Protege of Peter Parker, in their dimension/universe, Peter Parker use to babysit them. But due to the curious mind of a fourteen year old, they followed Peter when he left them. Thinking that they were asleep but really was following him. Looking over a cornered they didn’t notice a spider crawling its way to them in weird colors. It bites them, making them yelp. That currently caused the attention of a certain spider human who webs then up. Long story short, y/n whines to be his sidekick, I mean who wouldn’t want to help THE Spiderman! And especially when he use to watch them.
And you became Webster, you’re still working on the name. But still! You found out how the spider you got hit by gave you powers… but it’s kinda freaky to shoot out your own webs..
It all happened when you were patrolling with Parker, making small little web cobs in your neat spider suit that apparently was made by some stark guy. He’s kinda like an uncle to you perhaps? Like those rich uncles that let you go crazy and but whatever you want to just get you out of his hair.
Either way, your adhd is off the charts as you suddenly focus due to a very loving smack to the back of your head. The patrol goes wonderful, with just webbing up muggers, thugs, and robbers.
Dusting your hands off, smirking behind your expressive lenses of your mask, you couldn’t help but web a guy to a wall.
“Better think twice before mugging innocent civilians!” The mugger grunted with annoyance. “You little sh—” you web his mouth shut, cupping your ear. “What’s that? Yeah let’s not, we’re keeping this friendly.” You then looked at yourself that’s holding your device reading this as of now. Yes you. You pointed to yourself, but let’s stop breaking this wall. “Can’t believe this guy is actually wanting to ruin this. I mean can you believe it?!”
The mugger gave you a weird look as you were.. talking to yourself? He struggled against the webs, you finished your monologue and web swing off. “Bye bye mug man!” Childish giggling was echoed into the air.
“Man! Another night another— PORTAL?!” You looked to see a weird portal infront of you. You let go of your web, going to shoot it at another lamp post to avoid it. I mean literally, it wasn’t the usual portal Miguel would forced open for you. But the portal said “SIKE!” and grabbed you up.
Now here you are in some dark city that looks like New York… but more gloomy and stinks! Covering your nose through your mask, you gagged. “Ugh! Is this how it smells when changing babies diapers?” You walked around, before web shooting. As you were web swinging, you pulled out your less dominant arm and looked at the watch to contact anyone.
“Wonder if I can contact Peter from here..” you swung yourself into a street lamp, landing with a crouching formation. You dial around the thingy, “cmonnn.” Nothing. Groaning annoyed, you covered your face into your hands. You then looked at the readers reading this now.
“It’s not like I’m gonna be in some trouble in the top of five minutes.” You smiled as you gave the readers a peace sign before swinging off.
“WHY DID I JINX MYSELF!” You exclaimed, swinging through anything your webs can grab onto. You were being chased some 10 year old! You’re fourteen for crying out loud, no way you are being chased by some midget, but this kid got a katana! And the only person you know that has a katana is either Deadpool or your best friend who idolizes DP.
Each web was cut down with these bat shaped boomerangs or whatever you thought they were. You didn’t care, not at all. Only thing you cared for was just surviving this angry kid who got mad at you calling him a so called “midget”. You started to get tired, swinging yourself around a corner and hiding behind a dumpster. You listened closely to footsteps, for a few minutes you don’t hear anything.
Lettting out a breath of relief, you get up. “Hah, no one can catch the ultimate spider—” and you were captured in a net. The boy with a R on his costume glared behind his mask. “You’re infuriating.” “Hey that’s a big word for you.” Being cocky, the kid kicked your rib which made you groan. Okay, now you wish you had spider senses. You were then dragged to some cave?
So…. Why in the world where you tied up by some kid with a katana. And why were they’re like four other guys staring them down weirdly.
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ Ilya Rozanov didn’t grow up in Boston, so he’s not familiar with the friendly neighborhood icon Spiderman — at least until he runs into him in an alley and then proceeds to proposition the superhero on a rooftop. Then he’s more familiar than most.
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ male!reader, ilya x reader. reader is spiderman! reader is a senior in college, 22 years old. ilya's 21. implied sexual content, nothing explicit. if you saw my should i write this prompt, intro is pretty much identical :)) just a couple sentences edited/changed
˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ taglist: @cassandra-reborn-anew
“What the fuck is this?” Ilya asks, baffled, leaning over Cliff’s shoulder to glance at his phone screen. “Who is this idiot swinging around?”
Cliff barks a laugh. “Yeah, sure, Roz.”
“No, seriously.” Ilya reaches down and plucks the phone from Cliff’s grasp, rewinding the video to watch the shaky footage of a masked stranger flinging himself off a building, swinging on a white rope to reach the nearby rooftop. “Is he… is he dressed as a fucking spider? Is that a web?”
“You seriously don’t know who Spiderman is?” Cliff replies, indignant. “Does Russia not have supes?”
“Of course we have superheroes, asshole. We just don’t have morons in spandex.”
Ilya’s still watching the grainy video footage, a series of clips slapped together, jaw slightly agape as the man lands deftly on the hood of an armored truck going at least 70 miles an hour.
“What did you say name was? Spiderman?”
“Uh, yeah. He’s kind of a big deal in Boston. Local, though.” Cliff replies. “Saved me, once.”
Ilya glances up, bemused. “Yeah? From what? Waterspout?”
Cliff grins. “Ha-ha, asshole. Nah, I was walking back from a girl’s house, cut through an alley, and got jumped. Guy pulled a knife, and I thought I was a goner, and then Spiderman appeared and rocked his shit.”
He leaps up to continue his story, making broad, sweeping movements with his arms and legs in what Ilya’s sure is a patently inaccurate physical recreation of Spiderman’s movements.
“And then he was like, psh —” Cliff shoots his arm out, palm-up, middle and ring finger tucked in, “and stuck that bastard to the wall for the cops. Then he walked me home.”
“Did he kiss you goodnight, too?” Ilya drawls, and Cliff leverages himself off the bench and plucks his phone from Ilya’s hands, then tucks it into the top cubby of his locker.
“You should ask the other guys,” Cliff replies. “Everyone has a Spiderman story. Surprised you haven’t met him yet.”
“Maybe because I do not walk through dark alleys at night,” Ilya grouches, but stands with Cliff, urging him out into and onto the ice. “Is called common sense. You do not need superheroes when you have common sense.”
He does, however, when he’s sure Cliff is gone, pull aside the new rookie and demand to hear his Spiderman story.
