𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍!
he’s complicated, he’s irrational… but i hope someday he’ll take me away and save the day!
summary: you couldn’t exactly put a label on whatever you and spiderman had together. since he had never taken his mask off around you, it was capped at merely acquaintances. after spiderman agrees to let you interview him for an article, you try to gain an understanding of the man underneath the spandex. but is it worth exhausting yourself falling for a man you’ve never seen? and who seems hellbent on protecting himself from his past mistakes?
warnings: (loosely inspired by the clark x lois interview scene in superman) angst to fluff, happy ending, brief mention of injury, kissing, journalist!reader, mentions of peter being a photographer bc we deserved that with tom's spidey, links to insomniac!spiderman, reader doesn’t know spider-man’s identity / didn't know him pre-bnd, post-no way home, takes place during spiderman bnd (no direct spoilers but it’s recommended that u watch the film before reading this in case i missed anything!) (and stream superman by taylor swift :))
word count: 5.9K
main masterlist / peter parker x fem!reader
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 mentioned to your friends that you were considering finding a roommate for your apartment in New York, they thought you were referring to one of your classmates or someone on the internet that had been searching high and low for a reasonably priced room within the city.
They would have never guessed that Spiderman, the friendly neighbourhood hero, would be the person to have his own room in your flat. There was no lease in place, Spiderman had his own apartment, no doubt. He just preferred to spend his time outside of crime fighting with you. Not that you ever objected to this, you appreciated the company.
When you had first met the man in the red spandex, how he came tumbling into your window with a limp and disturbing the silence you found yourself resting in. You assumed it was a one time thing, that he wouldn’t remember your face in the thousands of civilians he saved everyday; then he appeared at your window again, claiming he needed help stitching a wound on his chest and this was the first place he stumbled, or swung across.
Coming to your flat twice was a coincidence, but then he perched on your fire escaped for a third time. Three times became five. Then five times became every day for an entire week. Five months after meeting you, he had become part of your routine. A routine that consisted of Spiderman currently being lounged back on your couch, his foot nudging your own as he pestered you with questions about your upcoming article.
If you didn’t find it so endearing you would’ve kicked him out by now. But something about Spiderman made you feel seen, like he’d known you his whole life. Of course, you couldn’t say the same.
You had no idea who Spiderman was beneath his mask. You only knew what he wanted you to know about him and what the rest of New York knew about him; that he saves the city and the neighbourhood loves him. And you despised yourself for falling for a man you’ve never truly met.
FIVE MONTHS AGO
You were nose deep into an article that was due to be published the next day. Your back was aching from being hunched over your laptop and your eyes were burning from reading word after word, flickering through countless sources and making sure your work had zero to no flaws.
Being so preoccupied with your writing, you failed to notice the superhero slumped on your fire escape. His suit was torn at the torso, drops of blood staining the skin that peeked out. He reached the hand that wasn’t clutched to his side towards your closed window and pried it open, grunting as his body protested against the movement.
You flinched as his hand connected with the glass, the sudden arrival causing you to jolt to your feet. “What the—” You yelped as Spiderman shuffled his body through the window, landing harshly against the wooden flooring.
“Oh, God.” He wheezed out, rolling onto his back and coughing as he gripped his ribs. He looked around the room until his eyes landed on you standing beside the chair that had fallen when you stood, your brows furrowed and eyes blinking rapidly as if you were trying to battle with reality and your imagination as they comprehend that Spiderman was a bloody mess in the middle of your flat.
Peter’s eyes widened as he took in your shocked state, “I’m sorry! I’m not here to hurt you!” He stumbled over his words as he tried to comfort you while his body screamed the opposite, the blood seeping into the floorboards.
“I promise I’ll clean all this up,” He gestured to the faint red marks and pulled himself up into a sitting position, “Wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with your landlord because of my mess. I know mine charges me when I—“
“Why are you in my apartment?” You questioned, your feet rooted to the spot you stood up in. “Right, I’m sorry.” Spiderman nodded and braced a hand on the window sill, “I got into this huge fight with Scorpion."
