[loverwebs]

NAVIGATION !

i currently only write for mcu peter parker! requests and messages are always open but not guaranteed. spam likes are fine with me. any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

all stories:

masterlist

most recent series:

maroon

most recent story:

from friends to this

[loverwebs]

maroon chapter six is out now! ❤️

this one’s definitely more investigation heavy, but trust the process… i love a good slow burn.

i’m laying the groundwork for everything that’s coming, and i promise it’ll be worth it. thank you guys so much for reading and supporting this story. 🥹

i hope you all enjoy chapter 6!! and don’t worry… chapter 7 is already in the works.

- maroon series

[loverwebs]

MAROON.

Chapter Six

Pairing: Peter Parker x Escaped!Black Widow

Synopsis: Freed from the Red Room but still haunted by it, Y/N is trying to survive a life that was never meant to be hers. Peter Parker is doing the same, hiding behind a mask after losing everything. In a city full of ghosts, two masked strangers keep finding each other.

Series Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

Peter arrived at the Bugle twenty minutes late with a bruise darkening along his jaw, dried blood beneath one sleeve, and barely enough energy left to come up with a believable excuse.

The article had gone up earlier that morning. He had finished writing it sometime after two, rewritten it three separate times, slept for barely a few hours, and pulled on the suit before the sun had fully risen.

By now, his mornings had settled into a routine he no longer questioned. He woke tired, spent the first few hours of the day moving between rooftops while the rest of the city made its way to work, then hurried to the Bugle hoping nobody looked too closely at whatever new injury he had failed to hide.

It was easier to find time for Spider-Man now. There were no early breakfasts with May waiting at the kitchen table, no messages from Ned asking if he was coming to class, and no plans with MJ that he had to awkwardly abandon halfway through because someone was screaming three blocks away. Nobody expected him anywhere except the Bugle, and even that expectation came with a generous understanding that Peter Parker was unreliable.

His personal life had become nearly nonexistent, leaving Spider-Man with more of his time than ever.

He found himself patrolling longer routes, learning which streets became dangerous before sunrise, which shop owners regularly forgot to lock their back entrances, and which subway stations needed someone nearby before the morning crowds became too dense.

Some mornings meant robberies or car chases, while others were quieter. He helped an elderly woman carry groceries up four flights of stairs after her elevator broke, convinced a frightened teenager to climb back inside from a fire escape, or webbed a loose air-conditioning unit before it crashed onto the sidewalk below.

The city had started responding differently too, even if not everyone trusted him. Jameson made sure of that. There were still people who shouted at him to get off their buildings, complained whenever his webbing ended up on their cars, or blamed Spider-Man for every traffic jam that followed one of his fights.

More people waved now, though. Children leaned against school bus windows and shouted his name when he swung overhead. Store owners thanked him from their doorways, and crowds seemed quicker to clap after someone had been pulled out of danger instead of questioning whether he should have been there in the first place.

For the first time in a long time, Spider-Man felt like someone the city actually wanted around. It should have made Peter feel less lonely, but instead, it made the difference between the mask and everything underneath it harder to ignore. As Spider-Man, strangers trusted him with their lives before he had spoken a single word, while as Peter Parker, most people barely noticed when he walked into a room.

The suit gave him somewhere to put all the hours nobody else wanted from him, especially once his apartment became too quiet to sleep in.

That morning, an armored truck robbery had turned into a chase through Midtown. One of the robbers had caught Peter across the face with the edge of a car door before Peter managed to web him to a parking meter, and the truck ended up sliding sideways through an intersection until its tires stuck firmly to the pavement beneath layers of webbing.

The driver had nearly been shot, and Peter had lost count of how many people yelled at him to move while he tried to stop the truck from crushing the cars around it. Once everything finally settled, the driver gripped Peter’s arm before the paramedics led him away and thanked him twice.

Someone behind the police barricade started clapping, and a few others joined in before the sound disappeared beneath blaring horns and approaching sirens. Peter hadn’t known what to do with that, so he lifted one hand in an awkward wave before remembering the truck was still blocking nearly the entire intersection.

By the time the police took over, he was already late. He changed in an alley, missed the first train, and spent the next ten minutes standing shoulder to shoulder with half of Manhattan while his jaw throbbed every time the subway lurched around another corner.

When he finally slipped through the Bugle’s newsroom doors, he kept his head lowered, hoping Jameson would be too busy yelling at somebody else to notice.

“Nice of you to join us, Parker.”

Peter stopped with one hand still gripping the strap of his backpack and closed his eyes for the briefest moment before turning around.

Jameson stood outside his office, his attention shifting between Peter and the television mounted near the center of the newsroom. Local news footage filled the screen. The armored truck still sat diagonally across the intersection while police officers redirected traffic around it, and sanitation workers struggled unsuccessfully to pull thick strands of webbing from the front tires.

“The train got delayed,” Peter said, putting far more confidence into the excuse than he actually felt.

Jameson glanced back toward the television. “Meanwhile, Spider-Man shuts down half of Midtown, and somehow you miss all of it.”

Peter followed his gaze. The footage made everything look worse than it had felt in the moment, and the camera lingered on the endless line of cars backed up behind the barricades while drivers leaned on their horns with growing impatience.

“He stopped a robbery,” Peter pointed out before he could stop himself.

“He glued an armored truck to the road.”

“The truck was moving.”

Jameson slowly turned back toward him. “I thought you were on the train.”

Peter hesitated half a second too long before gesturing vaguely toward the television. “That part was on the news.”

Almost as if it wanted to help him out, the reporter confirmed that all three suspects had been arrested and the driver had been transported to a nearby hospital with minor injuries. Jameson remained unimpressed.

“I want pictures before they clear it.”

Peter adjusted the backpack strap digging into his sore shoulder. “Of the truck?”

“The damage, Parker. The webs. Something useful.”

Without waiting for an answer, Jameson disappeared into his office, already lifting his phone to his ear as he launched into an entirely different argument.

Peter exhaled quietly and continued toward his desk, feeling the exhaustion settle a little deeper into his shoulders. Normally, Jameson’s comments rolled off him, but after three hours of sleep and a morning spent keeping someone from getting shot, they were harder to ignore.

Betty and Y/N were still watching the television when Peter reached his desk. Betty rested one elbow beside her keyboard while Y/N stood near the edge of her desk with her arms loosely folded. The investigation files from the open house lay spread across the surface between them, half covered by that morning’s newspaper.

“At least nobody died,” Betty said as the report began replaying.

Y/N watched a sanitation worker struggle to peel webbing from one of the truck’s tires before her attention shifted to the line of traffic stretching several blocks behind him. “I’m glad they didn’t. I’m also glad I got out of the car when I did.”

Betty smiled as Peter approached. “She walked four blocks because of him.”

“I walked because traffic wasn’t moving,” Y/N corrected, taking her seat again. “The alternative was sitting there listening to everyone honk at each other.”

Peter stopped beside his desk, already more defensive than he had any reason to be. “I’m sure he had a reason for blocking the road.”

Y/N turned toward him, her eyes sweeping over his face before settling on the bruise darkening along his jaw. Whatever response she had been about to give disappeared before it reached her lips.

“Good morning to you too,” she said instead.

“Morning.”

Peter let his backpack fall beside his chair and immediately regretted it as the movement pulled painfully across his shoulder.

She watched him for another second. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks.”

“I meant tired,” she clarified, though the slightest shift at the corner of her mouth suggested she realized too late that she had only made it sound worse.

Peter pulled his chair away from the desk. “That really helps.”

“For what it’s worth,” Y/N said, looking back toward the television, “he did save the driver. I just don’t understand why the truck had to stay in the middle of the intersection afterward.”

“He was probably more worried about stopping it from hitting people than where it ended up.”

“That wasn’t in the report.”

Peter lowered himself carefully into his chair. “It was probably obvious.”

Her gaze slid back toward him, thoughtful enough to make him uncomfortable. “From the train?”

Peter opened his mouth, but exhaustion had left him without a believable answer. Betty looked between them, clearly enjoying herself far more than either of them.

“I’m just saying there were more important things happening than everyone getting to work on time,” Peter said, turning toward his computer in the hope that ending the conversation would keep Y/N from studying him any longer.

“I didn’t say there weren’t.” Her voice remained calm, which somehow made him feel like the unreasonable one. “I’m allowed to be grateful nobody died and still think my morning was inconvenient.”

Peter leaned back in his chair before remembering too late that his shoulder still hurt. The movement pulled sharply beneath his shirt, and his face tightened for a fraction of a second.

Y/N caught it immediately. Her attention dropped briefly to the way he was holding himself before returning to the bruise on his jaw. “What happened to your face?”

Peter touched it instinctively. “I walked into a cabinet.”

Betty looked at him over the top of her monitor. “A cabinet?”

“It was early.”

“And your shoulder?” Y/N asked.

“What about it?”

“You winced when you sat down.”

“I slept weird.”

She held his gaze long enough to make it painfully obvious she believed neither explanation. Peter had the uncomfortable feeling she was replaying every movement he had made since walking into the newsroom, quietly collecting each inconsistency without saying another word.

Eventually, she shook her head. “You’re terrible at making up excuses.”

“I didn’t make anything up.”

“Then you’re terrible at telling the truth.”

Beside him, Betty turned back toward her keyboard, pressing her lips together to hide a smile.

Peter looked at Y/N, too tired to defend himself any further. “It was a complicated morning.”

She gave a small nod. “That, I believe.”

Y/N returned to the folders spread across her desk, leaving Peter mildly irritated that she had criticized Spider-Man and even more irritated that she had noticed almost every injury he had tried to hide.

He turned on his computer and stared blankly at the screen for several seconds before remembering the other reason he had been anxious about coming into work.

“The article went up.”

Y/N’s hand stilled over one of the security reports. When she looked up, the guarded calm she had worn all morning softened into something closer to surprise.

“Already?”

“Jameson wanted it online before eight.”

“And you listened to him?”

“He signs my checks.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That isn’t a good reason.”

“It’s a pretty convincing one.”

Peter nodded toward the printed newspaper resting near the corner of her desk. He had finished the article a little after two that morning after rewriting it more times than he wanted to admit.

Jameson had wanted dramatic photographs from the attack, a headline that practically screamed from the front page, and enough praise for himself to fill half the article. Peter had ignored most of it. He used the photograph from the coffee shop instead, trimmed Jameson’s speech about his unmatched eye for talent down to two sentences, and included Y/N’s comment about someone having to move first without adding everything else she had told him afterward.

Jameson had hated the photo. “She’s holding a coffee, Parker. Where’s the blood? Where’s the gun? Where’s the part where I almost died?”

“You weren’t almost dead.”

Jameson had stared at him until Peter reluctantly agreed to include one photograph from the open house near the bottom of the page.

Y/N slid the newspaper free from beneath the investigation files and began reading. Peter told himself to stop watching, but his attention drifted back to her every few seconds.

She read slowly, taking in each paragraph instead of skipping ahead to the quotes. Her expression revealed almost nothing. Once, her eyebrows drew together slightly, and Peter immediately started wondering whether she had found something she disliked or was simply concentrating.

Betty leaned closer without taking her eyes off her computer. “You’re staring.”

Peter looked away. “I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m waiting for her to tell me I made her sound annoying.”

Betty glanced toward Y/N. “Did you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That doesn’t sound very confident.”

Peter rubbed a hand across his face, only stopping when his fingers brushed the bruise along his jaw. “I just don’t know if she’s gonna hate it.”

Betty smiled to herself. “You know her a little.”

“I know her coffee order.”

“And?”

“And she thinks most of my questions are stupid.”

“That’s still more than you knew last week.”

Before Peter could answer, Y/N folded the newspaper and walked toward them. Peter found himself sitting a little straighter as she stopped beside his desk.

She placed the folded paper near his keyboard but kept her fingertips resting lightly on the edge for another moment before letting go. “You didn’t use my full name.”

Peter searched her face for any hint of what she thought. “You told me not to make it personal.”

“I also told you I didn’t want an article.”

“I know,” he said. The apology slipped into his voice before he could stop it. They both knew he hadn’t exactly been given a choice.

Y/N looked back down at the paper, her thumb brushing gently over the fold. “You didn’t make me sound like a hero.”

“I figured you’d hate that.”

“I would’ve.”

The silence that followed made Peter uneasy. He had not expected praise, but he had hoped for something that told him he had not completely betrayed the little trust she had offered him in the coffee shop.

Y/N’s attention returned to the article. “You used the photograph from the interview.”

“Jameson wanted the one with the gun.”

“I assumed he would.”

“He said the coffee made you look approachable.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Did he mean that as a criticism?”

“I think so.”

That earned the faintest shift at the corner of her mouth, and Peter felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The relief came so quickly that he hoped neither woman noticed.

After another moment, Y/N gave a small nod. “It’s not terrible.”