//
“This is fucking delicious,” You say, tugging your mask up over your nose so you can take a bite of the burrito you’d snagged from the place down the street from your apartment.
Nobody responds. God, you should hope nobody responds — you’re dangling off the top of a building, feet swinging in the frigid open air of a winter Boston night; it’d be terrifying if someone answered you.
You can still remember distinctly when you’d been in a similar situation a couple of months ago and Deadpool had popped out of fucking nowhere, and scared you so bad you’d fallen off the roof.
Hopefully Deadpool wasn’t back in town. That’d be a fucking nightmare. He always disrupted your routine, and you had a pretty good thing going for you right now.
Your schedule was comparatively lighter senior year; just a couple of seminars, labs, and a junior-level engineering class you were TA-ing. As a result, you had the extra time on your hands to break up the inevitable increase in drunken brawls as hockey season started to get going. You kept meaning to catch a game, but Raiders tickets ran for about 300 bucks a pop, and you needed the cash for rent and textbooks.
Below you, there’s a loud crash as a group of guys clamber out of a bar, flooding onto the sidewalk, shoving at each other. The trashcan they knocked over clatters against the pavement, spilling empty fountain drinks and fast food wrappers.
“Walk slow,” you yell around a mouthful of burrito. One of the guys squints up at you, face brightening when he recognizes the classic blue and red of the suit, and waves.
“Yeah, sure, Spiderman! Have a good night!” He shouts, words slightly slurred, and you watch as he comes close to colliding with a lamppost. You give him a thumbs-up, keeping an eye on the group to make sure none of them try to get into a car, and relax when the guy stumbles into the street to flag down an Uber.
It takes another fifteen uneventful minutes to fully polish off the burrito and look around for something to wipe your greasy fingers off on, then clamber back to your feet and pull the mask down over your mouth.
Your brain is keeping track of several things at once, buzzing with what you refuse to call your “tingle” — the wailing sirens three blocks down, which the paramedics seemed to have under control; a screaming fight at the apartment over on Fifth, which you’d tried to break up exactly once before realizing it was some twisted form of foreplay; and…
Someone’s yelling. You leap to the opposite edge of the roof, peer down over the lip of the building, and, yeah — someone is beating the shit out of a couple of guys.
You take a second to watch it before realizing you should probably break it up. There are two beer-bros sprawled on the ground, toques pulled low over their eyes, while a blond man slams his fist into a lanky guy’s face.
“Woah, woah,” You call, dropping down into the alley and snagging the lanky man with a web to pull him back until you can let him down gently onto the pavement next to his friends. He’s out cold. “Are we practicing kindness?”
The blond man looks up, eyes squinted tight with rage, and you do a double-take. “Holy — Ilya Rozanov?”
“Get out of my way,” Rozanov spits, Russian accent low and angry. “This is not your business.”
“Think it might be, buddy. ‘Neighborhood’ in ‘Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman’ refers to this one. Also, I think if I leave you might kill someone.” You respond, still slightly startled. This is Ilya Rozanov, right?
A guy in your Comparitive American History class, who sits right below you, always has the Raiders games playing on his laptop during lecture. Whenever you were feeling particularly bored, you’d prop your head on your hand and watch over his shoulder as Rozanov darted around on the ice. The man in front of you looks pretty much identical.
“Spiderman?” Rozanov asks, suddenly looking more interested. “Good. You can arrest them, yes?”
“Don’t have jurisdiction. Police kicked up a big fuss about it, even when I said I’d pay for my very own shiny little badge,” You say, eyes still tracing Rozanov’s face. “What’d they do, anyway?”
“Spiked a girl’s drink,” Rozanov responds, and your face sours.
“Alright, call the cops. Ask for Jimmy Kowalski,” You say, turning around and digging your foot into the lanky man’s ribs to flip him over, applying more pressure than strictly necessary. He rolls over to clump in with his other friends, who Rozanov also presumably knocked out. Jesus Christ.
You web them up, a thick layer that traps them against the wall of the alley, as Rozanov gets off the phone with the police.
“They will get punished, yes?” Rozanov asks, and you nod.
“Yeah, Jimmy was raised by his mom and has three daughters. He’ll slap ‘em with as much as he can. I’ll also keep an eye on them if I see them around.”
“Should cut off their dicks,” Rozanov grounds out, and you laugh.
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” You deliberately turn your back, already slinging a web onto the fire escape above your head. “Well, duty calls. Sure would be a shame if someone happened to rough ‘em up a little more while I was gone.”
Rozanov grins.
//
“Mozhno mne nemnogo?” You ground out, cognizant of how stupid you probably sound. Can I have some of that?
“Mm, no. Is terrible. Try again.” Rozanov snipes, peeling back the layers of foil on the burrito.
“Duolingo says I’m real good,” You mumble back, pointedly avoiding eye contact.
“Duolingo is wrong,” Rozanov chides. “Is stupid app for stupid people.”
You obligingly repeat the halting sentence to him in Russian, focusing on drawing out the correct vowel sounds. Rozanov makes snappy corrections on your pronunciation immediately.
Losing patience, you groan and snatch the burrito out of his hands, pushing up your mask and taking an obnoxiously large bite. You weren’t sure why Rozanov had asked to hang out if he was going to be an asshole the entire time.
Well, maybe “asked” had been a strong word. More like ambushed you — he’d been waiting on the roof for you when you’d arrived, leaning up against the raised edge.
“Well, hey there, creeper,” You’d drawled, trying to hide a small frisson of panic — your “tingle” hadn’t even let you know someone else was up here.
Rozanov had pushed up, messy curls peeking out from under his toque, and nodded at you. He’d been holding a cigarette in between the fingers of his right hand, and had brought it up to take a deep, intentional drag, blowing the smoke into your face.
“Hello.”
You’d crossed over to him in two easy strides, leaned over, and pinched the cigarette out of his grip before putting it out against the concrete railing and throwing it over the side of the building.
Rozanov had blinked. “Litterbug.”
“Someone should tell Spiderman about this,” You’d grinned. Rozanov had not been amused.
“I came to ask how the girl was. Figured you might be back here. Saw you drop down from here last night.” He’d said.
“Oh!” You hadn’t expected that. “She’s good. I looped back and took her home, after. Little shaken up, but said that she’ll be okay. She wanted me to thank you.”
