pairing: spider-man x journalist!reader
summary: in which you are forced to interview spider-man for an article... which is much harder than you realized.
warnings: implied smut, some kissing
word count: 2.7k
Spider-Man was far from your first choice of assignment; In fact, it had actually been your very last choice. The prospect of researching and writing about the art of pigeons in New York City excited you far more than having to chase down a swinging vigilante who named himself after an easily squashable arachnid. Nevertheless, when your boss assigned you the story, you accepted it without complaint.
Your coworkers had gushed about how incredibly lucky you were to receive such a thrilling topic. They complained about their bland stories that ranged from senior citizens competing in sports to the hidden world of fake luxury on Canal Street. Personally, you figured that any of those stories would be much easier and thus highly sought after. Trying to catch a crime fighter and shake a story out of him was infinitely a much harder task and nearly impossible. Spider-Man never lingered in one spot for too long, at least thatâs what the Spidey Tracker told you.Â
After receiving your assignment, you began to stalk the Spidey Tracker as often as you could: in between sets at the gym, while waiting for your frozen meals to heat in the microwave, or even whilst on the toilet. You visited the app so frequently that you started to see it even while you dreamt. Despite constantly watching Spider-Manâs location, you could never track him down in order to interview him. You fell into a routine of getting an alert of his location, dashing out to said spot, and then cursing into the sky when you saw that he was long gone. By the time the deadline had wound down to just less than a month, you had yet to even see the man with your own two eyes. It felt as if he were an urban legend that plagued the streets of New York. No matter how many videos and photos appeared of him on social media, he was conveniently never around when you needed him.Â
At one point, you had gotten so desperate that youâd started messaging Spider-Manâs official social media accounts. You figured the hero wanted to keep his identity secret, so it was unlikely he had a team running his page. Besides, heâd been caught liking a handful of interesting videos that made it evident that he was the one active on the accounts. Once youâd left enough messages that ranged from politely asking for a chat to downright begging him to respond, youâd given up trying to contact him online. Your next course of action had been to deliberately place yourself in harmâs way. It was a stupid idea, but with your deadline glaring back at you in bold letters on every surface of your office, it was time to resort to idiotic plans.Â
Over the next few weeks, you had decided to throw yourself into reckless situations in which you were sure that Spider-Man would swing by to save you. After all, some Redditors kept a running spreadsheet of situations in which the hero had saved people; all you needed to do was turn that into a checklist. Your first attempt had been to walk through Brownsville at night, hoping that someone might try to rob you. With just your luck, you walked through the streets unscathed and, quite frankly, a little annoyed. Every attempt after that made you feel like you were a girl, throwing yourself at a guy who wanted nothing to do with you. Some of your coworkers even had interactions with Spider-Man while you hadnât managed a glimpse.Â
By the time the deadline was just at the end of the week, you had almost given up. Your email draft was a perfectly written statement to your boss explaining why you were unable to complete the story. Youâd outlined every attempt at contact and how they all ended in radio silence. You stared at the email, your mouse hovering over the send button as you downed your fourth glass of wine. This project made you resort to drinking away your feelings so that you couldnât feel too bad about having failed to deliver on a story. It wasnât like you were going to get fired over this story, but it hurt that one person was the cause behind your weeks of frustration. Before you could hit send, your attention was captured by a swinging object that had flown by your window.Â
On unsteady feet, you managed to push the window open and crawl out onto the fire escape. From there, you could see that the man behind all your troubles was leisurely swinging from building to building, shouting something you couldnât make out. As you leaned over the edge of the railing to get a closer look, your body seemingly remembered that you were drunk, and you lost your balance. Within the blink of an eye, you found yourself falling from the 12th floor of your apartment, straight towards the sidewalks of your neighborhood. Before you even had time to scream, you felt yourself being wrapped up in strong arms and swung to safety.Â
âStay calm, Miss. You are safe now. I am just going to swing you to safety.â Your hero said, his voice sounding much younger than you had expected.Â