Betty made a quiet sound beside him that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Peter looked back at Y/N. “That’s twice now.”

Her expression became guarded again, though the hint of amusement remained. “Twice what?”

“Twice you’ve almost complimented me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She picked up the article and returned to her desk. Instead of dropping it into the recycling bin beneath her, she placed it neatly beside her notebook and pulled the security report back toward her. Peter tried not to look at it again.

For the next hour, the newsroom moved around them in its usual disorder. Phones rang from every direction, keyboards clicked beneath overlapping conversations, and Jameson spent most of the morning arguing with someone from the police department.

Peter attempted to work through the photographs from Midtown, but the open-house files on Y/N’s desk kept catching his attention. She had arranged the guest records, security reports, and phone data into separate stacks, with handwritten notes filling the margins of nearly every page.

He finally looked over when she pulled one of the burner phone logs closer and frowned at it. “What?”

Y/N glanced up. “Nothing.”

“That looked like something.”

She tapped one finger against the page. “We’re assuming the man they arrested planned everything because he was the one they caught.”

“Rusk?”

Y/N nodded. Daniel Rusk was the only attacker the police had managed to identify after the open house. The others had either escaped or carried identification that led nowhere, leaving him as the easiest person to blame for the entire operation.

Peter turned his chair slightly toward her. “You think someone inside helped him?”

“He knew the schedule, had access to several floors, and got past controlled entry.” She gestured toward the records spread across her desk. “Someone gave him what he needed.”

Peter glanced toward the security folders. They had already found irregularities in the guest list, missing camera footage, and several temporary access badges that had never been properly logged.

“Jameson said the police checked the employee records.”

Y/N’s mouth tightened slightly. “Jameson also said the police forgot they had a job.”

“Fair.”

Peter set aside the Midtown photographs and pulled his laptop closer. “What are you looking for?”

“The burner calls.” Y/N slid the report across the gap between their desks. “Most of the destination numbers are useless, but these are shorter.”

Peter leaned closer to the page. “Extensions?”

“Maybe.”

He opened the data recovered from Rusk’s storage unit and sorted the calls by destination. A series of shorter numbers appeared between the disconnected cell phones and business lines.

Y/N rolled her chair closer as Peter searched the first extension in the Bugle’s internal directory. It belonged to a conference room on the fifth floor, while the second connected to an old vendor office.

The third number appeared seven times.

“They came from different burners, but they all called the same extension,” Peter said, highlighting the entries.

“Most of them happened after midnight.”

Peter entered the number into the directory, but the page returned an error. He tried a broader search through the employee system and eventually found the number attached to Building Operations rather than an individual name.

Y/N pulled one of the building reports closer. “They control maintenance access, contractor badges, camera repairs, and after-hours entry.”

“So everything someone would need to get into the Bugle without being noticed.”

Peter opened the overnight access records and compared them with the call dates. Several calls had taken place less than an hour before scheduled camera shutdowns or temporary security overrides.

Y/N leaned closer to the screen. “Someone was preparing the building.”

Peter searched the employees attached to the extension. Several had transferred departments or left the company, but one active record remained under the name Ethan Calder.

The name meant nothing to Peter. It was ordinary enough to belong to anyone, and for half a second, he wondered whether they had reached another employee who would lead them nowhere.

Then the photograph loaded.

The picture was old, probably taken years earlier for the employee directory. His hair was shorter, and the flat office lighting had softened some of his features. A scar cut through one eyebrow, and his expression remained distant even in a photograph meant for an identification card.

Beside Peter, Y/N stopped moving. The change was immediate enough that he noticed before he fully turned toward her. Her shoulders had gone rigid, and all the concentration that had carried her through the records disappeared beneath something he could not identify.

“Celia?”

She didn’t answer. Her attention remained fixed on the photograph as though everything else in the newsroom had fallen away.

Peter followed her gaze back to the screen, searching for whatever detail had affected her so quickly. Ethan Calder was listed as the Director of Building Operations, which meant he had access to the Bugle’s security systems, vendor records, maintenance logs, keycards, and most of the building’s internal files.

Peter scrolled farther down. “He would’ve had access to every floor.”

Y/N blinked as though the sound of his voice had reached her from a distance. “How long has he been here?”

“Almost six years.”

“Does he work in this building every day?”

“I think so. Mostly upstairs, though.” Peter slowed when he noticed she still had not looked away from the photograph. “He handles maintenance, contractor access, and most of the security systems.”

Y/N nodded without appearing to hear him. Her fingers had curled against the edge of his desk, and the color had drained slightly from her face.

Peter’s concern deepened. “Why?”

She forced herself to lean back, though the movement did little to hide how shaken she was. “We need to find out whether he was working with Rusk.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“It’s what matters right now.”

Peter watched her for another moment. He wanted to ask how she knew Calder and why a photograph in an employee directory had frightened her more than the men who attacked the Bugle, but he knew pushing would only make her shut him out completely.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said, keeping his voice quieter than before. “But you looked at that picture like you already knew what we were gonna find.”

Y/N reached for the papers beside the computer and began aligning their edges, needing something precise to do with her hands. The slightest tremor moved through her fingers before she pressed them flat against the stack.

“I know he had access to the building,” she said. “I know Rusk called his office seven times before the attack. That’s enough to start with.”

Peter didn’t believe her, and she seemed to know it. He could see the expectation in her posture, as though she was waiting for him to insist on an answer.

Eventually, he nodded. “Okay.”

The word did nothing to ease the tension between them. Y/N looked toward him briefly, and something in her expression shifted when she realized he wasn’t going to keep asking.

Peter returned his attention to the profile and opened Calder’s authorization history. Several pages of routine maintenance approvals appeared before he found a security request issued the week before the open house.

His posture straightened. “There’s something else.”

Y/N moved closer again. “What?”

“Calder approved the temporary access badges for the event.”

Peter opened the attached list. Dozens of names filled the page, each paired with an identification number, assigned floor, and authorization code. Several matched the fake credentials recovered from the attackers, and Calder’s employee code appeared beside every approval.

Peter looked at Y/N. “He let them into the building.”

Her expression closed off as quickly as it had broken. “Save a copy somewhere outside the Bugle’s system.”

“You think he’ll delete it?”

“If he knows we’re looking, I don’t wanna find out.”

Peter lowered the laptop slightly, suddenly aware of how exposed their desks were. “We should move.”

Y/N gathered the call records without argument, and they crossed the newsroom together. Peter held the conference room door open while she stepped inside before shutting it behind them and lowering the blinds facing the rest of the office.

He placed the laptop on the table and connected a small drive to save the records. Y/N remained standing beside one of the chairs, her attention fixed on Calder’s photograph.

The conference room door opened before either of them could speak. Jameson stepped inside with his phone pressed to his ear, already in the middle of an argument.

“No, I don’t care if he’s off-site,” he said into the phone, barely acknowledging either of them. “Tell Calder I want those overnight access records on my desk before he leaves for the day.”

Y/N’s attention snapped toward the doorway. Jameson noticed the employee profile open on Peter’s laptop and looked between them. “You found something?”

Peter turned the computer slightly toward him. “Rusk’s burners called Calder’s office seven times before the attack. He also approved the temporary access badges connected to the men who got inside.”

Jameson’s expression hardened as he looked at the photograph. “Calder?”

“He isn’t in the building today,” Peter continued. “According to the schedule, he’s at a contractor site in Jersey.”

Jameson lowered the phone slightly, his usual irritation giving way to something more serious. “Then call him. I want the name of every employee who had access to that office on those nights, and I want it before the police decide to remember they have a job.”

Y/N kept her expression still even as her heartbeat began to climb again. Calder wasn’t upstairs or moving through the hallways close enough for her to see him, confront him, or make a decision she couldn’t undo.

The distance should have brought relief, but knowing he would eventually return made the conference room feel smaller.

Jameson ended the call and looked between them again. “Keep pulling the records. If Calder was involved, I want proof before anybody else hears about it.”

Peter glanced down at the authorization list. “This is proof that he gave them access.”

“It’s proof his employee code did,” Jameson corrected. “I want enough that his lawyer can’t blame an assistant, a computer error, or a janitor with a grudge.”

He left before either of them could answer, already dialing another number as the door swung shut behind him.

Peter watched him disappear before turning back toward Y/N. Her gaze remained fixed on Calder’s photograph, but she no longer seemed to be looking at anything on the screen.

“You really don’t know him?” he asked carefully.

Y/N stared at the name beside the picture. Even now, with the evidence sitting in front of her, part of her struggled to understand that she had finally found him.

“No,” she said, choosing each word with visible effort. “I just know who he is.”

Peter’s expression shifted. “That sounds different.”

“It is.”

The concern in his eyes sharpened, and Y/N knew another question was coming. She pushed her chair back and stood before he could ask it. “I need some air.”

Peter stood too quickly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Celia—”

“I’m fine.”

The response came automatically, shaped by years of saying it before anyone could look closely enough to know better. Peter’s gaze moved over her face. He didn’t reach for her or try to block the door, but his voice softened.

“You don’t look fine.”

Y/N couldn’t bring herself to answer. If she stayed in the room any longer, he would keep watching her, and Peter had already proven that he noticed too much.

She walked out before he could stop her. Peter remained standing where he was long after the door closed behind her. For a moment, he considered following, but he stayed where he was.

Whatever history Y/N had with Ethan Calder, she clearly didn’t want Peter asking about it. He told himself that was probably for the best. He already had enough secrets, enough danger, and enough experience being pulled into situations that became impossible to leave once he knew too much.

The investigation was supposed to be about the attack on the Bugle. It didn’t need to become personal.

Except it already was for her.

Peter looked back at Calder’s photograph. Y/N had reacted as though she had spent years waiting for that face to appear.

He wasn’t entitled to an explanation simply because he had questions, but the fear she had tried so hard to hide made it difficult to let the matter go.

Instead of following her, Peter opened another folder and quietly copied everything connected to Calder onto the drive.

Y/N didn’t take the elevator. She pushed through the stairwell door and began running toward the lower landing, where nobody from the newsroom went unless they had to.

Her footsteps struck too loudly against the concrete stairs. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the metal railing felt cold beneath her hand, but the details barely registered through the thoughts crowding her mind.

For most of her life, the man had existed as nothing more than a grainy face caught on an old surveillance camera and a question nobody could answer. Now he was real. He had a name, an office, and an employee profile tucked inside the Bugle’s database.

She had spent years studying the surveillance still from the night her parents died, memorizing the scar through his eyebrow and the distant look in his eyes despite the rain and poor quality of the recording. She had wondered whether time would change him enough that she might pass him on the street without knowing, but it hadn’t.

While Y/N searched through false names, dead ends, and footage that never became clearer, Calder had built a career. He had walked into the Bugle each morning with an employee badge clipped to his shirt and lived as though none of it had ever happened.

If her parents had lived, there would have been no Red Room and no years spent being shaped into something useful to everyone except herself. Calder had taken that life from her before she was old enough to understand what she had lost.

Y/N reached the lower landing and stopped, gripping the railing tightly enough for the metal edge to press into her palm.

She should have felt relieved. She finally had a face she could find, a name she could follow, and proof that she hadn’t spent half her life chasing someone who had already disappeared. Instead, anger settled heavily in her chest. She was angry at Calder for the life he had stolen from her and at Valentina for sending her into the building without telling her the truth. Most of all, she hated that he had been carrying on with an ordinary life while she was still living with everything he had done.

Y/N pulled out her phone and pressed Valentina’s name before she could overthink it. She answered on the second ring.

“I figured you’d call.”

The calmness in her voice only sharpened Y/N’s anger. Valentina didn’t sound surprised or concerned. She sounded as though she had been waiting for this exact moment.

“You knew his name,” Y/N said as she leaned back against the concrete wall.

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Yes.”

The answer came too easily, and Y/N looked down at the scuffed floor beneath her shoes. “And you sent me into that building without telling me.”

“I told you where he was.”

“You told me he worked for the Bugle.” Y/N kept her voice low, aware of people moving somewhere above her. “You knew I could’ve walked into him on my first day.”

“I knew you’d be careful,” Valentina replied, her tone remaining controlled.

Y/N let out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “That isn’t the point.”

Silence stretched across the line, and Y/N could almost picture Valentina sitting behind a desk somewhere, choosing each answer carefully enough to reveal nothing she hadn’t already decided to share.

“How long have you known?” Y/N asked, tightening her grip on the phone.

“Long enough.”

A humorless laugh escaped her. “So you were testing me.”

“I needed to know you wouldn’t react before you had proof.”

“You could’ve trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

“And you could’ve trusted me enough to follow the lead without demanding every answer first.”

Y/N pushed away from the wall, too angry to remain still. “You put me in that building because of him. You don’t get to decide what I’m allowed to know.”

“Ethan Calder is dangerous,” Valentina said, the warning beneath her controlled tone becoming more apparent.