Peter stood slowly, his voice strained as he continued, “It was like, big potato stuff.” He watched you squint your eyes, “It’s— whatever, nevermind. And I was swinging back and needed a place to crash for a second, that’s all.”
You nodded and loosened the tension in your shoulders, “That’s reasonable.” You could almost see a weak smile behind Spiderman’s mask, “Do you need some help?”
Peter’s body relaxed at your question. Your voice was hesitant and soft, like you were worried about crossing a boundary with a masked superhero even if it was necessary. He liked the consideration, he hadn’t experienced it for a while.
“I’m fine. I heal quicker than…” His voice trailed off as his eyes focused on your open laptop behind you. He honed in on the names written in bold, titling your piece before his crash landing had disturbed you.
“Are you a journalist?” Peter titled his head, his voice quirking in interest. You turned to look at the article with its deadline rapidly approaching, “Yeah.” You responded.
“Writing a piece on the New Avengers?” His voice was almost teasing and for the first time that night, Peter saw a smile creep up on your face and ignored the surge he felt in his chest as a result.
“Something like that. My boss asked me to do it but it’s practically impossible to find an image to go with it,” You repositioned your chair and sat in it, pulling up a tab that showed Yelena flipping off the cameras that spotted her own her way to her ‘office’, “Any that are appropriate at least.”
Peter laughed as he looked at the photo, “I could help you with that, if you want. To compensate for me crashing in like this." You turned to look at him and gestured towards his mask, “What? Are you a photographer under there?”
Spiderman shrugged, instantly regretting the movement as he winced in pain, “One with connections,” He watched you raise your eyebrows in interest, “Look, I’ll talk to Yelena and organise a photo with her.”
“I want two pictures.” You challenged, watching how the red mask disguised the grin that was gracing Peter’s face. “I’ll give you three.” He chuckled.
You pursed your lips and pretended to dwell on the offer, “Okay. You’ve got yourself a deal, Spiderman.” You nodded turned sideways in your seat to face him completely. “And you’re pretty lenient, maybe I should let you crash in my place more often.” You joked.
Peter, failing to pick up on your sarcasm, tilted his head in questioning, “Really?” You nodded, “Totally, I’ve been looking for a roommate.”
You laughed to yourself and turned back to your open laptop, fingers itching closer to the keyboard as your mind switched back to its journalistic state.
Across from you, Peter (or who you knew strictly as Spiderman) glanced around the apartment before his eyes landed back on you. He hadn’t been inside someone else’s home since everyone forgot who he was, no one knew him well enough to entrust him to do so.
For the first time in years, Peter didn’t feel like he was talking to someone through Spiderman. He was existing in the moment as Peter Parker, just behind a mask that was practically glued at the seams with past guilt.
You treated him normally. Well, as normally as someone could do when a masked hero stumbles into their apartment when they’re in the middle of an article with a deadline glaring straight at them.
Peter liked normality. He didn’t experience it much. He liked existing outside of the mask, to have someone talk to him and not see him the same way everyone else in New York City does, as Spiderman. To have a conversation, although brief, that didn’t revolve around himself and how he took down Tombstone with ease, or perhaps the time he was gifted with the key to the city; it was almost refreshing for Peter to dote on someone else this time, rather than receiving.
So, he took up your offer of crashing in your place more often. Whether you were serious or not (you definitely weren’t but you appreciate his company nonetheless), Peter liked having someone in his unpredictable world.
He enjoyed having a reason to go out on patrol every night, swinging past your window to check if you were safe or hovering on the fire escape until he built up the courage to tap gently on the glass. Because seeing your face smiling up at him after a long day of glaring into eyes that wanted him dead, ensured him that everything he has ever done was worth it.
PRESENT DAY
"What if I interviewed you?"
Your words snapped Peter out of his thoughts, “What?” He laughed as you hastily removed your laptop from where it was perched in front of you and onto the coffee table, twisting your body to face the masked man lounging on your couch.