By the time you got onto solid ground, you were so out of it that the entire situation felt like one fucked up dream. You stared at the man in front of you, who you were sure was asking you questions, but you couldnât even bring yourself to pay attention. After an entire month of trying to get Spider-Manâs attention, he had finally found you moments before you plummeted to your death? An unexpected laugh bubbled from you, and you couldnât stop. Your chest heaved with laughter as you wiped away tears. Spider-Man stood there, looking like he was unsure if he should leave or stay. By the time your hysteria had subsided, you collected yourself and began to blabber on about your work.Â
âIâve been trying to contact you for the last month!â You hiccuped, rubbing your eyes to make sure this wasnât some drunk hallucination. âI sent you DM after DM. And when you didnât respond, I tried to put myself in danger so that you would find me so that I could talk to you.â
âUmmâŚ,â The hero took a step back. âThatâs flattering?â
You shook your head. âIâm not some creep or super fan. I actually donât even really like you, but thatâs not relevant. Iâve been trying to find you because Iâm supposed to be writing a story about you for work. My boss wanted me to interview you and write about it, but the deadline is in two days, and I havenât been able to find you⌠until now.â
The masked man didnât respond, but you did notice that his shoulders were shaking. As if he were trying to hold back laughter or tears.Â
âAre you laughing at me?âÂ
He shook his head, but a chuckle escaped his lips. âI know who you are. Iâve seen the messages. Andddd Iâve watched you try and throw yourself in harm's way.â
You gasped. âAre you serious?!â You shoved Spider-Man, but in your inebriated state, he hardly even budged. âAre you fucking kidding me?â In an instant, you burst into tears. The mix of alcohol, frustration, and Spider-Man finding this entire thing amusing was truly your last straw.
You let yourself sob into your hands, not even caring that a superhero was watching you at quite possibly one of your lowest moments. As you cried, he patted your back awkwardly.Â
âI didnât mean to make you cry. And I really wasnât going to ignore you and not give you an interview. I just got yâknow busy with the whole crime-fighting thing, and then when I was available for an interview, more crime happened.â
âItâs fine,â You sniffled. âItâs not like Iâm going to get fired over this.â
âHow about I make it up to you?â He asked, straightening himself up. âIâm free tomorrow for an interview. You can take as long as you need and ask me anything you want, except about my identity, of course.â
And so, the next morning you found Spider-Man sitting on your fire escape while he waited for you to let him in. The interview had gone relatively well. You asked him what his day-to-day looked like, what he did in his free time, and, for personal reasons, how old he was. By the time he was long gone and your story had been typed up and sent out for approval, you found yourself thinking about the masked hero. You hadnât been a fan of him at the start, but spending time with him made you realize that heâs just a guy who is sort of fun to be around.Â
A few weeks later, you found yourself once again trying to put yourself in situations where Spider-Man would come and save you. This time, they were for purely selfish reasons. Your cheeks still hurt from all the smiling and laughing during the interview, and you were craving more. Your first attempt was fairly simple; you stepped onto the street as cars were coming toward you. Within seconds, you were swept up in his arms once more as he swung you to safety.Â
âI feel like that wasnât an accident.â He said as the two of you landed on the rooftop of a building. Although his words were meant to be serious, you could hear the smile behind his mask.Â
You dusted yourself off and pretended to glare at him. âNo, that was purely an accident. I hadnât intended to get run over by a car in hopes that you would come to my aid.â
âSure. Just like how you started frequenting banks that had been robbed in the past in hopes theyâd get robbed while you were there.â
This time, you actually glared at him. âHave you been studying my every move recently?â
He shrugged. âIâm just observant. Itâs my job.â
You pursed your lips and thought for a moment. âThen what was I wearing last Friday?â
âYou were wearing that blouse that yo-â Spider-Man cut himself off before he could further incriminate himself. âThat was a dirty trick!â
You smiled as the man stammered and mumbled under his breath. From that day on, Spider-Man found an excuse to be in your presence. Heâd swing you to work when you were late and watch over you while you walked home late at night; you only knew the latter was happening because he had sent you a totally not creepy photo of you from a distance.Â
By the time youâd known the hero for well over a year, you were itching to know who he was underneath the mask. As much as you enjoyed Spider-Man, you wanted to talk to a real face. On nights when you were drunk and alone, you sent him DMs asking begging him to take off his mask. He would laugh in response and tell you that youâd just have to keep waiting. It wasnât until one fateful night that heâd finally given in to your relentless pleading.