“I know what he is.”

“No.” Valentina paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “You know what he did to you. That isn’t the same thing.”

The words landed harder than Y/N expected. Valentina wasn’t entirely wrong. Y/N knew Calder as the person who had destroyed her life, but she knew almost nothing about who he had become in the years since.

Acknowledging that only made her angrier. “Don’t keep something like this from me again.”

Valentina took a slow breath on the other end. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a boundary.”

“Then here’s mine. Don’t confront him until you know exactly what he’s involved in.”

Y/N began pacing, each step carrying her only a few feet before she had to turn around. “You’re not in a position to give me orders right now.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“You’re trying to stay in control.”

Valentina didn’t answer immediately. When she finally spoke, some of the sharpness had left her voice.

“Just be smart, Y/N.”

“I have been,” she said before ending the call.

For years, Y/N had believed finding Calder would mean she was finally ahead of him. Instead, she was standing in a stairwell beneath the office where he had worked for six years, holding information Valentina had possessed long before she did.

She no longer knew whether she had uncovered the truth or simply arrived exactly where Valentina had intended to lead her.

Author’s Note: hey guys! i posted this a tad bit later than i hoped because i had some midterms and needed a little extra time to proofread everything. thank you guys so much for being patient! trust the slow burn with these two… i promise it’ll be worth it.

i hope you all enjoyed chapter 6, and please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! ❤️

[loverwebs]

maroon chapter five is out now!

this was one of my favorite chapters to write. y/n and peter are both so stubborn at first, so it’s been really fun experimenting with their dialogue for the first few chapters. it’s honestly crazy thinking about how much their relationship is going to change as the story progresses.

i’m so excited for this series, guys 🥹

link to maroon series

[loverwebs]

MAROON.

Chapter Five

Pairing: Peter Parker x Escaped!Black Widow

Synopsis: Freed from the Red Room but still haunted by it, Y/N is trying to survive a life that was never meant to be hers. Peter Parker is doing the same, hiding behind a mask after losing everything. In a city full of ghosts, two masked strangers keep finding each other.

Series Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

Four days after Y/N started at the Daily Bugle, Peter had learned that she never arrived late and somehow still managed to make everyone else feel late around her.

By nine in the morning, she was usually already seated at the desk Jameson had cleared out for her near the back of the newsroom. She kept it almost completely empty besides a notebook, a pen, and whichever file she was working through that day. There were no pictures, no clutter, and no coffee cups left around long enough to be forgotten. Peter had also noticed that she never sat with her back to the room, which was one of several things about her he probably paid too much attention to.

She had settled into the Bugle faster than Peter expected. Most people took at least a few weeks to learn which reporters were impossible to work with, which desks were technically unclaimed but would still get someone yelled at, and how long they could stand near Jameson before he decided they were wasting his time. Y/N had figured most of it out in a few days.

She’d also started helping with the investigation into the open-house attack, though Jameson acted like he’d personally solved it every time she found something useful. Peter had spent the better part of the week sorting through photos from the event, while Y/N went through guest lists, security reports, and employee schedules with the kind of focus that made him feel like he should probably be working harder.

He was looking through another set of pictures when Jameson’s voice carried across the newsroom.

“Parker!”

Peter looked up from his computer. “What?”

Jameson stood outside his office with a folder tucked beneath one arm and an expression that usually meant somebody was about to have a worse day than usual.

“Conference room. Bring your camera.”

Peter grabbed it automatically, assuming Jameson wanted another round of photos from the open house. He’d been asking for copies all week, mostly so he could complain about the angles and insist there had to be better ones somewhere.

When Peter pushed open the conference-room door, Y/N was already sitting at the table with her arms crossed. She looked from him to the camera in his hand, and the second she saw it, her expression flattened. “I’m not doing an article,” she said before he could ask.

Peter paused in the doorway, one hand still on the handle. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You brought a camera.”

Jameson, standing near the window with the folder tucked beneath his arm, cut in. “It’s a spotlight.”

Y/N turned toward him. “That’s worse.”

Peter pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, but Jameson noticed anyway and gave him a look.

“You saved my life,” Jameson told her, like that alone should have ended the conversation. “People like stories. Stories bring attention, and attention brings money.”

“I don’t want attention.” Y/N said dryly.

Jameson glanced at Peter like he expected him to help. “You see what I deal with?”

Peter shifted the camera strap higher on his shoulder. “Kind of sounds reasonable.”

Y/N turned toward him slowly. “You’re agreeing with him?”

“No,” Peter said quickly. “I’m agreeing that not wanting your face everywhere is reasonable.”

Jameson made a noise under his breath. “Both of you are allergic to making my life easier.”

“That’s not true,” Peter said. “I make your life easier all the time.”

“You take blurry pictures of Spider-Man and call it journalism.”

“They’re action shots.”

Y/N looked between them, clearly unimpressed. “Are you both done?”

Jameson pointed toward Peter, ignoring the question. “Parker’s interviewing you. Get something usable, take a decent picture, and have it on my desk by tomorrow.”

Y/N looked back at Peter. “I’m not doing this here.”

Peter glanced at Jameson, then back at her. “She’s not doing this here.”

Jameson stared at him. “Since when do you repeat people’s demands like you’re their lawyer?”

“Since now, apparently.”

Jameson waved them off like they were both getting on his nerves. “Fine, go somewhere quiet. Just come back with a story.”

Y/N pushed back from the table and stood, already reaching for her coat. “Coffee shop downstairs. Be there in ten minutes.”

She left before Peter could ask whether that was a suggestion or an order. Jameson watched him for a second after the door shut behind her.

“You know she hates this, right?” Peter asked.

“She’ll survive.”

“You’re weirdly confident about that.”

“I hired her, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Jameson pointed toward the door with the folder. “Go do your job, Parker.”

Peter left before Jameson could give him another reason to regret asking. He also gave Y/N a few minutes before heading downstairs, mostly because he needed a second to figure out how he was supposed to interview someone who clearly didn’t want to be interviewed.

By the time he reached the coffee shop across from the Bugle, she was already sitting near the back window with her sweater folded over the chair beside her. She’d picked a table far from both the counter and the door, which Peter noticed right away even though he tried not to make it obvious. A paper cup sat untouched in front of her, and she had one hand resting beside it while she watched people pass on the sidewalk outside.

Peter stopped beside the table, looking from the untouched coffee to the empty chair across from her. “You ordered without me?”

Y/N looked up at him like she’d known he was there before he spoke. “I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“That’s fair.” Peter pulled out the chair and started to sit, but she glanced at her phone before he got comfortable.

“You also took twelve minutes.”

He paused halfway into the seat. “It was ten.”

“It was twelve,” she said, like she had no problem correcting him over something that small.

Peter sat down fully and set his camera bag beside his feet. “You timed me?”

Y/N wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup, though she still didn’t drink from it. “I noticed.”

“That somehow feels worse.”

“It is,” she said, and Peter could tell she was a little amused even if she wasn’t giving him much to work with.

He slid his notebook onto the table, and her attention dropped to it immediately. The look she gave it was suspicious enough that Peter almost wanted to put it away.

“You actually have questions prepared?” she asked.

“I was told to get something usable,” Peter said, though the notebook suddenly looked way more official than it had upstairs.

Y/N leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms loosely. “By Jameson, I’m guessing.”

“Unfortunately.”

She looked away for a second, and Peter had the feeling she was trying not to laugh.

“Fine,” she said. “Ask.”

Peter looked down at the first question and immediately regretted writing it. It had sounded normal when he scribbled it down in the newsroom. Sitting across from Y/N, who already looked like she knew it was bad, it felt like something pulled from a career-day worksheet.

“What made you want to work at the Daily Bugle?”

Y/N blinked once. Peter lowered the notebook slightly. “Too normal?”

“It sounds like something you’d ask someone applying for an internship they don’t actually want.”

“Okay,” he said, crossing it out before she could insult it more. “Fair.” She looked away again before he could tell if she was trying not to laugh.

“What would you rather I ask?” he said.

Y/N looked down at her coffee and rubbed her thumb against the sleeve. “Nothing.”

Peter gave her a look. “That’s not helpful.”

“I’m not trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah, I’m picking up on that.”

“You’re very perceptive, Parker.”

“Thank you,” he said, drawing a useless little line across the page just so his hands had something to do. “I’m putting that in the article.”

Her eyes snapped back to him. “Don’t.”

Peter smiled down at the notebook, but when he looked up again, she had turned back toward the window. Her face reflected faintly in the glass, and he realized he’d have to be careful with this. Not because she seemed fragile, but she seemed like someone who hated the idea of anyone thinking she was.

“You know,” he said, trying to keep it light, “most people are at least a little excited when someone wants to write about them.”

“Most people probably haven’t had a stranger point a gun at them during their first week.”

Peter’s smile faded. She said it casually, but her eyes stayed on the window, and one of her fingers tapped once against the cup before going still.

“Yeah,” he said, quieter. “Okay. That one’s fair too.”

For a moment, the coffee shop kept moving around them while neither of them said anything. The espresso machine hissed behind Peter, someone laughed near the counter, and Y/N stayed quiet long enough that he wondered if he’d already ruined whatever small amount of trust she had been giving him.

He flipped to a clean page, partly for the interview and partly to give both of them something else to look at. “Why did you help Jameson?” he asked.

Y/N turned back to him. The question didn’t seem to surprise her, but Peter noticed the way she became more careful again. “Because he needed help,” she said.

Peter waited with his pen hovering above the page. When she didn’t continue, he gave her a small, pleading look. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay, but Jameson’s going to read that and say it sounds like I interviewed a brick wall.”

Y/N’s expression barely changed at that. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“It becomes a you problem when he sends me back down here.”

She looked at him for a long second, and Peter had the strong feeling she was deciding whether making his job harder was entertaining enough to be worth it. Finally, she sighed and uncrossed her arms.

“Fine,” she said. “What do you need?”

Peter relaxed a little. “Just something real. Not your whole life story. I’m not asking for your social security number.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Or your secret villain origin story.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Do I look like I have a villain origin story?”

Peter should have said no. It would’ve been safer and probably smarter. Instead, he tilted his head and pretended to think about it, which made her raise her eyebrows in warning.

“You did threaten my notebook with your eyes five seconds ago,” he said.

“I can threaten it with my hands too.”

“See?” Peter tapped his pen lightly against the paper, trying not to laugh. “That sounds very villainous.”

Y/N lifted her coffee to hide the small laugh that slipped out, though the word settled uncomfortably somewhere beneath it. Villainous wasn’t entirely wrong. Peter just didn’t know enough about her to understand why.

“What made you move when everyone else froze?” he asked.

Her expression changed almost immediately, and Peter regretted how quickly the mood shifted.

Y/N lowered the coffee back to the table. Her fingers stayed around the cup, but her grip tightened slightly, her thumb pressing into the sleeve like she needed something solid to focus on.

“I’ve seen what happens when people wait too long,” she said. “Sometimes someone has to move first.”

Peter didn’t write right away. The answer was better than he expected, but it also felt like the edge of something much bigger.

Y/N kept looking at the coffee cup, though Peter had the feeling she wasn’t really seeing it anymore. Her thumb moved over the sleeve again and again, and for a second, she looked younger than she had a moment ago.

He almost asked what she meant, but then she blinked and looked back at him like nothing had happened.

“Can I use that?” he asked instead.

Y/N studied him for a second before answering. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Just don’t make it sound dramatic.”

Peter glanced down at the notebook. “I work for Jameson. That’s basically impossible.”

“Try harder.”

He wrote the answer down slowly, smiling to himself. “That’s also going in the article. ‘Try harder.’ Very inspiring.”

“If you put that in there, I’ll deny it.”

“You can’t deny a direct quote.”

“I can if I pretend I don’t know you.”

Peter looked up at her. “That would be devastating.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she didn’t sound nearly as annoyed as she was pretending to be.

“What are you hoping to do at the Bugle?” he asked.

“Work.”

His pen paused above the page. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is technically an answer.”

“It’s technically the least interesting answer you could’ve given me.”

“Maybe I’m not interesting.”

Peter glanced up before he could stop himself. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Y/N went still for half a second. It was small, but Peter noticed anyway. Her fingers stopped moving against the cup, and her eyes shifted from the notebook to his face like she was trying to figure out whether he meant it or was just trying to get a better quote.

Peter suddenly became very interested in the page in front of him.

“I mean,” he added quickly, “you saved Jameson, got hired on the spot, and now you’re helping investigate the attack. That’s objectively interesting.”

“Objectively.”

“Yeah.”

“So this is about the article.”

Peter looked back up. Her voice hadn’t changed much, but she sounded guarded again, and he immediately regretted explaining himself so fast. “Not completely,” he said.

The words slipped out before he could think better of them. Y/N held his gaze for a second too long, and Peter felt his face get warm.