“What if I interviewed you? As Spiderman.” You repeated yourself. Although you couldn’t see his face, the squinted lenses and tilted head told you that the man sitting opposite you wasn’t understanding your proposition.
“Come on,” You groaned and shuffled closer to Spiderman, “I’ve been put on the Superhero column ever since my article about the New Avengers, but imagine if I got a personal interview with the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.”
Peter opened his mouth to reply but you quickly continued, “I’ll make you sound good. I promise.”
“And,” You raised your eyebrows and lowered your pitch, trying to convince the arachnid who was silently deliberating, “People read my columns. The more people that like you, the more J. Jonah Jameson gets annoyed because people aren’t falling for his whole ‘Spiderman is the root of all evil’ bullshit.”
Peter scoffed, “I don’t care what Jameson thinks of me.” You hummed, “You definitely do, you listen to his podcast on my account, Spidey. Did you forget we share one?”
Spiderman groaned and let his head fall on the back of the couch, realising that he had been caught out and perhaps a little positive publicity would do him some good; especially after he’d grown to think the world hated him before they forgot him.
“Yeah. I’ll let you interview me.” He finally said. A wide smile grew on your face and Peter understood why a part of him wanted to agree to this in the first place.
“Really?” Your voice barely contained your excitement and Peter thanked everything that he had a bright red mask covering his face, although it told the same story as what colour his cheeks were painted as.
Peter nodded, “Sure. It'll be fun.” You practically leaped out of your seat and rounded the kitchen counter, grabbing the voice recorder from where it was tossed with your stacks of notepads and pens, fiddling with it before placing it on the coffee table in front of Peter.
“Let's do it right now.” You pressed the record button and lent back in your seat, watching as Spiderman’s head darted between the device and you.
“Are you serious? Like— Right now? Right now?” He choked out and you nodded with a barely suppressed grin.
Peter leaned up, straightening his posture and dusting off any crumbs he had resting on his suit. He reached a hand up to fix his hair before he realised it was flattened underneath his suit. He glanced over at you looking at him with a bewildered look, “What?”
“You know this isn’t filming you, right? Just your voice.” You gestured towards him and pressed your lips together to stop the smirk from etching across your face.
Peter scoffed and relaxed his body, attempting to be nonchalant about the movement but his awkwardness betrayed him, “Totally,” He stayed quiet for a moment before pointing at the voice recorder, “Can we start again?”
You chuckled, “That can just be off the record.” The lenses in Spiderman’s suit blinked twice, “Off the what now—”
“So, Spiderman.” You cut him off, your voice turning slightly professional but teetering on the edge of teasing.
Peter stared at you for a moment before leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees, he responded by saying your name in the same tone. You wished you could see the smile underneath his mask, but you doubted you would be able to source a good interview if the eyes you’ve never seen, but knew were beautiful, bored into your own.
“Let’s start with the obvious,” You started, “People have noticed you’ve ditched the web-shooters, have you developed an ability to swing without them?”
Peter turned his wrist and rubbed the spot the web-shooters used to occupy, “Well, apparently my body has become more arachnid over time.” You nodded, “Are you more human or more spider then?”
“I’m—” Peter chuckled, “I’m both. Somehow." You smiled at him and gave him a reassuring nod that his response was something the fans of your column would want to hear. “I just hope I don’t get a web block like... my old friend.”
You watched as Spiderman nodded at you, silently asking to move onto the next question. “It’s been a couple of years since the first and only appearance of the Night Monkey, so tell us right here and right now, Spiderman. Was that you?”
“Nope. Not me. Not at all.” You laughed as he nodded his head enthusiastically, his words completely contradicting his actions, “Never met the guy, he seems nice though.”
“Of course you’d say that,” You shook your head at him and tried to hide your smile, leaning down and picking up the voice recorder to hold close to your mouth, “Just for reader’s satisfaction and future me writing this that can’t see him, Spiderman has something to tell you.”
You leaned forwards and held the voice recorder to Spiderman’s face, the device catching his defeated sigh, “Yes. I was the Night Monkey.”