Rozanov had smiled. It lit up his whole face, tugging at the corners of his mouth and brightening his eyes. You’d swayed unconsciously into his space before you’d realized what was happening, and he’d plucked your dinner out of your hands before you’d withdrawn.
“Mm. Is this from TSK? Let’s split it. I haven’t eaten, yet.”
And then the bastard had started unwrapping your dinner. You’d made the mistake of letting him know you were “learning” Russian (answering Duolingo prompts between classes), and so he wouldn’t let you have a bite, either, until you could ask him for some in Russian.
Now, tucking into the soft beans and rice and tender pork wrapped in the tortilla, you’re grateful you opted to just steal it back.
Rozanov looks slightly startled. “I can see your mouth.”
“That’s what tends to happen when I eat,” You respond, smacking your lips obnoxiously. “Occupational hazard, one could say.”
“Da, thank you, asshole. I meant… you have a secret identity, no? You do not seem to be protecting it very well.”
“Eh. We’re in Boston. Doubt you’re going to stop every stranger on the street who even sort of looks like the bottom half of my face,” You respond.
“I might,” Ilya scowls. “Go Spiderhunting.”
“Why don’t you do me a huge favor and let the Green Goblin know you’re at it? He’d love that.”
There’s a beat of silence. You offer the burrito to Ilya.
“You want some? Dinner and a view. Man, I am killing it today, huh?”
He laughs — a low, deep sound that makes your heartbeat jump — and takes the burrito from you, sinking his teeth into the filling.
“Give me your number,” he says suddenly, holding out his phone to you. You raise an eyebrow, but obediently punch in the digits.
You highly doubt that Ilya has the technological know-how to do a backtrace on the number, but still give him one from an old-phone you’d rigged up that doesn’t connect to your real identity.
He nods, satisfied, and continues to eat the burrito.
“I would not, go, uh, Spiderhunting,” Ilya announces between bites.
You open your mouth to offer a bland thank you, and then he follows up: “Would probably put waterspouts out of work. Not in this economy, no-no.”
You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, laugh it up, chucklehead. Also, what the hell do you know about the economy? You make like three million bucks a year.”
He sobers for a minute, looking serious, and visibly shakes it off.
“Flatscreens are expensive these days,” He simpers back instead, sarcastic, and you laugh.
“Yeah, fuck you, dude.”
“All by myself? I thought you were supposed to be a helper, Spiderman.”
“And put your right hand out of work?” You grin, then drop your voice and affect his Russian accent. “Not in this economy, no-no.”
His eyes go to your exposed lips, heavy and hot, and you realize how close you’ve inadvertently gotten. Your gaze drifts down his body and traces back up, action almost involuntary.
Rozanov grins, feral, and spreads his legs slightly. Your eyes drop unconsciously to the bulge in his cargos, straining subtly against the fabric.
“Already? I haven’t even touched you,” You say, quirking an eyebrow.
Rozanov juts out his hips slightly. “Then fix that.”
You take a second to wonder What the fuck am I doing before you’re reaching out and yanking him into you, catching his lower lip harshly between your teeth.
//
“You did not.” Cliff grounds out, tape in his hand, still halfway caught on his stick, forgotten. “You got bad enough FOMO from our Spiderman stories that you whored yourself out on a rooftop?”
“Do not be jealous,” Ilya grins smugly. He’s not sure what FOMO means, but can infer based on how unbelievably bewildered Cliff is.
“I’m not jealous!” Cliff explodes. “I — Ilya, how the fuck did you even —“
“A gentleman does not kiss and tell.” Ilya responds primly. “Unless you want to hear that nothing about Spiderman was ‘itsy bitsy’ —“
“Nope! Nope!” Cliff yelps, leaping from his seat and pushing past the doors of the locker room.
Power Outage - Natasha Romanoff x Spider-Man!Reader
summary: When a city-wide blackout traps Y/n and Natasha in a broken elevator for hours, they discover that being stuck in a small metal box brings out both the best and worst in people—especially when one of them has claustrophobia and the other has an inexplicable need to narrate everything like a nature documentary. Sometimes the most dangerous missions happen in the most ordinary places.
warnings: none. Just two people stuck in an elevator; mentions of a scene in the movie "The Shining"; Established relationship.
notes: Gender neutral reader; We're literally Spider-Man; Timeline not specified. Part 3 of the series. I apologize for any mistakes or errors. Happy reading!
word count - 3.6k
------------
The Stark Industries elevator had always been Y/n's least favorite part of the tower. Not because it was unreliable—Tony's engineering was annoyingly perfect—but because something about small, enclosed spaces made their spider-sense go haywire for no apparent reason.
"You're doing the thing again," Natasha observed from beside them, not looking up from her tablet where she was reviewing mission reports.
"What thing?" Y/n asked, though they already knew what she meant.
"The thing where you shift your weight every three seconds like you're preparing to web-swing out of here."
"I'm not doing any thing. I'm just… standing. Very normally. Like a normal person who definitely isn't thinking about how we're currently suspended sixty floors above ground in a metal death trap."
Natasha finally looked up, one eyebrow raised in that particular way that meant she was equal parts amused and exasperated. "It's an elevator, паучок, not a medieval torture device."
"Tell that to my spider-sense," Y/n muttered, pressing the button for the forty-second floor again even though it was already lit up. "Besides, statistically speaking, elevator accidents—"
The lights went out.
For a moment, they stood in perfect darkness, the gentle hum of the elevator's machinery cutting off with an ominous finality. Then the emergency lighting kicked in, bathing everything in an eerie red glow that made Natasha look like something out of a horror movie.
"You were saying?" she said dryly.
The elevator shuddered once and then stopped completely, leaving them suspended somewhere between the thirty-fifth and fortieth floors. Y/n's enhanced hearing immediately picked up the sound of their own rapidly increasing heartbeat, along with various mechanical sounds from the building's infrastructure.
"Okay," they said, trying to keep their voice steady. "This is fine. This is totally fine. FRIDAY will have us out in no time."
They pressed the emergency call button. Nothing happened.
They pressed it again. Still nothing.
"FRIDAY?" Y/n called out to the empty air. "Hey, FRIDAY, we're kind of stuck in here."
Silence.
"The power's out," Natasha said, tucking her now-useless tablet into her jacket. "Building-wide, from the looks of it. FRIDAY's probably running on backup systems and prioritizing life support over elevator rescues."
"How can you be so calm about this?" Y/n asked, beginning to pace the small confines of the elevator. Which was difficult, considering the space was roughly the size of a broom closet. "We're trapped in a metal box with no power, no communication, and no idea when we're getting out!"