He cleared his throat and looked back down. “I just mean, you have to have some kind of goal.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment while the coffee shop moved around them. “I want to be useful,” she said finally.

Peter’s pen stopped, and she looked down at the table as she continued. “I don’t like sitting around waiting for other people to decide what happens. I don’t like being handed a place to stand and told to stay there.”

Peter looked at her then. There was no joke in her voice and no quick response waiting behind it. She sounded honest in a way that made him feel like she had given him more than she meant to.

Y/N noticed the way he was looking at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You do that a lot.”

“Do what?”

“Look like you’re about to ask something, then decide not to.”

Peter looked back at the notebook, smiling a little. “Maybe I’m learning.”

“You’re not.”

“Probably not.”

The barista called Peter’s name, and he stood to collect his drink. When he came back, Y/N had picked up his notebook and was reading over the questions he had crossed out.

“Hey,” he said as he sat down and reached for it. “That’s private.”

“You were going to publish it.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I was going to make it sound better first.”

Y/N looked down at one of the lines and raised her brows. “‘What does bravery mean to you?’” Peter reached for the notebook again, but she held it just out of reach. “You’re never asking me that.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You wrote it down.”

“Jameson gave me a list.”

“Of course he did.” She looked at another crossed-out question. “‘Where do you see yourself in five years?’”

Peter groaned and covered his face with one hand. “Okay, that one was mine, but I was under pressure.”

She shook her head, but Peter could tell she was enjoying this way more than she wanted him to know.

He finally managed to take the notebook from her, though his fingers brushed hers in the process. It was barely anything, just a quick touch over the edge of the notebook, but Peter felt it anyway. He looked down immediately, suddenly acting like the crossed-out questions were very important.

Y/N pulled her hand back first and picked up her coffee. “You don’t have to write whatever he wants,” she said.

Peter looked at her. The teasing had left her voice, and she was watching him like she actually wanted to know what he thought. “I know.”

“Do you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Jameson always wanted the version of a story that made the most noise, and Peter had known that for a while. But he also needed the job, and the Bugle was one of the only places that hadn’t asked too many questions about where he had been before he showed up.

“I’m trying to keep it simple,” he said finally. “You saved someone. I take a photo. He gets his story.”

“And what do I get?”

Peter looked down at the table. He didn’t have a good answer, and he didn’t want to pretend he did.

“Nothing, probably.”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh through her nose. “At least you’re honest.”

He looked back up at her. “What do you want?”

The question caught her off guard. Her fingers tightened slightly around the coffee cup, and she looked past him toward the window. “I don’t know,” she said.

Peter watched her for a second. The answer sounded real, which was probably why it stayed with him. He turned the notebook around and pushed it toward her. “Okay. You ask the questions.”

Y/N looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?”

“You clearly hate mine.”

“I do,” she said without hesitation.

“Then ask me something better.”

She folded her arms again, though it didn’t feel as much like a wall this time. There was almost something amused in the way she looked at him. “Why?”

“Because apparently I’m bad at interviews.” Peter gave a small shrug.

“You are.”

“Exactly.” He leaned forward slightly and held the notebook out to her. “So help me improve.”

Y/N glanced down at it but didn’t take it. “That sounds like work.”

“You just said you wanted to be useful.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Peter immediately pointed his pen at her before she could respond. “That was your quote. I’m using your own words.”

“You’re annoying.” Y/N said.

“But effective?”

“Unfortunately.”

Peter leaned back and handed her the notebook. “Go ahead.”

Y/N looked down at the blank page, then back at him. “Fine. Why do you work for Jameson?”

Peter blinked. “That’s your first question?”

“You said better.”

“I did, I’m just surprised you went straight for personal.”

“That wasn’t personal.”

“It felt a little personal.”

“It’s your job.”

Peter leaned back in his chair and looked out the window, mostly to buy himself a second. He could feel her watching him, and somehow that made it harder to give the easy answer.

“Because he gave me a job,” he said. “And because I’m good with a camera.”

It was true. Jameson had been one of the only people willing to hire him without asking too many questions about where he’d gone to school, what he’d been doing before he showed up, or why there was so little proof that Peter Parker had existed before then. The work wasn’t always something he was proud of, but he couldn’t afford to be picky.

Y/N didn’t look impressed. “That’s not really an answer.”

“It’s the answer I have.”

“It’s the answer you give when you don’t want someone to ask the next question.”

Peter looked at her. The worst part was that she didn’t sound smug about it. She sounded like she knew exactly what avoiding a question looked like because she did it all the time.

“I like taking pictures,” he said after a second. “I just don’t always like what they want the pictures for.”

Y/N’s expression softened a little, though she didn’t say anything.

Peter looked down at the camera beside him and rubbed his thumb along the edge of his cup. “Sometimes it feels like I’m helping people see something. Other times it feels like I’m handing Jameson a reason to yell louder.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a small laugh. “But the coffee’s bad, the pay is worse, and Jameson only insults me directly to my face about eighty percent of the time, so there are perks.”

Y/N looked at him for a moment before speaking. “You’re better at it when you’re not trying so hard.”

Peter frowned. “At taking pictures?”

“At talking.”

He looked back at her, caught off guard by how quietly she said it. The comment landed somewhere softer than he knew what to do with, and for a second, he just stared. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

Y/N’s expression tightened almost immediately, like she already regretted letting it slip. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Last compliment.” Peter nodded solemnly, though the smile pulling at his mouth ruined the effect.

“I mean it.”

“That’s fine.” He looked back down at the notebook, still smiling to himself. “I’ll remember it forever.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but this time she actually smiled. It was quick, but it was real, and Peter caught it before she looked back toward the window.

Without thinking, he picked up his camera and took the picture. The shutter clicked once, and Y/N looked back at him immediately.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

Peter froze with the camera still halfway raised, suddenly aware of how bad it probably looked. “Maybe.”

“Peter.”

“It was a good picture,” he said, lowering it slightly as though that might make his defense sound more reasonable.

Her expression didn’t soften. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“You agreed to an interview.”

“I agreed to coffee.”

“You literally said fine.”

“I said fine to questions,” she corrected, holding his gaze.

The amusement slipped from Peter’s face. He lowered the camera completely, his fingers tightening around it as he realized she wasn’t only giving him a hard time. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

The apology came out quieter than the rest of their conversation, and Y/N seemed to notice. She looked at him for a moment, like she was trying to figure out if he actually meant it, then held out her hand.

“Let me see it.”

Peter hesitated. “You’re not gonna delete it?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“It should be.”

He turned the camera around and slid it across the table. Y/N looked at the screen, where the photo showed her sitting beside the window with her coffee in one hand, looking at Peter like she had forgotten for half a second that she was supposed to be guarded. The sunlight hit the side of her face, and she looked more relaxed than Peter had ever seen her at the Bugle.

She stared at it longer than he expected, which made him even more nervous. Then he shifted in his seat. “If you hate it, I won’t use it.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her thumb hovered near the buttons, close enough that Peter genuinely thought she might delete it.

“It’s not terrible,” she said finally, still looking at the screen.

Peter let out a breath. “Thank you.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It kind of was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You looked at it for a really long time,” he pointed out, unable to hide the small smile pulling at his mouth.

“I was deciding if your camera deserved to survive.”

“See?” Peter nodded toward her like she’d just proved his point. “Compliment.”

Y/N shook her head, but there was a small trace of amusement in her expression as she slid the camera back across the table. “You can use it,” she said. Then her voice grew more serious. “But don’t make me sound like some kind of hero.”

Peter’s smile faded slightly. He looked down at the photo again, noticing the way she’d turned toward the window instead of the camera, like she hadn’t realized anyone was watching her. “I won’t.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” His answer came easily this time, without any teasing.

“No dramatic headline. No ‘mysterious girl saves the day.’ No making me sound like I walked through fire while everyone clapped.”

Peter’s mouth lifted slightly. “Was everyone supposed to clap?”

“Peter.”

“Sorry.” He held up one hand. “No hero story.”

Y/N studied him like she was checking for a lie. Whatever she saw seemed good enough, because she picked up her sweater from the back of the chair and stood.

“You can say I’m grateful for the opportunity,” she said, sounding like the words had cost her something. “That should make Jameson happy.”

Peter looked up at her. “Are you?”

“Grateful?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N looked at him for a moment, then turned toward the window where people moved along the sidewalk outside. “I’m trying to be,” she said.

Peter looked down at the notes he had taken and the photo still open on his camera screen. It wasn’t much, but it was more honest than anything Jameson had handed him to ask.

Y/N pulled on her sweater and headed toward the door. “Don’t stay down here too long.”

Peter looked up. “You worried about me?”

“No,” she said, already walking away from the table. “Jameson gets louder when people are missing.”

Peter looked back down at his notes. “Good point.”

Y/N opened the door. “Try not to take another twelve minutes.”

Then she left.

Peter watched her disappear into the crowd outside before looking back down at his notebook. He had enough for an article now, even if it wasn’t the loud, heroic story Jameson probably wanted.

For some reason, that made him want to get it right even more.

[loverwebs]

my first peter parker x stark!reader imagine:

from friends to this

i’ve had this one in the drafts for a whiiile, and it takes place moments before the fight with thanos on titan. as for everything that happens after… we’re choosing to ignore it. everyone lives happily ever after. thank you for understanding. ❤️

[loverwebs]

From Friends to This

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: Somewhere between sneaking into space and preparing to fight Thanos, Peter Parker and Tony Stark’s daughter realize they might not just be friends anymore.

Masterlist

After Ebony Maw took Doctor Strange onto his ship, Tony followed without thinking twice. He had expected a fight, another plan he would have to make up as he went, maybe even some kind of alien interrogation.

What he hadn’t expected was Peter Parker clinging to the outside of the ship all the way into space. And he definitely hadn’t expected his daughter to be hiding inside with him.

The Cloak of Levitation tapped Tony lightly on the shoulder. He jumped, spinning around with his repulsor raised before realizing it was only the cape hovering behind him.

“Wow,” he said, lowering his hand. “You’re seriously a loyal piece of outerwear, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, uh, speaking of loyalty,” Peter’s voice said from behind him.

Tony froze. “What the—”

“Hi, Dad,” Y/N said with a guilty smile as she stepped out beside Peter.

Tony turned slowly. The second he saw them standing there, his expression dropped.

“What the hell are you two doing here?”

“Listen—” Peter started.

“You two should not be here.” Tony spoke sternly.

“I know what you’re gonna say. We were gonna go back, but it was such a long way down—”

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

“And then I thought of you, and I kind of stuck to the ship,” Peter finished anyway.

Tony stared at him for a second before rubbing a hand over his face. “And now I gotta hear it.”

“Plus, these suits are ridiculously intuitive,” Peter continued. “So, technically, it’s kind of your fault that we’re here.”

Tony turned toward him. “You just blamed me for your terrible decision?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “No. I mean, yes, but not in a bad way.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Y/N added. “We were trying to help. You made these suits so we could help the team, right? You can’t really blame us for using them.”

Tony looked at her for a long moment.

“Y/N Stark.”

Her smile faded. “Yeah?”

“Are you actually trying to argue with me right now?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Not anymore.”

“Good.” Tony stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders, checking her over like he needed to make sure she was really okay. “You’re on an alien spaceship, heading toward a fight neither of you should be anywhere near. Do you understand how insane that sounds?”

“I know,” she said more quietly.

“No, you don’t,” Tony said. “Because if you did, you would’ve stayed on Earth.”

Y/N looked down, her eyes glossy. “I didn’t want you going alone.”

For a moment, Tony didn’t say anything. His jaw tightened as he looked away, but then he pulled her into a quick hug.

“You’re grounded for the rest of your life,” he muttered into her hair.

Y/N smiled against his shoulder. “That feels a little dramatic.”

“You snuck into space.”

“Okay, true.”

Tony pulled back and pointed between her and Peter. “Both of you stay where I can see you. No wandering around, no touching random alien buttons, and no more surprises.”

Peter nodded right away. “Absolutely. We’re done with surprises.”

Tony gave him a look.

Peter swallowed. “Probably.”

Tony looked back at Y/N, and his expression softened for a second before he turned to Peter again.

“And Parker?”

“Yeah, Mr. Stark?”

“Keep my daughter safe.”

Peter’s face immediately turned serious. “I will. I promise.”

Tony nodded once, like that was all he needed to hear.

-x-

A few hours later, Y/N found Peter standing near one of the ship’s windows, staring out at the stars.

“I can’t believe we’re actually in space,” he said quietly.

She joined him beside the glass and looked out at the endless darkness beyond it. “I know. And we still have two English papers due next week.”

Peter turned toward her. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Sorry,” she said, folding her arms. “I’ve had homework and missions back-to-back for months. You can’t expect me to suddenly be in space and not remember I have homework due next week.”

Peter laughed under his breath. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“Thank you.”

