,” he assured you, letting out a laugh.

In reality, his grip was quite strong. You had never noticed how muscular he was. Of course you knew Spiderman possessed extraordinary strength; you had seen him stop blows capable of knocking down walls and carry objects no normal person could move. But there was a difference between observing him from a distance and feeling the security with which he held you while crossing the city.

After a few more minutes of swinging between buildings, he finally slowed down. The city lights stopped moving so fast around you until you landed on the roof of a building.

Although Spiderman tried to go unnoticed, it wasn't exactly easy to ignore someone in a brightly colored suit coming in to eat a burger. So he had bought takeout from a nearby place and had decided a rooftop was the best alternative.

Apparently, after so many years traversing the city that way, he also knew which ones had the best views.

“Before being Spiderman, were you afraid of heights?” you asked with apparent indifference.

As you spoke, you walked along the narrow edge of the roof with your arms slightly spread from your body to keep your balance. Every step was deliberate, almost playful, as if you enjoyed testing your stability. Spiderman, on the other hand, didn't take his eyes off you for a second.

“No... but now you're making me nervous. Do you want to get down from there?”

You smiled sideways, amused by the change in his tone.

“Seriously? Would you let me fall?”

“No,” he answered immediately.

You didn't even notice when he had closed the distance between you. You only realized it when his hand found your arm and held it with a delicacy that contrasted with the urgency of his movement.

“But I don't want that to happen either.”

You couldn't see his eyes behind the mask. Even so, there was something in the way he stood in front of you, with a firm hand on your arm and his body prepared to support you if necessary, that made you lose part of that carefree confidence.

Without saying anything else, you stepped down from the edge of the roof. He didn't loosen his grip until both of you had your feet on solid ground.

“So then?”

“So then what?”

“Were you afraid of heights?”

“No,” he confessed “But I was of spiders.”

“You're kidding.”

“I'm serious,” he laughed. He was already moving some boxes so you could sit down “Great irony, right?”

“That's a lie. You're saying it to annoy me,” you murmured, still incredulous.

He made a polite gesture to you, as if giving you passage to a chair of honor, and you took a seat. He did the same and then handed you the food bag, where there were two plain burgers and an order of french fries.

As soon as you had it, you took a bite of yours. The silence that settled between both of you was comfortable; it was only accompanied by the distant rumor of traffic and the occasional sound of paper wrapping the food.

After a few seconds, he turned his head slightly toward you.

“Where did you learn everything you know?”

“About what?”

“Well, about everything. You know, your… agent skills.”

The gesture he made brought a laugh out of you. He seemed to point at all of you with his hand.

“From my parents. They were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, before the organization was dismantled.”

He let out a whistle of surprise.

“Really? How cool.”

You pulled the other burger out of the bag and offered it to him. He took it with a gesture of gratitude.

“What about yours? What did they do?”

“They died when I was a kid. Almost my whole life I lived with my aunt and uncle.”

You lowered your gaze.

“Oh... I'm sorry.”

He brushed it off with a small movement of his shoulders.

“It's okay. It wasn't your fault.”

You took another bite of the burger before speaking again.

“You know? It's really strange...”

He waited for you to finish the thought.

“There's so little I know about you.”

“That's supposed to be the idea of having a secret identity.”

You smiled.

“Fair enough. Then I'll ask normal questions.”

Spiderman tilted his head slightly, amused.

“What's your favorite movie?”

He thought for a few seconds.

“I don't have just one. I like the ones about space.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Have you been there?”

“Yeah. A while ago.”

He said it so naturally that it took you a second to process it.

Of course. The Avengers. The originals.

“What food can't you stand?”

“Avocado. I hate the texture. And I don't like jello either.”

You smiled before throwing out the next question.

“Who did you vote for in the last election?”

He let out a laugh.

“I wasn't old enough to vote.”

You frowned.

“What do you mean you weren't old enough?”

“Yeah. It was four years ago.”

You froze for a few seconds.

Something didn't add up.

You turned your body to look at him better.

“Wait... how old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

He made a brief pause before adding:

“Well... I'd be a few years older, but you know... the blip thing.”