"Because panicking won't change our situation," Natasha replied reasonably. "And because I've been in much worse places than a luxury elevator."
"This isn't luxury! There's no mini-bar, no comfortable seating, and the lighting makes you look like a vampire!"
"I make a very attractive vampire."
Despite their growing anxiety, Y/n couldn't help but crack a smile. "You really do. It's unfair how good you look in emergency lighting."
"One of my many talents," she said, settling down on the floor with her back against the wall. "Come here."
"I'm fine standing."
"Y/n."
"Really, I'm good. Standing is good. Standing means I'm ready for action if something happens."
"What exactly do you think is going to happen? Are we going to be attacked by a rogue elevator button?"
"You never know! This is New York! Weird stuff happens all the time!"
Natasha patted the floor beside her. "Sit down before you wear a hole in Tony's expensive elevator floor."
Y/n reluctantly settled down next to her, immediately feeling slightly better with the solid warmth of her presence. "How long do you think we'll be stuck?"
"Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours," Natasha said with a shrug. "Depends on what caused the outage and how long it takes them to restore power."
"Hours?" Y/n's voice cracked slightly.
"Possibly."
"In here? In this tiny metal box with no air circulation?"
"There's air circulation. See?" Natasha pointed to a small vent near the ceiling. "We're not going to suffocate."
"But what if the cables snap? Or the emergency brakes fail? Or there's a fire? Or—"
"Y/n," Natasha interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. "Look at me."
Y/n turned to face her, trying to ignore the way the red emergency lighting made everything feel like a scene from a thriller movie.
"We're going to be fine," she said simply. "I promise."
"You can't promise that. You don't know what's going to happen."
"I know that this elevator is built to withstand earthquakes, terrorist attacks, and whatever other paranoid scenarios Tony dreamed up when he designed it," Natasha said. "I know that even if the power stays out for hours, someone will eventually notice that two Avengers are missing and come looking for us. And I know that you're much braver than you think you are."
"I don't feel brave right now," Y/n admitted quietly. "I feel like a scared kid who wants to web-swing out of here."
"That's okay. Being scared doesn't make you less brave. It just makes you human."
Y/n leaned back against the wall, trying to slow their breathing. "This is so embarrassing. Spider-Man, afraid of elevators. The tabloids would have a field day."
"Spider-Man isn't afraid of elevators," Natasha corrected. "Y/n Parker is uncomfortable in small spaces. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Of course. Spider-Man swings from buildings and fights monsters. Y/n Parker gets nervous in crowded elevators and always checks for exit signs when entering new buildings. They're two different people who happen to share the same body."
Y/n considered this. "So which one are you dating?"
"Both," Natasha said without hesitation. "I fell in love with the someone who brings me coffee every morning and remembers how I like my eggs. The fact that they also happen to have superpowers and an impressive collection of spandex suits is just a bonus."
Despite their anxiety, Y/n felt their heart do that little flip it always did when Natasha said things like that. "You're really good at this whole reassurance thing."
"I've had practice. You worry about everything."
"I do not worry about everything!"
"Last week you spent forty minutes researching whether it was safe to use expired vanilla extract in cookies."
"That was for Aunt May's birthday! I wanted them to be perfect!"
"The expiration date was two days past."
"Food safety is important, Nat!"
"It's vanilla extract, паучок. It's basically alcohol and sugar. It doesn't go bad."
Y/n was about to argue when they heard a strange noise from somewhere above them. A creaking, groaning sound that definitely didn't seem normal.
"What was that?" they whispered, their enhanced hearing picking up more subtle sounds from the elevator shaft.
"Probably just the building settling," Natasha said, but Y/n noticed she was listening more intently now too.
The noise came again, louder this time, followed by what sounded like something scraping against metal.
"Okay, that's definitely not the building settling," Y/n said, getting to their feet. "That sounds like—"
The elevator suddenly dropped about six inches before jerking to a stop, throwing them both off balance. Y/n's spider-reflexes kicked in automatically, and they found themselves stuck to the ceiling, looking down at Natasha who had managed to catch herself against the wall.
"Well," she said calmly, "that was interesting."
"Interesting?" Y/n squeaked from their position on the ceiling. "We just fell! In a broken elevator! This is the opposite of interesting! This is terrifying!"
"Can you get down from there, or are you planning to spend the rest of our imprisonment doing your best Spider-Man impression?"
Y/n carefully unstuck themselves and dropped back to the floor, their heart racing. "Something's wrong with the elevator. Those sounds, the sudden drop… I think we might actually be in trouble."
Natasha's expression grew more serious. "What exactly are you hearing?"
Y/n closed their eyes and concentrated, filtering out their own heartbeat and breathing to focus on the sounds from the shaft above them. "Metal straining. Something grinding against the cable housing. And…" They paused, listening harder. "Water. I think there's water somewhere above us."
"Water?"
"Yeah, like… dripping. But getting heavier." Y/n's eyes snapped open. "Nat, what if a pipe burst? What if the power outage affected the building's water systems and now there's flooding in the elevator shaft?"
"That's…" Natasha paused, clearly running through the implications. "Actually, that's not impossible. Old buildings, infrastructure strain, power fluctuations affecting pump systems…"
As if summoned by their conversation, a single drop of water fell from the ceiling and landed on Y/n's forehead.
"Okay," Y/n said, wiping the water away with the back of their hand. "Now I'm officially freaking out."
More water began to drip from various points in the ceiling, and Y/n could hear the sound of it pooling somewhere above them.
"Right," Natasha said, standing up and brushing off her pants. "Change of plans. We're not waiting for rescue."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we're getting ourselves out of here." She looked up at the ceiling panels. "Can you get us up to the top of the elevator car?"
"Probably, but Nat, if there's flooding in the shaft—"
"Then sitting here waiting isn't going to help anyone." She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small flashlight. "Besides, I'd rather take our chances climbing than wait to see if this elevator decides to take another unscheduled drop."
Y/n had to admit she had a point. And now that they had a plan of action, their anxiety was starting to transform into something more familiar – the focused determination that kicked in during spider-missions.
"Okay," they said, looking up at the ceiling. "I can probably get the panel open and boost you up, but you'll have to be careful. If there's water coming down…"
"I'll be careful," Natasha promised. "Just get us out of this metal coffin."