They stood there for a little while, looking out at the stars.

“It’s weird how quiet it is out here,” Peter said.

Y/N glanced at him. “Quiet?”

“Yeah. Everything back home is always loud. Sirens, traffic, people yelling, Mr. Stark bossing me around.” He smiled a little. “But out here, it’s just us and this giant empty sky.”

She looked back through the window. “That’s actually kind of nice.”

Peter nodded, then glanced down at her suit.

“Your suit is really cool, by the way.”

Y/N looked down at herself. “My suit?”

“Yeah. Mine has all these new features, and it’s awesome, but yours is actually really pretty. It looks like you.”

She tried not to smile too much. “You think it looks pretty?”

Peter’s cheeks turned pink. “I mean, the suit. The suit looks pretty.”

“Right,” she teased.

“And that shield thing you did earlier?” he added, nodding toward the bracelet around her wrist. “That was insane.”

Y/N smiled. “It can make a shield, but it also has these little energy blades.”

Peter looked impressed. “That’s actually really cool. Your dad just gave you that?”

“Pretty much. He said I’m only supposed to use the blades if I really have to.”

“Which means you definitely haven’t used them yet, right?”

Y/N gave him a look.

Peter laughed. “Right. I’m not asking.”

She smiled and looked back at him. “Your suit is cool too, though.”

Peter glanced at her, trying not to look too pleased. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s very you. A little extra, but in a cute way.”

He looked at her, trying and failing to hide his smile. “Can I say something kind of stupid?” he asked after a moment.

Y/N turned toward him. “When has anything you’ve said ever been stupid?”

He let out a nervous laugh. “All the time.”

“Okay, maybe not ever. But go on.”

Peter looked back out the window, like it was easier to say it to the stars than directly to her.

“I think it would’ve been really nice if we were up here for a reason that wasn’t terrible,” he said. “Like, if it was just us. No Thanos, no fighting, no everyone trying to kill us. Just being up here together.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten.

Peter looked embarrassed almost immediately. “Sorry. That sounded way more intense than I meant it to.”

“It didn’t,” she said softly, shaking her head as she spoke.

He looked back at her.

“I think that would’ve been nice too.”

-x-

Neither of them brought it up again until they reached Titan.

The air was dry and heavy, and the orange sky made everything feel wrong. Tony and Doctor Strange stood a few feet away, arguing as they came up with a plan while Y/N stayed close to Peter and tried not to let her nerves show.

Peter noticed anyway. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said automatically.

He gave her a small look. “You’re doing that thing where you say you’re okay, but you’re definitely not okay.”

She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I’m trying not to think about the fact that we’re about to fight someone who wants to kill half the universe.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s probably a good thing not to think about too much.”

They stood there for a moment, their shoulders brushing.

Y/N looked up at him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said on the ship.”

Peter’s expression shifted. “Which part?”

“The part about it being nice if we were up there for a better reason.” She glanced down for a second, then back at him. “If it was just us.”

He went quiet.

“I think it would’ve been so nice,” she said softly.

Peter looked at her like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

For a second, neither of them said anything. Peter looked down, his fingers brushing nervously against hers.

“I really like you,” he said finally.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Peter gave a small, shaky laugh. “I know this is probably not the best time to say it. We’re on another planet and about to fight Thanos, which is obviously not ideal, but I just…” He swallowed. “I didn’t want to keep pretending I didn’t feel it.”

His eyes lifted back to hers.

“I’ve liked you for a while,” he admitted. “I kept thinking it would make things weird, or that Mr. Stark would hate me, or that I’d mess everything up between us. But after everything we’ve been through, I didn’t want to leave it unsaid.”

Y/N smiled a little. “I really like you too, Peter.”

His whole face softened. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I think I’ve known for a while. I just kept trying not to think about it too much.”

Peter stayed quiet, watching her carefully.

“You’re easy to be around,” she continued. “And you make me laugh when I’m stressed, even when you’re being annoying. You just make my life so much better.”

He looked down, already smiling.

“I’ve been scared of making it complicated,” Y/N admitted. “But I don’t think you’d ruin anything.”

Peter let out a breath, like he had been holding it the entire time. “Okay,” he said, smiling a little. “That’s really good to hear.”

“You’re welcome,” she teased.

He stepped a little closer, giving her enough time to pull away.

When she didn’t, Peter leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft and quick at first, like neither of them fully believed it was happening. Y/N kissed him back before he could second-guess it, and when they pulled apart, Peter was smiling in that shy way that made her heart flutter.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

She nodded, reaching for his hand. “More than okay.”

Peter laced his fingers through hers.

“Come on,” Y/N said, giving his hand a small squeeze. “We have a universe to save.”

He smiled at her. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Author’s Note: moments before disaster 😭😭

[loverwebs]

Peter Parker Masterlist:

Maroon (Ongoing Series)

Peter Parker x Escaped Black Widow!Reader

Freed from the Red Room, Y/N is trying to survive her past while Peter Parker hides from a world that forgot him.

It’s Supposed to be Fun, Turning 21

Peter Parker x Reader

Peter doesn’t make it to his girlfriend’s birthday, but she runs into Spider-Man on the way home.

Sparks Fly

Peter Parker x Reader

Peter runs into his ex at a Fourth of July party and realizes he’s not over her.

From Friends to This

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Peter and Tony Stark’s daughter face Thanos and their feelings at the same time.

[loverwebs]

wrote a peter parker x reader imagine since the fourth of july is tomorrow and i didn’t have work today! 🎆

- link to sparks fly

[loverwebs]

Sparks Fly

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter runs into his ex at a Fourth of July party and realizes letting her go might’ve been the biggest mistake he’s ever made.

Masterlist

The first thing Peter noticed when he walked into Ned’s backyard was Y/N.

Which was annoying, because he’d spent the whole walk there telling himself he was going to be normal about this.

He was going to say hi, catch up with Ned, grab a drink, and somehow act like seeing his ex-girlfriend in a red bathing suit wasn’t enough to make his brain completely shut down.

Then he walked through the gate and saw her standing by the pool.

She was talking to MJ and Betty with her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, a white cover-up hanging open over her bathing suit. Her hair was still a little damp, and she was laughing at something Betty said with that bright, pretty smile Peter had spent the last three weeks trying not to think about.

He immediately forgot how to walk.

Ned stepped up beside him with a plate of chips and followed Peter’s line of sight. “You’re staring,” he said, the corner of his mouth pulling into a grin.

“I’m not staring,” Peter muttered, though he didn’t look away fast enough for it to be convincing.

“You walked into the gate.”

Peter glanced behind him. The wooden gate was still swinging slightly from where he’d bumped into it.

“I barely hit it.”

“You made a sound,” MJ called from a lawn chair nearby. She didn’t even glance up from her phone. “Like a sad little bird.”

Peter frowned at all of them. “Why are you guys watching me?”

“Because you’re being obvious,” Ned said, popping another chip into his mouth.

“I’m not being obvious.”

Flash walked past them in sunglasses that were way too small for his face and a tank top with an American flag stretched across the front. He slowed down when he noticed Peter’s expression.

“You’re doing the face.”

Peter turned toward him. “What face?”

“The face you made when you found out Y/N was coming.”

“I didn’t make a face.”

Flash looked him over for another second, clearly enjoying himself. “Okay, maybe it was less of a face and more of a full-body reaction.”

Ned snorted into his chips while Peter shot Flash a look.

“Why are you even here?” Peter asked.

“Because Ned invited me.”

“I regret that,” Ned said immediately.

Flash placed a hand over his chest like he’d been personally wounded. “That’s cruel, Leeds. I’ve been nothing but a wonderful guest.”

“You ate six hot dogs before anyone else got here,” Ned reminded him.

“I came hungry.”

“You came forty minutes early,” MJ added flatly.

Peter tried not to look at Y/N again after that. Too bad he failed after maybe five seconds.

This time, she caught him.

Their eyes met across the yard, and Peter’s stomach dropped. For a second, she just looked at him, her expression impossible to read from that far away. Then she turned back to Betty and said something that made both of them laugh.

Peter’s shoulders sank before he could stop them.

MJ finally looked up from her phone. “You okay?”

He hesitated, rubbing his thumb against the side of his cup before glancing over at her. “Do you think she’s still mad at me?”

MJ’s expression softened a little, but she didn’t sugarcoat it. “She doesn’t hate you.”

Peter let out a quiet breath.

“She is mad at you, though.”

His shoulders dropped again.

“Peter,” MJ continued, lowering her voice slightly, “you broke up with her outside her apartment and then avoided every group plan she was at for two weeks.”

“I didn’t avoid her.”

“You skipped game night.”

“I had stuff to do.”

“You told Ned you were reorganizing your sock drawer.”

Peter turned slowly toward his friend. Ned shrugged, looking a little apologetic. “You did say that.”

Peter looked back at MJ, his expression tightening. “Okay, but do you think she’s, like, really mad?”

MJ stared at him for a moment, then her face softened in a way that made his stomach sink before she even answered.

“She cried, Peter.”

His face fell. “I know,” he said quietly, his eyes dropping to the grass.

“Then yes,” MJ said. “She’s probably really mad.”

Peter looked back at Y/N, his chest tightening.

The truth was, he hadn’t meant for the breakup to hurt her that much. He knew that sounded awful, because obviously it hurt. He had broken up with her. He had stood outside her apartment and told her that things had gotten complicated, that she deserved someone who could actually be there for her, and that maybe they both needed space.

He thought she’d understand. But instead, she cried.

Not loudly. She hadn’t yelled at him or begged him to stay. Her face had just fallen when he said it, and she’d looked away like she didn’t want him to see her cry.

Then she’d wiped at her eyes and said, “Okay, Peter. If that’s what you want.”

He had wanted to take it back right then and there.

He’d wanted to tell her that he was scared. That he didn’t know how to keep her safe when he barely knew how to keep anyone safe. That losing her scared him more than anything.

Instead, he let her go inside.

Before Peter could get too lost in his own head, someone walked over to Y/N holding two cups of lemonade.

The guy was tall, wearing a navy blue tank top, and smiling at her in a way Peter immediately decided he didn’t like.

“Oh no,” Ned said quietly beside him.

Peter looked over. “What?”

“You’re doing the jealous thing.”

“I’m not jealous.”

MJ glanced at him. “Peter, you look like you’re about to web that guy to the fence.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not helping,” Ned said, trying not to laugh.

The guy handed Y/N one of the drinks. She smiled politely and took it, and Peter’s stomach twisted.

“Who is that?” he asked, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

“Betty’s cousin,” Ned said. “Ethan, I think.”

Peter nodded as though that information didn’t bother him at all. “Cool.”

MJ looked down at his hand. “You’re crushing that.”

Peter followed her gaze and realized the plastic cup had folded in on itself and quickly set it on the table beside him.

Across the yard, Ethan said something that made Y/N laugh.

Peter knew he didn’t get to be bothered by it. He was the one who had ended things, convinced that pushing her away was better than letting her choose whether she wanted to stay. Still, watching Ethan make her laugh made something in his chest ache.

Still, watching someone else flirt with her made him feel sick.

A few minutes later, Y/N glanced toward the kitchen, said something to Betty, and slipped inside the house.

Peter waited for about ten seconds before following her.

“Subtle,” MJ called after him.

“I’m getting a drink,” Peter said over his shoulder.

“You don’t like lemonade,” Ned reminded him.

“I could start.”

The kitchen was quieter than the backyard. Y/N stood at the counter with a knife in one hand and a giant watermelon in front of her, trying to cut through the rind.

Peter leaned against the doorway, watching her struggle with it for a second before he spoke.

“You’re cutting that by yourself?”

Y/N looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifting. “I think I can handle a watermelon, Peter.”

“I know. I just meant it’s kind of big.”

She stared at him for a second, waiting for him to realize what he’d said. “That sounded better in your head, didn’t it?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “A little.”

Her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.

“Flash said he was hungry,” she explained as she turned back to the watermelon. “Apparently six hot dogs didn’t fill him up.”

“Nothing fills Flash up.”

“Maybe we should throw the watermelon at him.”

“That seems wasteful.”

She glanced at him again, this time with a small smile. “You’re right. He’d probably eat it off the ground.”

Peter laughed before he could stop himself.

For a second, it felt like before. Like he was standing in her kitchen at midnight while she made snacks and complained about him stealing fruit off the cutting board. Like everything between them was easy.

Then the knife slipped. Y/N sucked in a quick breath and pulled her hand back.

Peter was beside her immediately. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern taking over before he could think about whether he was hovering too much.

“It’s fine,” she said, looking down at her finger.

A thin cut ran along the side of it, blood beginning to gather near her knuckle.

“Y/N,” Peter said gently, reaching for her hand before stopping himself. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a tiny cut. I’m not dying.”

“I know,” he said, softer now. “Can I see?”