You stared at him intently. The information took an instant to settle in your head.

Twenty-two.

Spiderman was twenty-two years old.

You had never thought about it. He had always seemed... older. Not because of his appearance —you didn't even know his face—, but because of the way he spoke, because of the responsibility he carried on his shoulders, because of the way he faced every situation as if he had been doing it for years.

He tilted his head.

“What?”

You blinked.

“It's just... I never imagined you were my age.”

He burst out laughing.

“And how old did you think I was?”

You thought about it for a moment.

“I don't know... thirty?”

“Thirty?!”

He let out a loud laugh.

“Of course not! Why would you think that?”

You shrugged, unable to justify it.

“I don't know... you just... give off that impression.”

Since you had started talking, he hadn't touched his food. When he unwrapped the burger you saw him lift his mask just a little bit to take a bite.

“You never take it off, do you?”

“Hm-hm,” he hummed.

You took a moment to observe him or, at least, what little he was revealing. He was Caucasian and, apparently, had brown hair.

“Did your curiosity run out?”

“What's your favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Yeah, well, that one wasn't that hard.”

You kept quiet, thinking of another question.

“Hmm, what do you love most in life?”

“Helping others. A person very important to me used to say that: when you help someone, you help everyone. And I think that's what makes me get up every day. Thinking that… maybe I can help make the world a better place.”

You stayed quiet for a second. You had never stopped to think that, just maybe, Spiderman and you weren't so different. You both wanted to do something good in life and, somehow, you were doing it. He had never done anything to you, all that rejection you had felt at the beginning stemmed from a childish spat that he wasn't even aware of.

He was a good person.

“That's the answer expected of a superhero.”

“I also have other passions, I must confess. I really like science, I like technology, legos…”

“Legos? Spiderman, you're a total nerd.”

You couldn't help letting out a soft laugh while turning your face slightly to look at him. He also tilted his head toward you.

“What about you? Did you always dream of being part of the Avengers?”

You felt the title was too big for you. In reality, you were nothing like the idea you had of what an Avenger should be. And yet, Spiderman recognized you as one.

“I just wanted to be like my parents. I wanted… to do something good for the world. Maybe not fix it, but help.”

His mask was still lifted to the level of his nose and, for the first time, you saw his smile.

“One would think that's everyone's dream, right? Though it turns out it's not always like that. That's why we have work.”

You two shared a soft laugh. Not as agents, but as friends.

You searched his eyes and going down toward his lips, you realized he had a stain of ketchup. Without thinking too much about it, you stretched out a bit to wipe it off him.

Upon feeling your hand touching his skin he flinched, but as soon as he understood your intentions, his shoulders relaxed.

“Is Spiderman afraid of being touched?”

“Of course not,” he huffed, clearly nervous.

Or uncomfortable, you couldn't figure it out.

“It's just… I didn't expect it.”

“That someone would wipe a stain off your face?”

“That someone would invade my personal space with so much confidence.”

You observed him for a few seconds, pretending to analyze him.

“I thought a New York hero would be more used to attention.”

“It depends on who it comes from.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“There are people who make me more nervous than stopping a robbery.”

A mischievous smile appeared on your lips.

“And which category do I fall into?”

He took a second longer than necessary to answer.

“I'm not going to answer that.”

“How convenient.”

“It's self-preservation.”

“So I do make you nervous.”

“That's not what I said.”

“But you didn't deny it either.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You're impossible.”

Having annoyed him made you laugh and, for a second, you forgot who he was. You weren't with the hero of New York, he was just a twenty-two-year-old guy whose name you didn't even know, but with whom you shared a moral mission.

You two finished eating and he swung to take you home. Soon the already familiar goodbye scene unfolded on the balcony.

“Thanks for today,” you murmured, once your feet touched the ground.

“It was nothing.”

His voice sounded sincere. He stayed on the edge, waiting for you to go through the door.

But instead of walking backward, you took a step forward.

Your feet moved on their own and when you reached him, you gave him a kiss on the cheek over the mask. You were close enough to see the blur of his eyes behind the white visors.

