ꕤ ｡˚ WITHOUT YOU: a spiderman fic - shanelsh
description: ever since spider-man has started to come to you for late night patch-ups and hang outs, you’ve caught feelings and feel you deserve to know more beyond his masked identity.
wc: 1.1k
angst.. for now ;)
You’ve always been fascinated by Spider-Man. Seeing him on the news saving civilians, wondering if one day you’d be the one under rescue. You would’ve never thought it'd be the other way around.
It was midnight and you were tossing and turning, trying to get sleep before your 6 a.m. start at work the next day- when you heard a loud shattering sound come from what sounded like your living room. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you didn’t check it out. So naturally, you quietly got out of bed, your bare feet softly hitting the floor to be sure you don’t make the floorboards creek. You tiptoe down your hallway, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror- hair messy, in a brandy pyjama set you’ve had since you were 16. You peek around the corner to get a better look and there he is. Spider-Man, in the flesh.
You let out an awkward scream- not sure what to do. I mean, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you or anything. He looked quite capable of doing so, his body rather brawny. You could tell he was in pain. He was lying on your floor on top of shattered glass which once belonged to your window. He was holding his bloody abdomen and groaning loudly, the whole scene was quite gory. After contemplating helping him for long enough, you decide to make yourself known. You slowly walk into the room with your hands up, as if you’re the one out of place.
“Spider-Man?” You call out nervously, a knot in your stomach. His hands were on his head, covering his wired eyes. He was clearly in agonising pain. “S-sorry I broke your window,” he mutters out of breath, not looking away from the ceiling. You smile- how sweet of him. “Do you want help?” You ask, tilting your head. His nod of approval sends you to get your first-aid kit, and the rest is history.
He finds himself swinging into your permanently open window multiple times a week. Initially, it wasn’t purposeful, but now he isn’t sure. It’s convenient; you’re kind enough to help him with his injuries every now and then. And when he’s not injured, it’s nice to just sit and talk with someone- regardless of if that someone is a stranger and doesn’t know his name, let alone his face. For now, you just call him Spidey and that's it.
Well, your “Spidey” has been going through something recently. Whenever he gets overwhelmed, stressed, angry, his spider DNA levels rise and he goes crazy. You’ve now seen this firsthand too many times to count. His veins burst through his suit, his muscles flex, he becomes extremely alert, his persona becomes much more daring, and apparently his eyes go black- which you can’t see since he doesn’t want you to know who he is. According to him, it’s excruciating, but for you, it’s great. It’s made him spend much more time with you. Almost every single day, he swings into your apartment looking all buff and stressed. The downside? It’s made you catch feelings for him. You’re in love with a guy in a spandex suit who can’t even tell you his age. The only thing you know about him is that he likes Chinese food- because he brings it over every day as a so-called ‘peace offering’. You keep him company and monitor his arachnid flare-ups, and he keeps you fed with chicken chow mein.
It’s now been four weeks of seeing each other, and you’re getting a little bored. Spider-Man is sitting across from you, eating his fried rice, and you’re talking about your day at work and your dull life like always, fawning over the man across from you who doesn’t want to tell you what colour hair he has- if he even has any. The room goes silent for no longer than two seconds, and you bring it up.
“I know you can’t tell me who you are, but can you at least tell me something about your life? For once?” You ask, with an upset yet underwhelming tone.
He notices, as he always does. “Look- I know it sucks, but I can’t tell you anything. It’s dangerous.” You look down at your hands, fidgeting under the table. “Isn’t this dangerous?” You ask. He looks at you, confused. All you can see are his eyes wiring in and out. “Hm?” You ask, waiting for a response. “I don’t understand. where is this coming from?” He replies, furrowing his eyebrows under his mask. “Eating dinner with me every night. Is that not dangerous? What if I tell someone?” He scoffs, “You aren’t the type of girl to do that.” You shake your head, confused. “So you can trust me enough to eat dinner with me in my apartment every night but not to tell me anything about you? Or take off that mask?” You question, pointing to his mask that’s lifted around his mouth. “You don’t get it. It’s deeper than that. I-it’s hard for me to let people in- “ you interrupt. “If I don’t get it, then why aren’t you explaining it to me?” You say, head in your hands. “I can’t.” He slams his bowl down.
The thump echoes in the silence. “Why didn’t you just carry on taking care of yourself? I have a life too- I’m not just here to keep you company, and I’m going to ask questions, and I feel like I’ve done enough to get the answers to those questions. Why couldn’t have you just carried on without me?” He pulls his mask back down over his mouth. “Carry on without you?” He scoffs, as if you were being ridiculous. He stands up and walks towards the window and leaves.
@uzmacchiato for the dividers ꕤ ｡˚
note: i know this is really short buut its my first fic + it's a part 1! so another one will come soon