She hesitated before holding her hand out.

The pause was small, but Peter noticed it. Before, she would’ve let him take her hand without thinking.

He took it carefully and held it beneath the faucet. She flinched a little when the cold water hit the cut.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“You keep saying that.”

Peter looked up at her. She didn’t sound mean, just tired.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

She let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “You just did it again.”

“I know.”

Peter reached under the sink and found the first-aid kit. He opened it carefully, trying not to think too hard about how much he missed holding her hand.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, watching him pull out a bandage.

“I know.”

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m helping.”

“You’re hovering helpfully.”

Peter looked up at her. “Is that better?”

“A little.”

He placed the bandage over her cut and smoothed the edges down. His thumb brushed lightly against the side of her hand, and neither of them spoke for a second.

Music drifted in through the open screen door, mixing with Flash yelling at someone outside about the grill.

Y/N glanced toward the backyard. “I’m surprised Ned hasn’t kicked him out yet.”

“He probably would if Flash didn’t keep bringing food,” Peter said.

She looked back at him. “That’s honestly the most useful thing he’s done all day.”

Peter laughed quietly.

Then the quiet settled again.

Peter leaned back against the counter, giving her space. “Can I say something?”

Y/N looked at him carefully, already looking like she knew where this was going. “You’re going to anyway.”

He nodded. “Probably.”

That almost made her smile again.

“I know I hurt you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I know I made you feel like I didn’t want you, and that was never true.”

She looked down at her bandaged finger.

“Then why did you break up with me?” she asked.

Peter’s chest tightened.

“Because I was scared,” he admitted. “Things were getting worse, and I kept thinking that if I was with you, something could happen to you because of me. I thought pushing you away would protect you.”

She stayed quiet, but her fingers curled slightly against her palm.

“But I didn’t ask you what you wanted,” he continued. “I just decided for you, and that wasn’t fair. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was really just shutting you out because I didn’t know what else to do.”

Her eyes looked shiny, and Peter hated himself for being the reason.

“You made me cry for days,” she said softly.

Peter looked down. “I know.”

“You don’t get to keep saying sorry and think it fixes everything.”

“I know.”

“You made me feel like I was too much for you.”

“You were never too much,” Peter said immediately. He looked up at her, his expression open and serious. “You were the best part of my life.”

Her expression softened, but the hurt was still there. “Then why did you leave?”

Peter looked down at the floor. “Because I was stupid.”

That got a small laugh out of her.

“Yeah,” she said. “You were.”

“I know.”

“You really messed up.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just get scared and decide I don’t get a say in my own relationship.”

“I won’t do that again,” Peter said. “I know I can’t just promise it and expect you to trust me. I know I have to earn that back. But I will. I’ll tell you the truth, even when it’s hard. I’ll stop acting like I have to handle everything by myself.”

Before she could answer, the kitchen door opened.

Ned stepped inside, stopped when he saw Peter standing close to Y/N with her hand still in his, and immediately looked like he had walked in on something private.

“Oh,” he said, slowly backing toward the door again. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Y/N and Peter said at the same time.

Ned raised his eyebrows.

“Definitely not,” Peter added quickly.

“Right,” Ned said, clearly not believing either of them. “Well, Flash is trying to eat the watermelon before it’s cut, so I came to check on the situation.”

From outside, Flash yelled, “I CAN HEAR YOU, NED.”

“You’re supposed to!” Ned yelled back.

Y/N laughed, and Peter couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

Ned looked between the two of them. “Are you guys okay?”

Y/N pulled her hand gently from Peter’s.

“We’re fine,” she said.

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”

Ned gave both of them a look.

“Super believable,” he said before walking back outside.

A few minutes later, the watermelon was cut, Flash had been banned from going near the grill, and everyone had gathered around the pool as the sun started to go down.

Ethan wandered back over to Y/N with another drink, all while Peter told himself he wasn’t going to react this time.

Then Ethan smiled and asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

Peter took a sip of soda at exactly the wrong moment and started coughing.

MJ patted his back once. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Peter managed, though his eyes watered as he tried to recover.

Y/N glanced at him briefly before looking back at Ethan. “No,” she said. “Not right now.”

Peter’s heart dropped and lifted at the same time.

Ethan smiled. “That’s good to know.”

She shook her head gently. “I’m not really looking, though.”

Ethan’s smile turned a little embarrassed. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Y/N told him kindly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He nodded, taking the hint, and headed back toward Betty, all while Peter tried not to look relieved.

MJ leaned toward him. “You’re pathetic.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You looked like you were about to propose when she said she wasn’t looking,” she whispered.

Peter stared at her. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did,” Ned said, dropping down into the chair beside them.

By the time the fireworks started, everyone had moved to the far end of the yard with lawn chairs and blankets.

Peter ended up sitting beside Y/N on the grass. He told himself it was because there was an open spot next to her, but he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Their knees brushed when she shifted, and Peter went still.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “You can relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re holding your breath.”

Peter let out a breath, which only made her smile wider.

The first firework burst in red and gold over the trees. Everyone cheered, and Flash yelled loud enough that Ned told him to calm down.

Peter looked at Y/N instead.

The light from the fireworks reflected in her eyes, and he felt the same certainty he’d felt every day he was with her.

He still loved her.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he told her quietly.

She didn’t look at him. “About being stupid?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. That too.”

She let out a soft laugh.

“I miss you,” he said.

Her smile faded a little. “I miss you too,” she admitted after a moment.

Peter’s heart started beating too fast, but she kept talking before he could say anything.

“That doesn’t mean everything is fixed,” she said, her voice gentle but serious. “You hurt me, Peter.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to come back just because some guy flirted with me at a party.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “That’s not why.”

She finally looked at him.

“I want to come back because I miss being your boyfriend,” he said. “I miss being the person you call. I miss your playlists. I miss you stealing my fries even when you say you’re not hungry. I miss you falling asleep during movies and then somehow still knowing what happened.”

Her eyes softened.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me tonight,” Peter continued. “I don’t even expect you to take me back tonight. I just want you to know that I’m here, and I’m not going to disappear on you again.”

Y/N looked down at her bandaged finger.

“You put this on crooked,” she said.

Peter blinked. “I did?”

“It’s kind of ugly.”

“I can fix it.”

She curled her fingers around the bandage and shook her head. “No. It’s okay.”

Peter smiled softly.

After a second, Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder. He went completely still.

“Don’t make it a big deal,” she murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You’re not breathing.”

“I am breathing.”

“You’re doing a bad job.”

Peter laughed quietly, then rested his head gently against hers.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. The fireworks kept lighting up the sky above them, and everyone around them was talking and laughing, but Peter only noticed the warmth of her beside him.

Y/N lifted her head and looked at him.

“Don’t make me regret giving you another chance,” she said.

Peter’s eyes widened. “You mean—”

“I mean you have to work for it,” she interrupted, though a smile was starting to pull at her mouth. “You don’t get to show up looking sad and expect me to fold.”

Peter nodded quickly. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.”

He smiled at her, hopeful enough that she had to look away for a second.

Then, before she could overthink it, Y/N leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Peter froze.

When she pulled back, he lifted a hand to the spot like he couldn’t believe it had happened.

“You’re blushing,” she whispered.

“It’s the fireworks,” he said weakly.

Y/N laughed and leaned back against his shoulder.

Peter looked down at the blanket between them, waiting.

A few seconds later, she turned her hand over, palm facing up.

He slipped his fingers between hers carefully, like he was still learning how to hold on.

This time, she let him.

[loverwebs]

maroon chapter four out NOWWW!!!

we finally got peter and y/n to work together 🤝

the slow burn is slow burning 🤭🤭🔥

link to maroon series

[loverwebs]

MAROON.

Chapter Four

Pairing: Peter Parker x Escaped Black Widow!Reader

Synopsis: Freed from the Red Room but still haunted by it, Y/N is trying to survive a life that was never meant to be hers. Peter Parker is doing the same, hiding behind a mask after losing everything. In a city full of ghosts, two masked strangers keep finding each other.

Series Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

Peter knew something was wrong the second Jameson walked into the newsroom smiling.

It wasn’t a normal smile. Jameson usually only looked pleased when someone else was getting yelled at, but this one had the sharp, satisfied look of someone who’d already made a decision nobody else was going to like.

Peter looked up from the photos spread across his desk just as Jameson stopped beside him.

“Parker.”

Peter leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t get comfortable. I need you to take pictures of the new hire.”

Peter glanced up at him, confused. “The new hire?”

Jameson stepped aside, and Peter’s stomach dropped when he saw the girl from the open house standing a few feet behind him.

Y/N looked different without the black dress and fitted coat. Her hair was down this time, falling over one shoulder, and she wore a dark sweater tucked into black pants. A thin folder rested beneath her arm, but she held it like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Peter stared for half a second too long before the recognition settled in. “You.”

Y/N’s eyes moved over him with the same unimpressed look she’d given him at the open house. “You’re still here.”

“That’s kind of how jobs work,” Peter said, shifting his camera strap higher on his shoulder.

Jameson looked between them, his expression tightening with interest. “You two know each other?”

“No,” they said at the same time.

Jameson frowned. “Great. Then you’ll get along perfectly.”

Peter looked back at him. “Wait, why am I taking pictures of her?”

“Because she saved my life, Parker. People like that get a welcome article.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Jameson. “I don’t need an article.”

Jameson waved her off without looking concerned. “Everybody needs an article. It’s how people know you exist.”

Peter watched her carefully. She looked uncomfortable, which was strange considering she’d taken down an armed man in front of half the building without blinking.

“She’ll be handling security and special projects until I decide what she’s actually good at,” Jameson continued. “You’ll show her around.”

Peter blinked, pointing lightly at himself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re both young, irritating, and apparently capable of surviving a gunman. Figure it out.”

Jameson walked away before either of them could argue, leaving Peter standing there with his camera in one hand and no idea what he was supposed to do with her.

He turned back toward Y/N, who was already looking around the newsroom like she was trying to figure out how quickly she could leave. “So, I guess I’m showing you around.”

Y/N glanced over the room. Reporters were talking over each other across cluttered desks, someone had dropped a stack of papers near the copy machine, and the coffee maker near the break room was making a sound like it was about to explode.

“Try not to spill anything on me this time,” she said.

Peter frowned. “That happened once.”

“And it was memorable.”

He grabbed his camera from the desk and stood. “Do you have a name, or am I supposed to keep calling you event consultant?”

Y/N hesitated for the smallest second before looking down at the temporary ID badge clipped to her sweater.

“Celia.”

Peter nodded slowly, repeating it under his breath like he was trying to decide whether it suited her. “Celia.”

“You say it like you don’t believe me.”

“I barely know you. I don’t believe anything yet.”

For a moment, Y/N looked almost amused. It was gone quickly, but Peter caught it before she turned her attention back toward the room.

Peter gestured around them. “Okay. This is the newsroom. Most people here are harmless, but don’t sit near Robbie if you’re trying to get work done. He talks on the phone like everyone in the building is hard of hearing.”

Across the room, Robbie glanced over from his desk.

“I heard that, Parker.”

Peter gave him a small wave. “See?”

Y/N’s mouth twitched, but she quickly looked away before it could turn into a smile.

Peter led her past the copy room, the break room, and the row of offices near the windows. He tried to keep things casual, but he kept catching Y/N looking around the room in a way that didn’t feel casual at all. She noticed every camera, every exit, and every desk that blocked part of the newsroom from view. She wasn’t looking at the office like someone starting a new job. She was mapping it.

Peter slowed near the windows and watched her glance toward the stairwell at the end of the hall. “You always do that?”

Y/N looked over at him. “Do what?”

“Look at every doorway like you’re planning an escape route.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked out over the city below them, her reflection faint in the glass.

“It’s a habit.”

Peter leaned slightly against the wall beside the window. “From what?”

Her eyes shifted back to him, guarded again. “You ask a lot of questions for a photographer.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to look as caught off guard as he felt. “You tackled a guy with a gun at an open house.”

“And you followed me into a restricted hallway.”

“I thought you were doing something suspicious.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, like she was waiting for him to hear himself. “You still do.”

Peter opened his mouth, then stopped because she wasn’t wrong.

Before he could think of something to say, Jameson’s office door slammed open.

“Parker!”

Peter closed his eyes for half a second. “That’s me.”

“Bring the new girl in here.”

Y/N followed him across the newsroom, but Peter noticed the way her shoulders tightened before they reached Jameson’s office. It was subtle enough that most people wouldn’t have caught it, but Peter did.

Jameson barely looked up from his desk when they entered.

“Sit.”

Neither of them moved at first.

Jameson looked up slowly, his glasses sitting low on his nose. “Was that a suggestion?”

Peter sat in the chair closest to the door. Y/N stayed standing for another second before lowering herself into the chair beside him, placing her folder carefully in her lap.