He looked at himself for a second, surprised by what you had just done. Then, on an impulse that not even you managed to question, you raised your hands to the edge of his mask.

He instantly tensed up.

“Wait...”

His fingers moved by reflex, as if they were going to stop you, but they remained suspended halfway.

“Relax,” you murmured right away, without taking your eyes off him.

He remained completely motionless, watching you in silence, trusting you, even though evident nervousness ran through his whole body. With extreme slowness, you lifted the fabric just enough to reveal his lips.

Your eyes searched for his through the mask, expecting to find a refusal, a gesture of discomfort, or any sign that would make you stop, but there was nothing. Only his Adam's apple moving up and down in a clear sign of anticipation.

You closed the minimal distance that still separated you both and brushed his lips with yours. It wasn't a long or passionate kiss. Barely a brief, soft contact, almost a question. But he responded.

With his lips still revealed, you stayed watching him for a few more seconds.

“What color are your eyes?”

It took him an instant to answer.

“Brown.”

“Mmm...”

You hummed with a small smile, as if you had just discovered a fascinating piece of information.

“But a… sweet brown, right? With amber touches.”

“I guess, yeah.”

“I imagined them like that.”

He let out a low laugh, unable to understand why that simple question seemed to have left you so satisfied.

You took a step back and smiled at him.

“Good night, Spiderman.”

You gave him one last smile and began to walk away toward the door leading inside the building. You were a couple of steps from crossing it when something softly wrapped around your wrist.

With a precise tug, the web tightened and your body was pulled backward. You let out a small muffled gasp as the distance between you disappeared in an instant.

Spiderman caught you by the waist before you could collide with him.

You would have liked to have the wit to fire back anything, but you were left speechless. And he didn't say anything either. He simply leaned toward you and kissed you.

His kiss was long enough to make you forget the cold wind blowing on the roof and the distant noise of the city. When he finally pulled away, you knew you were completely blushing.

“Good night…” he said with a small smile “And, please, don't try to take off my mask again without warning.”

He covered his face again and, before you could say another word, shot a web toward the building across the street.

With a push he disappeared among the lights of New York.

You stood motionless for a few seconds, watching the place where he had gone, until an inevitable smile formed on your face. Then you went inside the building, still with the tingling of that last kiss on your lips.

As he gazed hopelessly at the city beneath him, Peter's heart ached with regret. He thought about Mj, who without a doubt had been a wonderful companion, but he couldn't deny the gnawing feeling that he had made the worst mistake of his entire life. The public facade of their relationship had added pressure and expectations that made it even more evident how you understood him in ways no one else could. Through the whole ordeal, he wanted nothing more than you by his side. Even if it was only platonic.

Determined to fix what was meant to be, Peter hesitatingly picked up his cracked phone to send you a message. He knew you had no idea who he even was anymore, but figured it was worth a try to see if you would by chance meet him in Central Park this evening. He needed to see you, he needed to try and rekindle the spark that had been lost, hoping that it existed somewhere in you.

____________________

Peter Parker from Math Class? the contact popped on your screen.

You skeptically read the message, having no recollection of your math tutor, ultimately confused as to why he would be so concerned with meeting with you this evening at Central Park.

Peter knew that your contact name for him was an inside joke, so he used it to his advantage, hoping it would convince you to actually show up.

Morbid curiosity got the better of you as you scrolled through days of texts with Peter, trying to find it in you to remember something. Anything.

____________________________________

As you arrived, your eyes reflected a mix of curiosity and confusion as you spotted Peter in front the fountain. Peter's heart raced as he saw you, realizing that despite it all, you still had an unexplainable pull on his heart. The world seemed to slow down as you approached him, and for a moment, everything else in his life faded away.

"Peter," you began, your voice filled with uncertainty, "You wanted to see me? Desperately?" you nervously chuckled trying to lighten the mood.