Y/n stuck their hands to the ceiling and carefully pushed up one of the panels, sliding it aside to reveal the dark elevator shaft above. The sound of dripping water was much louder now, and they could see the gleam of moisture on the cables.
"Ladies first?" Y/n said, crouching down to give Natasha a boost.
"Such a gentleman," she said with a smile, stepping onto their interlaced fingers.
"I learned from the best. Aunt May always said—" Y/n lifted her up toward the opening, "—that a Parker never lets a lady climb through a potentially dangerous elevator shaft without offering assistance first."
"Did she really say that?"
"I'm paraphrasing," Y/n admitted, steadying her as she grabbed the edge of the opening. "The actual quote was 'don't be rude, dummy.'"
Natasha laughed despite their precarious situation. "That sounds more like May."
She pulled herself up through the opening with practiced grace, and Y/n heard her moving around on top of the elevator car.
"How does it look up there?" they called.
"Wet," came her voice from above. "And there's definitely water coming from somewhere higher up. We need to move."
Y/n spider-climbed up through the opening, emerging onto the top of the elevator car. The shaft was a maze of cables, pulleys, and mechanical equipment, all of it gleaming with moisture in the beam of Natasha's flashlight.
"There," she said, pointing upward. "Emergency ladder on the wall. If we can get to the next floor up, we should be able to force the doors open."
"Should be able to?"
"Well, it's either that or wait here and see if we end up recreating the elevator scene from The Shining."
Y/n looked up at the ladder, which was about ten feet away across the shaft. "I can get us there, but you'll have to trust me."
"I always trust you," Natasha said simply.
"Even when I'm about to do something that would definitely violate several safety regulations?"
"Especially then."
Y/n grinned, feeling their confidence return. "In that case, you might want to hold on tight. I'm about to channel my inner John Cena and deliver some serious aerial assistance."
"Did you just make a wrestling reference while we're trapped in an elevator shaft?"
"Nat, if I'm going to die in a elevator shaft, I'm going out with my dignity intact and my pop culture references on point."
"You're ridiculous," she said fondly.
"You love it."
"Against my better judgment, yes."
Y/n wrapped their arms around her waist, feeling her arms circle their neck in response. "Ready?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
Y/n shot a web line toward the ladder, testing it to make sure it would hold their combined weight. Then, with a deep breath, they swung them both across the shaft, landing on the narrow platform beside the emergency ladder with only a slight wobble.
"Okay," Natasha said, her arms still around Y/n's neck. "That was actually pretty smooth."
"Don't sound so surprised. I've been practicing."
"On what?"
"The obstacle course in the training room. Clint bet me I couldn't do a web-swing while carrying a person without dropping them."
"Please tell me you didn't use Clint as a test subject."
"Of course not," Y/n said innocently. "I used one of Tony's Iron Man suits. Much heavier, better training."
"And Tony was okay with this?"
"Tony doesn't know about this."
Natasha shook her head but was smiling. "You're going to give me gray hair."
"You'd look distinguished with gray hair," Y/n said, starting to climb the ladder. "Very sophisticated spy lady."
"I'm already sophisticated."
"True. But imagine how sophisticated you'd be with silver highlights."
They climbed in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sound of dripping water growing fainter as they got farther from the source. Y/n's enhanced strength made the climb easy, even with the slippery conditions, and soon they reached the doors for the fortieth floor.
"Now what?" Y/n asked, examining the sealed doors.
"Now we do this the old-fashioned way," Natasha said, pulling what looked like a crowbar from her jacket.
"You just carry a crowbar around?"
"It's a multi-tool. Crowbar, lockpick, weapon, conversation starter."
"How is a crowbar a conversation starter?"
"You'd be surprised how many people want to know why you're carrying a crowbar."
Y/n wedged their fingers into the slight gap between the doors, using their enhanced strength to create enough space for Natasha to insert her crowbar. Together, they managed to force the doors open just enough to squeeze through.
They emerged into a darkened hallway lit only by emergency lighting, both of them dripping wet and looking like they'd just survived a disaster movie.
"Well," Y/n said, wringing water out of their shirt. "That was fun."
"Your definition of fun is deeply concerning," Natasha replied, but she was smiling.
"Says the woman who thinks a good date involves infiltrating arms dealers."
"That was one time!"
"It was three times, and I'm not complaining. I'm just saying your idea of entertainment isn't exactly conventional either."
They made their way down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell, their footsteps echoing in the unusual quiet of the powerless building.
"So," Y/n said as they started down the stairs. "Scale of one to ten, how impressed were you by my elevator shaft heroics?"
"Honestly? About an eight," Natasha said. "Points deducted for the wrestling reference, but points added for not dropping me."
"I would never drop you."
"I know," she said softly. "That's why I trust you to swing me across elevator shafts in the first place."
They continued down the stairs in comfortable silence, and Y/n found themselves thinking about how different this felt from their panic in the elevator. Having something to do, a problem to solve, a way to help – it all made their anxiety transform into focus and determination.
"Hey Nat?" they said as they reached the twentieth floor.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for not making me feel stupid about the whole claustrophobia thing."
"You're not stupid," she said firmly. "Everyone has things they're afraid of. You just happen to be afraid of small spaces and I happen to be afraid of—"
"What?" Y/n asked when she trailed off.
"Nothing."
"Come on, what are you afraid of?"
Natasha was quiet for a long moment. "Losing people I care about," she said finally. "Which is why I was actually more worried about you than the elevator situation back there."
Y/n stopped walking. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you were having a panic attack, and there was nothing I could do to fix it except talk you through it. That's… not a feeling I'm comfortable with."
"Nat…" Y/n reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. "You did fix it. You kept me calm, you made a plan, and you got us out of there. You're always fixing things."
"I can't fix your anxiety."
"I don't need you to fix it," Y/n said gently. "I just need you to be there while I figure out how to handle it myself. Which you always are."
Natasha squeezed their hand. "Even when you're making wrestling references in life-threatening situations?"
"Especially then. Someone has to appreciate my comedic timing."
"Your comedic timing is terrible."
"But my delivery is excellent."
"Your delivery is adequate at best."
"I'll take adequate," Y/n said with a grin. "From you, adequate is basically a standing ovation."
They reached the ground floor and pushed through the emergency exit into the lobby, where they found chaos. People were milling around in confusion, security guards were trying to direct traffic with flashlights, and someone was arguing loudly about being trapped in the parking garage.
"Looks like we weren't the only ones having elevator problems," Natasha observed.