Peter nudged your foot with his own as you returned to your seat opposite him, a proud smile on your face and singing a teasing, “Thank you!” Before placing the device back to its spot on the table between coasters and miscellaneous trinkets.
“You know, you have a lot of young fans out there,” Peter looked over at you with a softened smile that you couldn’t see as you began your question, “If you had to give them one piece of advice, what would it be?”
Peter took a deep breath and tore his gaze off you, “Someone told me something once and it stuck with me,” He cleared his throat and felt his mind begin to wander to places that left an irreversible scar on him, “Someone that meant a lot to me.”
You didn’t say anything, you respected the silence Spiderman left as he fiddled with the fabric of his suit. “She told me once,” He swallowed the nausea that would always remain at the pit of his stomach, “With great power, there must also come great responsibility.”
Your eyes softened as you watched the man sit in a shell of someone he’d yet to introduce you to. “So… that would be my advice.” He nodded and scratched the back of his neck.
“That’s beautiful,” You smiled gently, “She sounds smart.” Peter looked at you, a grateful smile etching onto his face as you brought light onto a woman you’d never met.
“She would’ve loved you.” Peter wondered out loud, his eyes marking the way you breathed out and the tension in your face vanished, you truly looked moved by his words. May really would have loved you.
You’ve never seen Spiderman like this before. You never knew he could feel vulnerable or open up to you like this. This was the first thing he had ever told you about himself that didn’t involve what was already plastered across billboards around New York, that wasn’t centred around which crime faction he took down before he arrived, or didn’t start with ‘I beat Scorpion again tonight and it was awesome’; it was like the bottom of his mask had lifted and you saw a glimpse of the man you’d found yourself falling for.
When Spiderman first stumbled into your apartment, it was never in your intentions to fall in love with him. Because falling in love with a superhero was stupid and irrational, but it was a trap that was so easy to fall into.
The fact that over the course of five months, he’d never found the comfort you discovered in him to be reciprocated crushed you. You’d told him parts of your life you never uttered to another, and he told you the same story about himself that you’d heard from your co-workers. It wasn’t like you expected him to tell you his life story, but the absolute refusal to even hint at his true self behind the mask felt disheartening.
You thought you were being selfish in your mindset. And perhaps you were. But you can only push yourself so far until you’re exhausted in love with a man you’ve never known.
“I’ve never—” You wanted to say, you or we’ve never seen him like this before. But a part of you bit at the thought of it being too insensitive. So you gently moved around the statement.
“You seem like a good person, Spiderman.” His lenses blinked at you, “Really.” You reassured him.
You clasped your hands together, “That person under the mask. Who is he?”
Spiderman’s eyes widened and he leapt out of his seat, hands frantically reaching for the voice recorder, “What are you doing?” He borderline yelled, his voice panicked.
You flinched at his sudden movement and slapped his gloved hand away from the device, responding in the same tone, “What are you doing?” Spiderman stumbled over his words, alternating between scoffing and mumbling incoherent words before landing on, “You can’t ask me that!”
You squinted your eyes at him and he waved his hands about exasperated, “You don’t even know my identity! I’m not gonna answer it in some stupid superhero column!”
“First of all, what’s with the hostility towards the superhero column?” You started and watched Spiderman pace down the length of your living room, “And secondly, that’s not what I was asking you!”
Peter whipped his head around and froze, “That was your exact words!” You rolled your eyes and stood up with him, “I wasn’t. I was just trying to make it sound all cool and interesting.” You heard the hero whisper, ‘Journalists and their twisted words’ under his breath.
“I was just asking what you’re like under… you know.” You sighed and gestured towards his red and blue suit. Spiderman looked down at himself and shook his head in question, “You know?” He repeated your words.
You scratched the back of your head as you thought of unprompted questions on the spot, “Like… What's the first thing Spiderman thinks about when he wakes up?” You smiled, thinking your question was reasonable and a gentle start.