âPromise me youâre not going to laugh,â Spider-Man said, arms crossed at his chest. You couldnât help but admire the way his biceps bulged underneath his suit. Not that you were staring, of course.Â
âI am not going to laugh. Do you really think so little of me?â You asked with faux offense.Â
 He sighed. âOkay, Iâm going to do it in one⌠two⌠three!âÂ
Once the mask was off, you were met with an oddly familiar face. At first, you couldnât place him, but then you realized that Spider-Man was, in fact, your neighbor whom you'd asked to watch your dog on the rare occasion a sitter wasnât available.Â
âPeter?!â You gasped, trying to keep your jaw shut. Although the two of you were neighbors, you hadnât actually known him all that well. It felt weird knowing that those awkward elevator rides were actually with someone whom youâd known for a while now.Â
The brunette gave you an awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck. âSurprise?â
âI- I canât believe it. I canât believe itâs you of all people.â
His brows furrowed in confusion. âWhat do you mean you canât believe itâs me? Do I really seem so incapable of being a hero?â
You quickly shook your head. âNo! Itâs not that. Itâs just⌠I drop my dog off with you, and I feel awkward about it because we donât even know each other like that. To think I actually did know you is just a little mind-blowing.â
Peter nodded, and an awkward silence settled over the two of you. âSo⌠lunch?âÂ
It took a few days to fully wrap your mind around the fact that Spider-Man was your neighbor Peter, but once it hit, things went back to normal. In fact, they got better because you could just walk a flight of stairs up to his apartment to hang out. As the weeks passed and the two of you grew closer, you found yourself daydreaming about being Peterâs girlfriend. It was a silly daydream, but it was one that helped you sleep at night. Some nights your dreams would be plagued with thoughts of you kissing Peter while he rambled on about some new technology that he had designed for his suit. Or when the two of you made bread, and he burnt a few loaves. Or when he basically did anything. It got to a point where you made a deliberate effort to see him less so that you could stop thinking about him so often. Peter was quick to notice as he was knocking on your apartment door a few days later.Â
âAre you okay? Did I do something wrong?â The look of concern that graced his features was so endearing that you almost kissed him right then and there. Instead, you forced yourself to take a few steps back and hold your dog so you had something to do with your hands.Â
âIâm fine; I just havenât been feeling like myself. Thatâs all.â Your answer was a lie, and you knew that Peter could tell. Being the great guy that he was, he didnât push the subject. He nodded and changed the subject to the latest crime he had prevented.Â
As he talked, you found yourself glancing at his lips and wondering what it would be like to kiss them. You knew this entire situation was perverted on your behalf, but you couldnât help it. Peter was so kissable that it made him incredibly hard to resist. By the time you had naturally drifted closer to him, you didnât notice just how close the two of you had gotten. Your dog was long gone, off playing with a toy somewhere. Now, it was just you and Peter, just a few mere inches away from each other.Â
The man had stopped talking a few minutes ago and was now nervously licking his lips and awkwardly twitching. His gaze darted from your lips to your eyes and back to your lips. âI- umâŚ,â Peter swallowed hard enough that you could hear it. âCan I kiss you?â
You smiled and nodded, feeling a little dazed. It was hard to believe that your fantasies were coming true and that Peter had been the one to initiate the kiss. One hand gently cupped your cheek while the other wrapped around your waist to pull you closer. His lips met yours in a kiss that was gentle, yet longing. You could feel the tension bubbling underneath the surface as your hands curled into his hair. He let out a soft moan as you tugged at his curls; this forced his mouth open and allowed you to slide your tongue into it.Â
From there, the kisses and touches only grew more heated. Peterâs hands were no longer innocently resting on your waist. They were sliding underneath your shirt and grabbing onto any bare skin that they could reach. You were no better yourself as your hands traced Peterâs abs underneath his shirt. By the time the two of you had stumbled onto your bed, any rational thought you had was thrown out the window. All you cared about was getting rid of the layers of clothes that separated you from Peter.
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