"At least no one else had to climb through an elevator shaft," Y/n said. "We're definitely winning the 'most dramatic rescue' contest."
"It's not a contest."
"Everything's a contest if you're competitive enough."
"You're impossible," Natasha said, but she was smiling again.
They made their way through the crowd toward the main entrance, both of them still dripping and looking like they'd been through a disaster. Y/n was just starting to relax when they heard a familiar voice.
"Parker! Romanoff! There you are!"
They turned to see Tony Stark pushing through the crowd, looking harried and slightly panicked. "Where the hell have you been? FRIDAY lost track of you when the power went out, and when we couldn't find you…" He trailed off, taking in their bedraggled appearance. "Why are you both soaking wet?"
"Elevator got stuck," Y/n explained. "Had to climb out through the shaft."
"You climbed through the elevator shaft?" Tony stared at them in horror. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? The cables could have snapped, or the emergency brakes could have failed, or—"
"We're fine, Tony," Natasha interrupted. "Although you might want to have someone check the water lines on floors thirty-five through forty. I think there's a leak."
"A leak? In my building?" Tony looked personally offended. "That's impossible. I designed the plumbing systems myself."
"Well, unless there's supposed to be water raining down in the elevator shaft, something's definitely leaking," Y/n said.
Tony was already pulling out his phone, presumably to call maintenance. "This is why I hate power outages," he muttered. "Everything falls apart without electricity."
"Not everything," Y/n said, glancing at Natasha. "Some things actually work better when you have to figure them out the old-fashioned way."
"Speak for yourself," Tony said, already walking away while barking orders into his phone. "I'm installing backup generators for the backup generators!"
Y/n and Natasha watched him go, then looked at each other and burst into laughter.
"Think he's going to redesign the entire building now?" Y/n asked.
"Definitely," Natasha said. "By next week, every elevator will probably have its own arc reactor."
"As long as they have better emergency lighting. That red glow was very ominous."
"I thought it was atmospheric."
"You would."
They walked out into the New York evening, where the streetlights were flickering back on as power was restored to the city block by block. Y/n took a deep breath of the cool air, feeling their last bit of anxiety fade away.
"So," they said, falling into step beside Natasha. "Want to grab dinner? I'm thinking somewhere with really good ventilation and no elevators."
"I know just the place," she said. "But we're walking. I've had enough mechanical transportation for one day."
"Walking sounds perfect," Y/n agreed. "Besides, after today, I think I could use the exercise."
"You climbed thirty floors worth of emergency ladder and swung us both across an elevator shaft. How much more exercise do you need?"
"Fair point. Maybe we'll just walk very slowly."
"Now you're talking sense."
As they walked down the sidewalk, Y/n couldn't help but think about how the evening had started with them trapped and panicking, and ended with them walking through the city together, both of them safe and somehow closer than before.
"Hey Nat?"
"Yeah?"
"Today was actually kind of perfect."
"We were trapped in a broken elevator for two hours."
"Yeah, but I was trapped with you," Y/n said simply. "That makes all the difference."
Natasha stopped walking and turned to face them, her expression soft in the glow of the returning streetlights. "You know what?"
"What?"
"You're right. It was kind of perfect."
And as they continued down the street, Y/n realized that sometimes the best moments weren't the ones you planned for – they were the ones that happened when everything went wrong, but you had the right person there to go wrong with you.
Even if that person did make fun of your wrestling references during emergency situations.
Some things never changed.
But some things, Y/n thought as Natasha slipped her hand into theirs, were perfect exactly as they were.
------------
Thanks for reading! Haven't uploaded in a few days, hope you guys liked it. I've had this in my drafts for a while now and wasn't sure how to give it a final look. As you can tell Spider reader is my favorite to write lol. Thank you for your support once again!
They meet at a bookclub and start to hang out. But both of them are hiding something from the other. Imagine the angst when Spiderman!Reader goes on a mission in another universe (atsv) yk, with Miles, Gwen, etc. and Jason is panicking. Because why is Reader not answering and nowhere to find? When she comes back Jason demands answers, but she doesn't want to tell him, because she thinks that he is a civilian. And she cares about him and doesn't want to put him in any danger.
So they break up, or just loose contact. But while Reader and Jason are not talking, Red Hood and Spiderman still work together.
And they slowly notice things about the other one, how similiar they are to their ex-situationship.
Imagine the bittersweet moment when they reveal their identities to each other and solve the miscommunication.
And then there would be lots of fluff, with them meeting each others families and such.
But Reader still didn't tell him, that she not only works n this universe, she also helps in other ones.
So that means more angst.
If you are interested in this, keep watch for my nex posts!!
Hello! Good morning/afternoon or evening wherever you are! Hope this isn’t a bother but I noticed that there isn’t any spider-man!Reader and viltrumite mark. I still can imagine spider-man making jokes, jabs and baiting villtrumites into traps if they get too close to rebels safe-hold, making children feel safe, constantly making trips to find food/supplies for others and being pain in the ass for viltrum empire to the point where viltrumite mark is sent to look for reader to forcibly join the empire or else. You know, just your friendly neighborhood spider man amidst the enslaved/ dystopian world.
FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD SPIDERMAN! — ft. viltrumite!mark x spiderman!reader
cw: gn!reader, violence, mark hates reader, reader rage baiting mark 😭😭
a/n: live laugh love spiderman!reader🙏 not beta read
part 2
you’ve been a thorn in empire’s side since the viltrumite invasion. a permanent stain that couldn’t be washed away. with your heightened abilities, you quickly realized that despite not being able to take down a viltrumite, you could use your powers to help people.
and that’s exactly what you did.
patrolling rebellion safe holds and bunkers, swinging by to drop off supplies and necessary materials to survive… you were well known. and being well known was dangerous when the world as you know it was close to being completely destroyed.
your efforts did not go unnoticed. the viltrumite empire quickly caught on. you were disrupting their routine, messing with their plans. usually they’d deal with rebels with you easily, sending a viltrumite warrior to slaughter you on the spot.
that was the thing, though. they just. couldn’t. you baited them, fooled them long enough to get as many people to safety.
not many people could have the empire on their toes before they dropped dead. you could be… useful. to their cause.
so naturally, they sent mark. not to kill you, much to his dismay, but rather to get you to join the empire.
“give up. your tactics are useless; you will join and serve the viltrumite empire.” his voice was monotone, composed. but beneath it all was irritation.