Peter took a deep breath, his voice trembling whilst on the verge of tears. "Y/n," he sighed. "There's something you need to know. There's a part of your life that was taken from you, a part that we shared. I made a terrible mistake, and it cost us everything. But I can't ignore the connection we had. It's something that can't be erased. Dr. Strange-"

Your gaze softened at the familiar name and you accidentally interrupted him, "I-I don't remember, but there's this feeling..." You murmured softly enough from him to still hear, "like there's something important that I lost." Your breath hitched as a familiar feeling tugged at you, unable to actually identify it.

Peter nodded excitedly, "We had something special Y/n. We were more than just friends; we were soulmates. And I believe that deep down you still feel it. I know you do Buttercup." He took your hand lovingly and held it close to his heart.

Peter's voice wavered as he continued, "I regret being with Mj, not because she wasn't amazing, but because my heart was never truly with her. I felt trapped by the expectations and the public eye. But now knowing she doesn't remember me, I feel a strange sense of relief! It gives me a chance to finally make things right, to be with the girl I was always meant to be with- you."

You took a step back while retracting your hand, your eyes welling with tears as a familiar sensation stirred deep within your chest. Peter and you, and Mj. It erupted in your soul rehashing feelings you were temporarily free from. "Peter," you trembled, "I may not remember everything but, one thing I can remember is knowing you chose Mj over me, even if I can't recall any of the details, it hurts me more than I can even begin to explain." Tears were now streaming down your cheeks.

You paused as Peter gently wiped your tears, "I've already lost so much, my dad-"

"Tony..." Peter sadly contributed.

"He gave everything to protect this world, to protect me. His death still haunts me." You winced. "And, I won't jeopardize my future by making choices that aren't right for me. As much as I want to remember and rekindle what we had, I think I need to finally stand my ground for once, and something tells me that this is the first time, in a long time I've done that."

Peter's heart sank as he saw you struggle, "Y/n, Please. I made a mistake." He sincerely said. "I didn't realize what I had until it was too late. I'm asking you to give us another chance, to start over from square one." He stroked your cheek gently. "Please." he begged.

You shook your head, unable to speak. Your heart said yes, but your lips said otherwise. "I can't, Peter." you sighed. "As much as it hurts, I can't ignore the fact that you chose her. I feel of the pain of the choice, and have this entire time. I need to protect myself. I-I need to protect myself from you."

Peter reached out, but you stepped back even further this time. "I'm sorry Peter." You cried, unable to compose yourself even slightly. "I really, really wish things were different." You took a final glance, drinking him in. "Maybe one day we'll find our way back to each other. But for now, I need to let go." You turned around, feeling regret as you began walking away.

Peter felt a wave of sorrow wash over him. He knew in that moment he had completely lost everything. As much as he hated to admit it, he understood your need to protect yourself, after everything he had put you through, Mysterio, Mj, Fighting with Dr. Strange. As he watched you walk away, he desperately hoped for some kind of miracle, anything that would point you crossing paths again.

You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. He didn't move at first—just breathed, slow and deep. Then his head tilted, the lenses focusing on you. His voice came out rough, tired.

"You okay, baby?"

You gulped, your throat suddenly dry. There was something about seeing him like this—vulnerable, half-naked, but still wearing that mask. It was intimate and surreal at the same time. His bare shoulders, the veins in his forearms, the way his chest rose and fell—it was all Peter. But the mask made him something else. Spider-Man.

You nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah. Just… long day. You?"

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through the steam. "Rough patrol. Some guys with tech I haven't seen before. Got a few bruises." He rotated his shoulder, wincing. "Figured I'd soak before you got home."

He shifted, water sloshing, and then he noticed he was still wearing his mask.

You saw the way his hand moved to the edge of the mask. "I should probably—"

"Don't." The word came out before you could stop it. You stepped closer, your fingers finding the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. Your bra followed, then your jeans, until you stood in just your panties, your skin prickling in the warm, humid air.

Peter's breath hitched. You saw the lenses track your movements, the way they dipped down your body and back up.

"You wanna join me?" he asked, his voice lower now, a little rough.

Like he even needed to ask.

You nodded, unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor. You stepped out of your panties, then climbed into the hot tub, the water enveloping you, warm and soothing against your tired muscles. You moved between his legs, settling into his lap, your thighs straddling his hips. The water sloshed around you, bubbles clinging to your skin.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath the surface. His muscles were knots of strain—patrol had been rough, and you could feel every tight fiber. You dug your thumbs into the meat of his traps, pressing deep. He groaned, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.