“That’s— no, it’s too deep.” He immediately shut down your question and ignored how the smile instantly dropped from your face. “Are you serious?” Your voice sounded unconvinced, as if he was about to turn around laughing and answer a question with the sound of a smile in his tone.
“Yeah!” Peter yelped, “Anything I say can be incriminating! You know I have a fan club of people trying to figure out my identity and one little slip…” His voice trailed off as he mumbled the times he’d open the internet and find people drawing what they thought his face looked like.
You stood awkwardly across from him, contradicting his stressed state as you attempted to tone down the questions brewing in your mind. “Okay,” You hummed, “What’s Spiderman’s favourite take out?”
The question was stupid. It meant nothing in terms of journalism, you were just weighing out the boundary between Spiderman’s identity and his definition of ‘incriminating evidence’. He stayed silent, you could only see his jaw tighten under the mask.
You gave him another grace period of quiet as he thought of some lie he could say, something like stating his least favourite take out just so the question could be off his back.
When he stayed silent, you furrowed your brows, “You won’t even answer that?” Spiderman shook his head and leaned back against the wall near the window, “You know I can’t.”
You looked at him in disbelief before snatching the voice recorder off the table, pressing the button to pause your audio, “Okay. Off the record, what is it?” Spiderman crossed his arms over his chest, “Which question?”
“You pick.” You pressed your lips together as embarrassment flooded your veins, “You won’t even tell me?” You muttered as he refused to answer your question, let alone look your way.
Peter sighed, “I… Can we just continue with the interview? Let’s go back to the big slash small potato stuff, please?” He pointed to the recorder balanced between your fingers.
You stared at him, humiliated at the prospect of you telling him about your life every time he stopped by and him unwilling to tell you the bare minimum about himself; he didn’t like you enough to tell you what his favourite meal was. You felt like you were standing in the middle of a public humiliation ritual.
You took a deep breath, feeling annoyance brewing inside you, “Fine,” You pressed the record button and tossed the voice recorder back on the table, “Tell me, Spiderman. Why do you keep your cards so close to your chest?”
Peter’s arms dropped to his side, “Are we—” He felt guilt swarming in his chest, “Are we really doing this right now?”
You shrugged and sat yourself back down, “Just asking a question. You know, doing my job.”
“Do you hide everything about yourself to everyone?” You asked him, raising your eyebrows when his body language shifted slightly, his shoulders hunching in on himself.
When he refused to give you a verbal reaction, you pressed into the bruise that was forming, “Or just the woman you’ve practically lived with for months?”
“Don’t.” Peter mumbled. He knew you were right and you had every reason to feel angry in this moment but every time he tried to let someone in, his mind replayed the events that changed his life and the people that were no longer in it.
He’d kept you for this long. He should be thankful for the little time you had together, but every selfish part of him wanted more.
You scoffed, “Why do you keep her at arms length and refuse to give her a reason to trust you?” Your voice remained calm but the fury etched into your face told Peter all he needed to know.
You slowly stood up and walked towards him, pointing to the window where civilians swarmed the streets. Peter followed your finger and looked down at them, walking around unbeknownst to the hero perched in the apartment above them, seconds away from losing another person he loved.
When Peter turned his head back to look at you, your eyes were slightly watery, “Or do you just see her the same way you see the rest of them?”
Peter wanted to respond. He really did. But he couldn’t fathom the thought of you, the person he’d grown to love, seeing yourself through what you thought were his eyes. And he despised himself for letting you think that way.
“This isn’t going well, is it?” Peter murmured, his heart pounding as you turned away from him and picked up the voice recorder, turning it off and saying a barely audible, “No.”
He sighed and traced his fingers against the window sill, “I should leave. You know, the city needs me.” He tried to joke but you had already rounded into the kitchen, taking his heart with you.
Peter pulled the window open and was about to crawl out before he heard your voice echo from the other room, “It’s probably for the best.” You sounded defeated. He backed away from the window and followed in your footsteps, watching as you gathered the dirty utensils and placed them in the sink.