“yeah? fat chance you got there, buddy.” you retort, your voice almost mocking as you swing from building to building.
“trust me, i have no interest in joining your-“ you quickly dodged a piece of rubble flying towards your head, “cult.”
mark grit his teeth, thoroughly irritated. being the zealot he was, hearing those blatantly disrespectful words set him off more than it should have.
you were quick, but not as quick as an adrenaline-filled viltrumite. just as you were about to shoot another web, he tackled you into the wall of a building, both hands wrapped around your neck. he dragged you against the floor, making it crumble beneath the two of you.
“i should kill you. but you deserve a fate worth than death.”
shit. you might be seriously fucked this time. your pulse raced, hands clawing at the ones around your neck.
“h-hey man, don’t you think you’re kind of overreacti-HNGH—“ his hands squeezed harder and you swore you saw the light for a second. the whites of your mask widened.
“silence, insect.” mark spat.
“well, technically-“ he didn’t let you finish, slamming your head into the ground hard.
holy shit.
in a desperate attempt to escape, you took advantage of him having no free hands and blinded him using a web, following up by pressing the sole of your foot against his chest and pushing him as hard as your body allowed.
mark let out a sharp grunt when his back hit the wall, smashing through it. you were able to temporarily disorient him before he tried to get up again.
quickly, two webs bound his wrists and ankles to the ground. he’d break through it eventually, though they bought you enough time to get away while helping a few civilians who were in the building to safety.
“better luck next time, eh?” you taunted, swinging away.
synopsis: Reincarnation was supposed to be a second chance. Well, it is. A polite and lethargic good ol you got reincarnated in a mixed bullshittery comic world(s) of marvel and dc. But what is this? You're inside of a supposedly fanfiction about the neglected girl in a wayne family household? Her family is super protective and obsessive? shes obsessed with you? Wait a minute... You're peter parker's older sister and now you need to take responsibility?! Oh fuck...
On-going!
[Main Chapters]
Prologue
i. Random bullshit go!!!
ii.
iii.
iv.
v.
vi.
vii.
viii.
[Supplemental]
- Interlude: none
– Asks / Questions: none
– Records: None
Notes: Canon-divergent dc and marvel crossover. And i honestly got inspired by that one fic! Ifykyk. Also reader is not part of the bat family, go read the tags.
There's an imperceptible point between feeling your conscious come back and the exact moment you're back from the land of dreams. It's similar to when you turn on the computer and all those Windows and [Insert Company Name Here] starts to appear before you can actually use your computer to something. You get it that feeling?
A moment you were on that limbo, and the next one, you'll find yourself waking up and gasping for air and the person carrying you stirr.
"Donnie!?" - calls Leo's voice, your brain process his voice in a slow rhythm, but your instinc tells you who's who - "I think they're waking up"
"Perfect. Leo, put them on the stretcher, Raph, I need to stay on the back in the case they had an emergency, so you'll drive. " - Oh, it's purple…. Purple?
You don't know anyone that's named Purple. Weird. It feels like a Purple. Their voice sounds like a Purple. How could a Purple sound…?
You're left on a kind of hard surface. It's kind of soft. It feels good to rest your head.
"[S/n] don't freak out. You were unconscious for a few minutes, but you're on our van, and we're going to the lair to check on you? Okay?" - Purple…? You know who's Purple, you know that's not their real name…. But it feels right.. - "[S/n]? It's okay if I remove your mask to check on you?"
Mask? No, the mask is important! The mask is their safety net, the only thing that keep [S/n] and [Name] apart. Purple can't take this from you, he can't!
"Okay, no mask, got it" - there's a weight on your shoulder, a hand peraphs. Your six sense didn't warn you. Why? - "Just wanted to make sure you're breathing without an issue. Okay? We're not doing anything you don't feel comfortable with" - Purple looked at Blue- "Leo, talk to them to keep them entertained. I'll see if there's a way to check them without removing the suit. If we need to get to those stances, I want to have their consent to take off the mask, but I don't believe they're on their right mind in this moment. "
And with that, Purple had disappeared from your view. Your brain seemed disconnected from your body. Just thinking about anything seemed to tire you out. You feel like you're forgetting something really important. You groaned of frustration, and even thar came out as a weak rumble from your throat.
There was a movement there and someone was sitting on the side of the van, near to where you were laying.
"I … Never really got to thank you…" - starts. Oh, it's Blue. You know their real name isn't Blue, but kind of fits. And they're talking to you - "For… For everything" - Blue hufs - "For being Mikey's friend and cheer him up, like, he doesn't shut up about you. I think you're his favorite person now. Or spider or… I don't know, superhero?"
When Blue talks the word he's using comes out muffled, like someone put cotton on your ear canal to block the sound. But you still recognize it. An orange sky with the clouds slowly turning pink on the borders, but orange nothingless.
You like Orange. It's not an assumption. Its a fact. Someone for who it would be worth to kill for. Orange is a friend? Family?
"I guess… I kind of was— I still I'm… Jealous of you" - Blue take a deep breath - "And scared" - Leo looked at his hands, taking notice of the small scars on his palms - "You connected with Mikey, and Donnie, and maybe with Raph on a level I may never archive, and I'm their older brother! I should know stuff! It's like I stopped being their brother the moment Dad made me Leader!" - he grabbed his head between his hands, huffing and holding his breath, a realization comr to him as he slowly opened his eyes - "That's it… I stopped being their brother. "
Blue grunted and hid his face, closing his eyes and avoiding to look at you. Rude. But you could recognize the emotions that were passing on Blue's face. Shame, mostly. Regret. You knew that on a personal level. Sadness. Heh. Blue was feeling blue. Haha.
"I'm an idiot" - muttered Leo - "The answer was in front of my eyes all this time, and I didn't notice"
You grunted a little bit, the sensibility on your arm had come with a wave of confortable heat that passed through the arm's nerves. What was Blue talking about? Raph Red Donnie Purple and Mikey Orange were still there. They were there. Not dead. Blue hasn't gotten them killed. Blue Leo keep them safe. Blue was their brother. Not you.
A palm was pressed on Leo's arm, with the angle throwing all its weight on him. He knew who was the closest person to him. You were looking at him.
"Dum-dum" - Dumb, you wanted to say. But your muscles won't respond to you
The whole situation was exhausting and your muscles started to get sore. You felt like just taking a bottle of ibuprofen, blame the spider for needing higher dosis of analgesics, before undefinetly passing out.