Jameson tossed a folder onto the desk between them.

“The police took the guy from Friday,” he said. “They haven’t told me anything useful because apparently I’m not important enough to know why someone tried to shoot me at my own event.”

Peter glanced down at the folder. There were printed photos from the open house, a list of names, and grainy security stills from the lobby.

“I want to know how he got into my building,” Jameson continued.

Y/N’s face stayed neutral, but Peter could tell she was paying closer attention now. Her gaze moved over the security stills before she even reached for the folder.

“You have security footage,” she said.

“Security footage that somehow missed a man walking around with a gun.”

“So your security team is incompetent.”

Jameson pointed at her with an approving nod. “Exactly. That’s why I hired you.”

Peter looked between them. “You hired her because your security team failed?”

“I hired her because she’s competent.”

Y/N glanced down at the folder, her fingers resting against the edge of it. “And what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Figure out where the gap was. Find out if anyone else got in using a false name. Find out whether this idiot had help.”

Peter leaned back in his chair. “Why am I here?”

Jameson looked at him like he’d asked the dumbest question imaginable.

“Because you took pictures all night, Parker. You were standing around with a camera while everyone else was drinking my champagne.”

“I was working.”

“Good. Then work.”

Jameson shoved the folder closer to them.

“I want answers by the end of the week. Parker, pull every photo you took that night. Celia, talk to security and figure out who checked people in.”

Y/N nodded once, already flipping open the folder.

Jameson looked between them again. “Try not to get shot.”

Peter stood and grabbed the folder before Y/N could. She reached for it at the same time, and their hands brushed over the edge of the file.

“You’re not actually giving me that?” she asked, looking down at his hand still holding it.

“I was going to look through it.”

“So was I.”

“Yeah, but I have the photos.”

“And I know what I’m looking for.”

Peter stared at her for a second. “You don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“Neither do you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then tell me.”

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Y/N gave him a small look that felt way too satisfied before she took the folder from his hands. “I’ll meet you in the conference room in an hour.”

Peter watched her leave the office without waiting for an answer.

Jameson looked at him from behind his desk. “What are you still doing here?”

Peter blinked. “She just took the folder.”

“Then go take it back.”

Peter glanced toward the door, then back at Jameson. “No. I think she’s got it.”

Jameson stared at him for a second before shaking his head and turning back to his computer.

“Hopeless.”

Peter left before Jameson could say anything worse.

By the time he reached his desk, Betty was waiting beside it with her arms crossed.

“She’s pretty,” she said.

Peter looked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

“The new girl.”

Peter grabbed his camera bag and started going through it, avoiding Betty’s stare. “That has nothing to do with anything.”

Betty’s mouth tugged into a smile. “You didn’t deny it, though.”

Peter looked up at her. “She’s also suspicious.”

Betty leaned against the edge of his desk. “You think everyone is suspicious.”

“That’s not true.”

“You thought the coffee guy downstairs was suspicious because he asked if you wanted oat milk.”

“He asked twice.”

Betty gave him a look.

Peter sighed as he pulled out the memory cards from Friday night. “Okay, maybe I’m being a little paranoid.”

“A little?”

He ignored her and slipped one of the memory cards into his laptop.

Most of the photos were useless. Blurry shots of people laughing too hard at things that weren’t funny. Jameson shaking hands with donors. A few pictures of the city through the windows.

Then Peter found one that made him stop.

It had been taken near the entrance before everything went wrong. Y/N stood by the guest table, looking down at her phone with her face half-hidden by her hair. Peter could still make out the screen clearly enough.

A message was open.

Smile. Make a good impression.

Peter stared at it for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. It wasn’t much, and it could’ve been from anyone, but something about it made his stomach tighten.

He slipped the memory card into his pocket, gathered the rest of his photos, and headed toward the conference room.

Y/N was sitting at the end of the table when he walked in. The folder Jameson had given them was open beside her, along with a legal pad filled with neat notes. She looked up when he entered, though she didn’t look particularly happy to see him.

“You’re late.”

Peter checked his watch as he set his camera bag beside an empty chair. “By three minutes.”

“Still late,” she said, looking back down at the folder like the conversation was already over.

“You’re very intense for someone who’s been here for, like, two hours.”

“And you’re very defensive for someone who spilled coffee on me within five minutes of meeting me.”

“That was Friday.”

“You remember it.”

“Because you keep bringing it up.”

Y/N looked back down at the folder. “Then stop giving me reasons.”

Peter sat across from her and set his laptop between them.

“I pulled the photos.”

“Great.”

“I also brought coffee.”

Y/N’s eyes shifted toward the cup in his hand, and Peter noticed the immediate suspicion in her expression.

“You’re not giving that to me.”

“No,” Peter said, trying not to smile. “I learned my lesson.”

“Good.”

He plugged in his laptop and waited for the photos to load. They appeared slowly, filling the screen one at a time.

Y/N leaned closer, her attention immediately moving to the crowd near the entrance.

“You took all of these?”

“Most of them.”

“Why were you taking pictures of the guest table?”

“Jameson wanted pictures of donors. People like seeing themselves at events.”

Y/N made a slight face as she looked back at the screen. “That sounds miserable.”

“It is.”

They went through the images quietly for a few minutes. Peter pointed out employees he recognized while Y/N compared faces against the guest list and security stills. She noticed details quickly, especially the people who had moved through the lobby without ever stopping to talk to anyone.

Peter watched her work for a second before speaking. “You’ve done this before.”

Y/N didn’t look up. “Done what?”

“Look through photos like you’re trying to find a threat.”

“I’m looking for someone who got into the building with a gun.”

“Yeah, but you’re really good at it.”

She paused briefly, then kept scrolling through the images. “You’re not terrible with a camera.”

Peter blinked, looking at her. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He leaned back in his chair with a small smile. “I’ll write it down.”

Y/N flipped to another photo. “You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’ll be the last one.”

Peter smiled despite himself.

A few minutes later, Y/N stopped scrolling. The photo on the screen had been taken just before the attack. Jameson stood near the center of the lobby, speaking to a donor while security lingered near the elevators. Behind them, a man stood near the back wall with a drink in his hand.

He looked ordinary enough that Peter might’ve missed him if Y/N hadn’t stopped.

“Who’s that?” she asked, leaning closer to the screen.

Peter looked at the image. “I don’t know. I didn’t get his name.”

“He wasn’t on the guest list.”

“You checked already?”

“I checked everyone.”

Peter glanced at her. “That was fast.”

Y/N didn’t look away from the screen. “I’m good at my job.”

She zoomed in on the man’s face, but the image blurred when it enlarged.

“Do you think he was involved?” Peter asked.

“I think he was watching Jameson.”

“That could mean anything.”

“It could,” Y/N said, keeping her eyes on the screen. “But it doesn’t feel like nothing.”

Peter studied her for a moment. She looked calm, but not relaxed, like she’d been expecting something to go wrong long before it actually had.

He thought about asking what she was really doing at the open house. Instead, he looked back at the photo.

“I can try to clean it up,” he said. “The picture.”

Y/N looked over at him, one brow lifting slightly. “You can do that?”

“Maybe.”

“That sounds confident.”

“It’s more confident than I usually am.”

For the first time since he’d met her, Y/N laughed. It was quiet and brief, but real enough that Peter almost missed it.

Then she looked back at the photo.

“Okay,” she said. “Try.”

Peter opened the laptop again.

Neither of them noticed Jameson standing outside the conference room until his shadow crossed the glass. He stared through the window at them for a second, then pointed at Peter.

“Parker!”

Peter looked up. “What?”

Jameson pushed open the door. “You’re taking pictures, not hosting a study group.”

Peter gestured toward the screen. “We found someone.”

Jameson stepped closer and squinted at the blurry image.

“That could be anybody.”

“He wasn’t on the guest list,” Y/N said.

Jameson looked at her. “Then find out who he is.”

Y/N nodded, her attention already returning to the laptop.

Jameson looked back at Peter. “And stop staring at your computer like it owes you money.”

Then he left again.

Peter watched the door close behind him.

“He’s nice,” Y/N said, her voice dry.

Peter looked over at her. “He’s actually worse when he likes you.”

Y/N’s eyebrows pulled together slightly. “That was him liking me?”

“Trust me.”

Y/N turned back to the photo on the screen, studying the blurry man near the back wall. Peter did the same, and neither of them said much after that.

The attacker clearly had help, and whoever had been watching Jameson that night was still unaccounted for.

[loverwebs]

please request peter parker x reader imagines!! i like rewarding myself for doing homework by writing my heart out, so send me all your cute, angsty, funny, or dramatic ideas <3

[loverwebs]

maroon chapter three is out now!!!

i was supposed to post this yesterday, but i didn’t have time to proofread it 🙁 chapter four is coming soon though, so you guys won’t have to wait a whole week for a new chapter 😏

link to maroon series

[loverwebs]

MAROON.

Chapter Three

Pairing: Peter Parker x Escaped Black Widow!Reader

Synopsis: Freed from the Red Room but still haunted by it, Y/N is trying to survive a life that was never meant to be hers. Peter Parker is doing the same, hiding behind a mask after losing everything. In a city full of ghosts, two masked strangers keep finding each other.

Series Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

The first thing they taught her at the Red Room was that failure was never private.

If one girl missed a target, all of them paid for it. If one girl hesitated, the others were forced to watch what happened to her. If someone asked too many questions, she’d disappear from the dormitory by morning, her bed stripped and empty before breakfast.

Y/N had learned quickly not to hesitate, not to get distracted, and not to make mistakes.

The instructor had stood in front of them with her hands folded behind her back, her voice calm enough to be worse than yelling.

“If you screw this up,” she’d said, looking directly at Y/N, “you’re dead.”

Years later, the words still came back at the worst possible times, especially now.

The scream cut through the hallway outside the supply closet, sharp enough to make Peter flinch beside her. Y/N’s hand tightened around the small blade hidden in her sleeve.

For a second, she was no longer at the Daily Bugle. She was fourteen again, barefoot on the cold floor of a training room, trying to keep her breathing steady while someone watched for the smallest sign that she was afraid.

Then Peter reached for the door, and Y/N caught his wrist.

“Wait.”

“There’s someone screaming,” he whispered.

“And there are armed men somewhere outside.”

Another shout came from the lobby, followed by the sound of glass breaking. Peter looked toward the door, his face pale. “You think they’re after you?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t know, and that was what bothered her most.

Valentina had sent her there with a fake badge, a vague instruction to make a good impression, and nothing else. No explanation, no real assignment, just another situation she’d been expected to figure out on her own.

Y/N had never been allowed to fail those kinds of tests.

She let go of Peter’s wrist and opened the closet door. The hallway was empty now that the two men were gone.

Peter stepped out behind her, close enough that she could hear how uneven his breathing was. He was scared, which was understandable, but he also had a habit of inserting himself into situations that had nothing to do with him.

Y/N glanced back at him. “Stay behind me.”

Peter frowned. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I do when you keep getting dragged into closets.”

He scoffed. “I was helping you.”

“You spilled coffee on me.”

“I panicked.”

“Obviously.”

He looked offended, but before he could argue, another scream rose from the lobby. This time, they both moved.

The Daily Bugle’s open house had gone strangely still. Guests stood near the edges of the lobby with champagne glasses still in their hands, unsure of whether they were supposed to run or wait for someone else to tell them what was happening. A few people had backed away from the center of the room, creating a circle around Jameson and one of the men from the hallway.

The man stood several feet away from him with one hand tucked inside his jacket, while Jameson looked irritated more than afraid.

“You people understand this is a private event, right?” he snapped, looking past the man toward security. “Why is he still standing there?”

The guard nearest to him slowly raised a hand. “Sir, please step back.”

Jameson scoffed. “You step back. I pay you.”

Y/N stopped near the edge of the crowd. Peter was beside her now, quiet for once. Then the man pulled a gun from inside his jacket.

The room reacted all at once. Someone dropped a glass. A woman near the elevators screamed. Security shouted for everyone to move back while guests stumbled away from the center of the lobby, bumping into tables and each other in their rush to get out of the line of fire.

Jameson finally stopped talking as the gun leveled directly at him.

Y/N moved before she could think about it. Not because Jameson mattered to her, and not because she wanted to play hero. She moved because she knew exactly what happened when someone froze and waited for another person to save them.

“Stay here,” she said to Peter.

He caught lightly at her sleeve. “Wait—”

She pulled away.

The gunman kept his attention on Jameson and the guards around him. He was tense, but he wasn’t frantic. His grip was steady, and his stance was practiced. He knew what he was doing.

Y/N slipped around the edge of the crowd, using the panic to stay out of sight. A champagne table near one of the marble columns had been abandoned by guests who’d left their drinks behind.

She grabbed the nearest glass.

The gunman shifted closer to Jameson.

“Who sent you?” Jameson demanded, his voice louder than it needed to be.