“This wasn’t working anyway.” You sighed and turned the tap on, drawing out the sound of Spiderman’s heart dropping into his stomach.
“What do you mean?” Peter swallowed. You turned around and gestured between the two of you, “This. It’s better it ends now.”
The lenses in Spiderman’s suit blinked twice and he shook his head, “I don’t want this to end—” “You don’t get to decide that.” You interrupted him.
“Yes, I do.” Peter walked towards you, “I know that you’re the only thing I think about when I’m on patrol. Knowing that I get to come back here after is the only reason I do it—”
“I don’t even know you!” You shouted, turning the tap off and facing him completely. You’ve never seen Spiderman so still, like one wrong movement and the floor would cave underneath him. If you looked close enough, you could just about see a frown painted into his masked face.
“What?” His voice was borderlining on timid, his hand wound together like he was trying to ground himself back to the shattering reality he found the two of you in.
You sighed sadly, “I don’t even know your name. I have no idea what you look like. You don’t let me know anything about you; what you’re interests are, the life you’ve lived this entire time, who exists underneath this mask,” Your fingers gently grazed against the fabric of his masked, tracing the cheekbones you’d never see, “You’re saying all this but I only get to see the same parts of you that the rest of the world does too.”
Peter leant into your palm, closing his eyes at the contact that was blocked by the barrier that felt molded into his skin. After losing everything many years ago, Peter didn’t know how to exist as Peter Parker. He felt like Spiderman was a necessary part of him now, something he couldn’t live without.
“I’m doing this to protect you. I need you to trust me…” Peter’s hands wrapped around your wrists, keeping your hands pressed against his face just so he could savour the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last much longer.
You shook your head, “I don’t think I can give that to you.” Peter pulled back slightly so he could see your face, furrowing his brows as he whispered, “You don’t trust me anymore? Is that what this is?”
“You never gave me a reason to,” You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his own, “And how can I trust someone I’ve never met?"
Peter closed his eyes and tightened his grip against you, trying to press you further into his embrace before he lost you for good. Maybe this was for the best. Spiderman would be far enough away to keep you from danger, protecting you just as he promised himself to do so the second he laid eyes on you.
But Peter Parker would miss you. He didn’t know if his unmasked self could handle living without you.
Peter had lost so many people in his life, and you were another to add onto the tally. If he let you go, that was.
He slowly let go of you and detached his body and heart from you. He backed out of the kitchen, his eyes never leaving your own as you stood still. Spiderman walked towards the open window and placed a hand on it.
You watched him hover, wondering if you should try to reach him one more time. But you protested against it.
Spiderman spared you one last glance before ducking out of the window, swinging into nearby sirens as New York called his name. It was the right decision, Peter told himself. He had to let you go, even if a selfish part of him yearned to stay.
𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 selfish. He was the most selfish man he knew.
Because after a day of trying to forget you and move on, Peter found himself perched on your fire escape with his knuckles tapping against the glass of your window.
The one night Peter didn’t visit you in your apartment was pure hell. He’d swung there on instinct and almost squeezed his way in before he remembered the reason his mask felt suffocating the entire day.
He felt physically sick to see you hadn’t left the living room light on for him to welcome himself in, with your coffee machine fully restocked in the kitchen for his free use. You weren’t even in your usual spot when he passed. You’d usually be tucked under a blanket on the couch, waiting up for him as seeing him was your favourite part of the day, or it used to be.
He should’ve stayed away, it would be protecting you. But Peter was hurting you and him in doing so.
His knuckles connected with the glass twice, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the living room light flick on. You froze as you saw the masked hero crouched on your fire escape, a pair of flowers tight in his shaking grip.
You slowly walked towards the window, not breaking eye contact with Spiderman as you lifted the window, the chill air of New York brushing against your bare skin.
Neither of you spoke for a moment. Your eyes flickered between the flowers and him, a dreadful sense of hope accompanying your romantic heart.
“I read your column.” Peter said. Your face remaining motionless, you hadn’t expected him to keep tabs on you especially after the short break you two had from each other.