"Fuck… that feels good."

You worked your hands along his shoulders, across his collarbone, down the defined ridges of his pectorals. The mask stared back at you, white lenses unblinking, and you felt a thrill run through you. He was exposed to you—but hidden at the same time. You could see the tension in his jaw through the fabric, the way his lips pressed together as you worked a particularly tight knot.

His hand came up, fingers brushing the edge of the mask. "I should take this off."

You caught his wrist. "No."

He froze, the lenses shifting to meet your gaze.

"Leave it on." Your voice was barely a whisper, but it was firm.

"Y/n…"

You didn't answer. Instead, you shifted your hips, grinding against his length, which was already hardening beneath the water. The movement was slow, deliberate, your slick folds sliding along his shaft. His breath caught, his grip on your hip tightening.

"Fuck," he breathed.

You did it again, a little faster, the water rippling around you. His hands found your hips, guiding the motion, but you were in control. You leaned forward, your breasts pressing against his chest, your mouth close to where his lips would be behind the fabric.

"Peter… just let me."

A shaky breath escaped him. He let his head fall back, surrendering to you. His hands slid down to your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer. You rocked against him, your clit catching on the ridge of his cock, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.

You wanted to see his mouth. You wanted to kiss him.

Slowly, hesitantly, your fingers found the bottom edge of the mask. He tensed beneath you, but didn't stop you. You lifted the fabric, just enough to expose his lips—those full, soft lips that you knew so well. This might be the hottest he's ever looked.

You cupped his face, feeling the heat of his skin, the stubble rough against your palms. He leaned into your touch, his eyes hidden but his gaze palpable through the lenses. Then you kissed him.

It started soft, tentative—a brush of lips, a shared breath. But it didn't stay that way. Your tongues met, hungry and desperate, and the kiss deepened. His hands tightened on your ass, pulling you harder against him, and you moaned into his mouth.

"I need you," you whispered against his lips. "I need you inside me."

He growled, low and animalistic. "Then take me."

You lifted your hips, positioning yourself over his cock. The head nudged your entrance, and you sank down, taking him inch by inch. The water made it slick, the heat making every sensation more intense. He filled you completely, stretching you, and you both groaned as you settled fully onto him.

You didn't wait. You started moving, riding him in the warm water, your hands planted on his chest for leverage. The mask stayed where you'd left it, his lips parted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The lenses tracked every movement, and you knew he was watching you—the way your breasts bounced, the flush spreading across your chest, the way your mouth fell open as pleasure built.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice strained. "Taking my cock like a good little slut. Riding me while I'm half-masked. That turn you on, baby? You can't see my face and I'm balls-deep inside you?"

You whimpered, your rhythm faltering. His words pushed you closer to the edge.

"Yeah, you like that. You like that I could be anyone—but I'm yours. I'm your Spider-Man. And I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk."

He grabbed your hips, taking control, slamming you down onto his cock with brutal, precise thrusts. The water sloshed around you, splashing over the edge of the tub. His lips found your throat, biting and sucking, marking you.

"You close?" he growled against your skin.

"Yes, Peter, fuck—"

"Cum for me. Now. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing through your body. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat. He followed a moment later, his hips bucking up as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, filling you completely.

You collapsed against him, both of you panting, the water settling around your trembling bodies. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The mask was still bunched under his chin, and you reached up, pulling it off completely, revealing his face—flushed, sweat-slicked, eyes dark with satisfaction.

He smiled, soft and tender. "That was…"

"Exactly what I needed," you finished.

He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—soft, lingering. "Me too. Even if I forgot to take the damn mask off."

You laughed, tracing the line of his jaw. "Best mistake you've ever made."

He hummed, his hand sliding down your back to rest on your ass. "Wanna make another mistake? I'm thinking round two in the bedroom. No mask this time. Just us."

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. "I thought you'd never ask."

------------

p.s. i am so sorry to the people who walked past me