The man didn’t answer.

Y/N threw the glass against the wall just to his left. The sharp crack made him turn, and that was all she needed.

She crossed the distance before he could fully raise the weapon. Her hand caught his wrist and forced it upward. The gun fired once into the ceiling.

Guests screamed again, and Jameson ducked behind the nearest table.

The gunman tried to wrench free, but Y/N twisted his arm harder and drove her elbow into his ribs. He stumbled into the marble column beside them, and the gun slipped loose from his hand before hitting the floor.

Y/N kicked it away before he could reach for it. When he swung at her with his free hand, she ducked beneath it, caught his arm, and used his momentum to pull him forward. His shoulder hit the column with a dull crack before she forced him down against the floor.

He fought her for only a second before security finally reached them. Two guards pulled him away while Y/N stepped back, breathing harder than she wanted anyone to notice.

The entire thing lasted less than ten seconds, but the lobby stayed silent afterward as everyone tried to process what had just happened.

Y/N looked down at the gun on the floor and the shattered glass around her shoes. Her hands were steady, in the way they needed to be.

Jameson rose from behind the table and brushed dust from the sleeve of his suit. He looked irritated, embarrassed, and somehow still angry at everyone else for what had happened.

Then he looked at her.

“You,” he said.

Y/N met his eyes. “Me?”

“What’s your name?”

She hesitated. Her fake badge was still clipped to her coat, and the name printed across it wasn’t hers, but it was the only one she could safely give him.

“Celia,” she said.

Jameson glanced down at the badge. “Event consultant.”

Y/N said nothing.

He looked back at her, his expression shifting slightly. “You looking for real work?”

For the first time that night, Y/N almost lost her composure. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for the question to land heavier than it should have.

Make a good impression.

She could practically hear Valentina’s message again.

Y/N glanced toward Peter. He was still standing near the hallway entrance, looking stunned and a little sick, with his camera hanging uselessly around his neck. He hadn’t run, though. He’d stayed.

Then she looked back at Jameson.

“Maybe,” she said.

Jameson nodded once. “Come by my office Monday.”

“Okay.”

He turned toward security almost immediately, already angry again. “And someone get this idiot out of my building before he ruins the rest of my event.”

The guards dragged the gunman away.

The lobby slowly began to breathe again. People started talking, phones came out, and someone called for more champagne like the night could still be fixed.

Peter walked toward her carefully.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

Y/N looked down at the blood on her knuckles before looking back at him.

“Are you?”

Peter blinked. “Me?”

“You looked like you were about to pass out.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Y/N turned toward the elevators before he could say anything else.

“Goodnight, Peter.”

She left him standing there with his camera, his coffee-stained shirt, and a look on his face like he’d just watched something he couldn’t understand. As the elevator doors closed, Y/N finally let herself exhale.

She’d made a good impression, and for tonight, that had to be enough.

[loverwebs]

maroon chapter two is out now!

thank you so much to everyone for all of the love on chapter one, it genuinely means so much to me 🥹

please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist for this series! i’d be so happy to make one.

link to maroon series

[loverwebs]

MAROON.

Chapter Two

Pairing: Peter Parker x Escaped Black Widow!Reader

Synopsis: Freed from the Red Room but still haunted by it, Y/N is trying to survive a life that was never meant to be hers. Peter Parker is doing the same, hiding behind a mask after losing everything. In a city full of ghosts, two masked strangers keep finding each other.

Series Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

Even before Peter had promised himself that he would avoid connections, he had never been a big party person.

He had only really gone to one during high school, and even then, he missed most of it because of Spider-Man. Not that it had been that great to begin with. After that, it was rare for him to even be invited to things like that. As he got older, he realized he didn’t mind missing them.

Crowded rooms, awful music, worse food, and people pretending they wanted to talk to each other never appealed to him. His senses made it worse. The amount of voices, smells, and lights happening all at once were a nightmare for someone like him.

If he could avoid being somewhere, he would.

There weren’t many places Peter was expected to be anymore. Outside of work, nobody noticed if he stayed home. Nobody texted to ask where he was or waited for him to show up. That left him with more free time than he’d ever had before.

Most of it belonged to Spider-Man.

When he wasn’t patrolling, Peter would rather stay in his dull apartment and catch up on the sleep he never seemed to get anymore. Or edit pictures for work, which was rarely hard or time-consuming. Sometimes he worked on his suit too, if his hands needed something to do and the apartment had become too quiet.

Lately, he’d been trying to create a heating system for it. Something small enough to fit beneath the fabric, but strong enough to keep him from freezing when he swung through the city during winter. That was one thing he missed about nanotechnology.

An old ESU hoodie was thrown over the back of his chair, bought secondhand because it had been cheap and because he liked the idea of it. He still had to finish figuring his life out before he could belong anywhere again, but sometimes having it there made college feel a little less impossible.

The Daily Bugle was hosting an open house that evening for new clients, workers, and their families. It was supposed to be a strategic move. Jameson wanted donors and people with money who liked shaking hands in rooms with cameras.

Peter didn’t intend on going.

Betty Brant had sent him an email about it earlier that week. His former classmate, not that she remembered that, always went out of her way to include him in things like that. She sent the email twice too, even though she was only supposed to send it once. Peter never replied.

He was walking past a coffee shop downtown when the feeling hit him. It started at the base of his skull, softly at first. Then it became sharper and caused him to stop walking.

People moved around him, annoyed, brushing past his shoulders and muttering under their breath. He barely noticed.

He had learned to live with the feeling. Sometimes it screamed at him. Sometimes it whispered. Sometimes it was nothing more than a pull in a direction he didn’t want to go.

This time, it tugged toward the Daily Bugle.

Peter looked down the street. He could ignore it. He could go home, lock the door, and spend the rest of the night fixing his suit. He could pretend that the city didn’t need him for once. He could sleep.

But guilt had always been louder than exhaustion.

Peter sighed and turned around.

“Great,” he mumbled to himself.

“Love parties.”

-×-

Y/N wore black because it made blending in easier, but not the kind of black that would draw attention. Nothing too formal, and nothing that looked tactical. Just a simple dress with a fitted coat, her hair pinned back, and heels low enough to run in if she needed to. The guest badge clipped neatly to her coat had a name printed across it that wasn’t hers.

The Daily Bugle open house was exactly what she expected it to be: loud, bright, and full of people smiling like they had been paid to do it. She stepped through the front doors and accepted a glass of champagne from a woman by the entrance, though she had no intention of drinking from it. After all, empty hands drew attention faster than full ones.

As she moved into the lobby, Y/N counted four guards near the entrance, two by the elevators, and one by the blocked-off hallway. There were eight visible cameras, with one blind spot near the west stairwell. Her eyes moved calmly through the room, taking in every exit and every face without lingering long enough to look suspicious.

J. Jonah Jameson stood near the center of it all, speaking loudly to a small crowd of people who looked too rich to be interested and too polite to walk away. Y/N knew his face. Everyone in New York did.

But she wasn’t there for Jameson.

Her phone buzzed once inside her coat pocket. She glanced down at the message.

Smile. Make a good impression.

Y/N didn’t have to ask who it was from. She slipped the phone away and lifted her gaze, only to notice a boy across the room with a camera around his neck. He wasn’t exactly staring, but he was paying attention in a way most people wouldn’t. He had messy hair, tired eyes, and a nervous kind of stillness that made him look like he was waiting for something bad to happen. He also looked too young to be in a place like this, surrounded by people who made money off fear.

Y/N smiled politely.

The boy looked away half a second too late.

Interesting.

She moved toward the blocked-off hallway with the untouched champagne glass still in her hand. The badge clipped to her coat read event consultant. Valentina had sent it over that morning with no explanation, no apology, and a text that told her to wear something presentable.

The man by the entrance glanced at the badge and then at her face. Y/N smiled before he could decide whether to ask questions.

“Restroom?” she asked.

He pointed vaguely toward the hall. “Second door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

She walked past him before he could look too closely.

The hallway was quieter than the lobby, the music fading behind her as the door eased shut. Y/N glanced once at the ceiling corners, noting two cameras, one motion sensor, and a locked door at the end of the hall that was definitely not the restroom.

Good.

She had taken three steps toward it when someone bumped into her shoulder and hot coffee spilled across the front of her coat.

“Oh my God,” the boy with the camera said, eyes going wide. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you turning.”

Y/N looked down at the stain, then back at him.

“Are you following me?”

“No,” he said too quickly.

She tilted her head.

He winced. “I mean, I work here.”

“So?”

Peter glanced toward the hallway behind her before looking back at the badge clipped to her coat. He kept his voice low, though there was enough suspicion in it to make the question sound less casual than he probably intended.

“So, non-employees aren’t really supposed to be back here.”

Y/N followed his gaze toward the hallway as though she had only just noticed where she was standing. Then she lifted the plastic badge between two fingers and angled it toward him.

“Event consultant.”

Peter leaned slightly closer to read it. His eyes moved over the printed title before returning to her face.

“That’s not an employee.”

“I was looking for the restroom,” she said, lowering the badge again.

He glanced toward the security rope she had stepped past. “Past the security rope?”

Y/N looked over her shoulder at it. Her expression remained perfectly composed, as if the rope itself were responsible for the misunderstanding.

“It was a poorly placed rope.”

“It said authorized personnel only.”

“In very small letters.”

Peter stared at her, trying to decide whether she genuinely expected him to believe any of this. Y/N met his gaze without looking the slightest bit uncomfortable. After a moment, she gave him a small, polite smile. He didn’t return it.

Interesting.

“Look,” he said, lowering his voice further as someone passed at the other end of the hall. His posture loosened slightly, though his attention remained fixed on her. “I’m not trying to be weird. I just saw you come in, and you seemed—”

“Lost?” she offered.

“No.” Peter hesitated, clearly realizing he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to finish the sentence.

Y/N waited, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

“Then what?” she asked

Peter hesitated, his brows pulling together like he was trying to decide how much of the truth he was allowed to say.

“Worried,” he said finally.

Y/N’s smile faded.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then something shifted near the stairwell, and Y/N saw it first.

Two men stood at the end of the hall, both dressed like they belonged there and both wrong in ways most people wouldn’t notice. Their jackets sat too heavy on one side, and their eyes weren’t on the room, the cameras, or the exit.

They looked past her, toward the lobby.

Peter noticed them a second later, and his face changed. Before Y/N could move, he grabbed her arm and pulled her through the nearest door.

“What are you doing?” she hissed as he dragged her into a narrow supply closet. Peter shut the door behind them and pressed his back to it.

“Those guys had guns,” he whispered.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Y/N stared at him for a second, just long enough for Peter to realize he had answered too fast.

“They weren’t looking at me,” she said.

“No,” Peter said, lowering his voice when footsteps moved past the door. “They were looking at the room you were about to walk back into.”

Y/N yanked her arm out of his grip. “You do not grab people you don’t know and pull them into closets.”

“Yeah, I’m realizing that sounded better in my head.”

The closet was dark, cramped, and smelled like paper towels and cleaning supplies. Peter could hear footsteps outside the door, two sets moving slowly down the hall, the thought of it made his pulse jump.

He had spent over a year being careful. No friends, no slip-ups, and no reason for anyone to look too closely at Peter Parker. But there were two men with guns outside, and he was stuck in a closet with a girl who clearly knew more than she was saying.

He knew he could fight them if he had to, probably fast enough that they wouldn’t get a shot off, but not without giving himself away. Doing that unmasked, in the middle of the Daily Bugle, with cameras everywhere and a stranger watching him, was exactly the kind of mistake he couldn’t afford to make.

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. Maybe he should have stayed home.

His breathing went uneven, and Y/N noticed. Of course she did.

“Breathe through your nose,” she whispered.

Peter blinked. “What?”

“You’re loud.”

“I’m trying not to panic.”

“Try quieter.”

He stared at her. “That’s not usually how people comfort someone.”

“I’m not comforting you.”

“Right. Yeah. Clearly.”

Outside, one of the men passed the door. Peter held his breath, but Y/N didn’t. She stood perfectly still, one hand near her sleeve and her eyes fixed on the thin line of light under the door.

That was when Peter noticed she wasn’t shaking. Not even a little.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

Y/N glanced at him.

“I was a dancer.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. She had been trained in ballet for years, just not in the way most people meant.

Peter waited.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It does if you know dancers.”

Despite everything, Peter almost smiled. Then the footsteps stopped somewhere down the hall, and Peter’s entire body went tense. Y/N caught his wrist before he could reach for the doorknob.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

Peter looked down at her hand, then back at her.

“They have guns.”

“I noticed.”

Before either of them could move, a scream tore through the hallway outside. Peter went still and Y/N’s grip on his wrist tightened for half a second before she let go. The scream came again, sharper this time, followed by shouting from the lobby.

Peter looked toward the door.

Y/N looked at him.

For once, neither of them argued.