“Why didn’t you publish my interview?” Peter whispered, his grip tightening on the flowers and ignoring his worried state that the stems would snap off before he could hand them to you.
You took a deep breath, “No offence, but it was kind of a shit interview.” Peter huffed out a laugh which made you smile. Peter’s chest felt tighter as he realised 24 hours without your grin made the world seem cold.
“And I knew it would hurt you if I published it. You were vulnerable and I like you too much to do that to you.” You finished and stepped back from the window slightly, offering him to move an inch closer.
Peter leaned closer and nudged the flowers to brush the tips of your fingers, “I promise everything I’m doing is to protect you. You not knowing me is for the better and it’s the responsible thing to do.”
“But I can’t do it. I can’t get you out of my head. Everytime I try to swing home, I always find myself heading to your place first because you consume my every thought. It’s so unbelievably selfish of me but I don’t think I can live my life without you. I’m in love with you and it kills me knowing I was the only thing standing in our way.” Peter said, his voice wavering.
You furrowed your brows, “Was?” Peter nodded and handed you the flowers, his hands wound with your own.
“I want you to know me and see my face. But honestly, I think I’ll die the second your eyes meet my own.” You laughed as Peter swallowed his nerves, “Every punch I take, I think about the day you’ll see my face stitched up and bruised, that you’ll think this was a mistake. That I’m not the one you want to be with.”
You shook your head, “I like Spiderman a lot. I really do.” You removed your hands from his and let them trace up his neck and fiddle with the area that disconnected his mask from the rest of his suit, “But you… Whoever you are under there. I know that I love you more.”
“You love me?” Peter whispered as you gently lifted the bottom of his mask.
You smiled softly, “I do.” Spiderman placed his hands on top of your own, guiding you to expose the bottom half of his face.
Peter couldn’t find it in himself to wait any longer. With his mouth and jaw visible to you, he placed his hands on your cheeks and pressed your lips together.
You gasped into the kiss and Peter’s hand drifted from your cheek to the back of your head, intertwining with your hair and tugging you impossibly closer. His lips were soft and everything you had imagined them to be. You were gentle with the bruise that was forming on the right side of his jaw, your fingers grazing the skin around it as he lost himself in the kiss.
You were about to pull back from the kiss to check if your mind was playing tricks on you and if you were kissing Spiderman, but when his lips chased your own from the split second of losing contact, you knew you were finally kissing the man you loved.
Spiderman pulled back slowly, pressing quick kisses on your lips as he forced himself back for air. He looked between your flustered face and swollen lips, every part of him yearning to lean back in.
The top half of his face was still covered. You lifted your hands to pull the mask back completely but he caught your hands mid-air.
You tilted your head in confusion and he snatched the flowers from your hands, “I love you. I’ll be right back.” He pressed his lips to your in a chaste kiss before tugging his mask back down and swinging away from the fire escape.
You stood there dumbfounded, leaning through the open window where you once locked lips with the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman, the superhero that was in love with you.
Your thoughts were cut off immediately as you heard frantic knocking coming from your front door. You stepped away from the window and brushed your clothes, trying to look presentable to whoever showed up and trying not to look like you’d been making out with a man perched on your fire escape.
You pulled open your front door and stood face to face with the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. His brunette hair was curly, a slight mess on top of his head as if he’d appeared here in a rush. His clothes were crumpled and you were sure his jacket was thrown on inside out.
His face was adorning the most beautiful smile you’ve seen, pure unadulterated joy etched between the lines. His brown eyes stared directly into your own and you were sure you’ve seen them in some way before.
And in his hands were the flowers Spiderman had brought you.
The words got caught in the back of your throat as you looked back up at him, his eyes watering as he looked at you. He nodded at you, heart constraining in his chest as you breathed out a laugh in disbelief, the smile of the woman he loved staring straight back at him.
“I’m Peter, by the way.” He smiled and handed you the flowers. Again.
how i feel writing for peter for the first time in 5 years / hope u liked and this didn't suck lolllll