Have you ever got so drunk to the point you're fumbling nonsense? Nothing actually settles until the next day when the lights burn your eyes and a pounding headache crushing your skull. Ugh. Please, someone, get the number of the truck that hit you. Ugh.
You feel something come rising from your chest at the same time you pull yourself up from whatever surface you're laying on. You can't breathe properly. Something's blocking the way in. The nausea rises up and the impending feeling of doom makes you realize something horrible.
You're about to puke.
You want to hold it back and avoid to spilling your insides all over the floor.
You hear yourself gag and sharply inhale the smell of antiseptic and cleaning products.
Could just as well to say 'fuck it' and spill everything on the damn floor
There were muffled sounds around you, and the sound of heavy steps, too big to be an average human being, come rushing to your direction. No tingle in the back of your mind. No threat.
A bin, not empty by the way, full with papers and a little bit of dust was handed to you, and that was the only sign needed to curl over the bin, and what come next couldn't be put in words, but wasn't recommended.
You emptied your stomach after the third round and let the bin be taken away from you. Your mouth tasted like shit, your breath was probably ten times worse, filled with stomach acid and bits of processed food. By reflex you tried to wipe the dirt from the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand, and that's when you stopped.
You were on your suit.
And you didn't have your mask on.
Practically jumped from your place as scanning your surroundings. Familiar. You're been there before.
"—okay, you're on our lair" - came Donnie's voice as someone guided you to sit back on the stretcher - "I apologize for taking off your mask, but it was the only way to made you a proper checkout in case of something else going on" - Donnie stepped away from you, passing you a glass of water
You took a sip of the water, instead of drinking it, you used it to clean the remainings of your stomach content and spit it on the bin. Chugging the rest of the water and giving Donnie the glass back.
"Where's my mask?" - you ask, raspy voice and a light sting on your throat
"On the counter, glad to have you speaking again, but I guess that healing factor comes handy" - he smiles tiredly, his face is kind of pale and there's signals of lack of sleep - "But I really need to gave tou another round of checks ups before letting you go"
You look around the room uncomfortable, kind of feeling naked without your mask. But it's Donnie the one we're talking about. He wouldn't use your secret identity against you… Right?
"You know?" - speaks Donnie, as he uses a tiny flashlight, from thar ones that usually comes in key ring, or do they have another name? - "Both pupils shiw response to the light, good" - he turns off the flashlight - "I expected you to be more.. Spider like, I guess" - he starts talking - "When something is touched by the mutagen is mainly affected by the last organic matter they interacted with, some mutants even grow appendages, you don't seem really affected by it"
"What…?" - you muttered - "That's how you guys….?" - you signaled but stopped your tracks - "Sorry"
"Don't be" - Donnie turns his caparace at you, searching for something on the cabinets - "We've been asked that question multiple times. And yes, that's how it happened, as the last thing that we interacted with was a human being, and I guess that also explains the lack of a tail"
You just blinked at Donatello, mot actually processing what he just said - "I broke a statue of an affrican god in a museum exhibit and a spider crawled out of it and bite me. I don't know what you're talking about. "
Donnie stopped his tracks and turned back at you, incredulously written all over his face - "You're pulling my leg. "
"No, it happened. When I woke up, the statue was intact, and I was built like a bodybuilder. It happened" - you said with seriousness. Your arachnophobia disappeared as well almost entirely.
The purple brother stared at you, agap expression and open mouth, before shaking his head and rising his hands - "You know what, I'm calling a day, I'm a talking turtle, who I'm I to judge your origin story. "
Something was thrown at you, catched it without problems and gave a look at it. Your mask was intact, except for some dirt iver here adm there. The suit probably needed a day on the laundry.
"What time is it anyway?" - you asked while putting your mask on
"One in the morning" - said Donatello
One in the— FRICK!
"Shoot!" - you exclaimed - "I gotta go!"
"Hold up" - Donnie positioned before you, blocking your way - "I know you have a live to return after this, I know I can't hold you until you're fully recovered because you're as stubborn as Leo, but please listen to me"
You opened your mouth to complain but sighed and crossed your arms - "Go on."
"First, this isn't over. You got freaking electrocuted on Live Tv, so there's no way you're denying that! I want to monitor your recovering for the next month, so don't even think about skipping out these checks ups, New York can wait" - he amonested you, like a mother to a child, to your annoyance - "Second, almost everyone is asleep now, but I want you to have a talk with Leo"
"What's up with Captain Killjoy?"
"You may not remember anything, but Leo didn't leave your side from the moment you went down. He got worried about you, I couldn't convince him to go sleep, and he is still meditating on the dojo" - Donatello take a moment to take air and continue - "Just let him know you're okay, let's see if with thar I can finally out him back on bed, okay?"
You contemplated the idea for a couple of minutes. You didn't really have an idea of what Leo seemed to have against you. Maybe it was something you said or you did, but Leo seemed to have been avoiding you lately.
"Fine. Let's see what that knucklehead is up to. "
Breathe in
Exhale
Breathe in
Exhale
Clear your mind
Don't think of anything
Crap
He's thinking
Leo furrowed his hipotetic eyebrows because turtles didn't grow hair, and even if they did, they'd be covered by their masks.
You were okay
You were?
He knew, on average, he wouldn't survive that
But you did
You collapsed
But you should he fine on Donnie's hands
Right?
Maybe it was the guilt talking for him, but you didn't deserve to be badmouthed as you we're laying unconscious on the medbay
Leonardo heard the sound of steps and sighed, not even bothered in opening his eyes.
"Go away Donnie" - he muttered
"You know" - came your voice instead, making Leo jolt in his place. You were okay? - "A bird told me you cried a river for me" - he turned around to see tou standing in the entrance of the dojo - "Quite touching if you ask me"
Nothing was said for a couple of seconds before Leo suddenly snorted and started cackling for your surprise. You didn't expect to get this reaction from him.
"You…" - he keep laughing, and there's when you noticed the look on his face, almost maniac, a grin that didn't seem to fit in his face - "You're already back to your normal self" - he muttered the last part
"Hey" - you complained, but stopped at Leo's frown - "Did really give you a scare back there?"
"You gave a scare to everyone" - Leo pointed out, then sighed, and something on his frame relaxed - "And Donnie's letting you go?"
"Got a secret identity to protect" - you crossed your arms - "He's forcing me to remain on standby while on the suit. "
"I wouldn't expect less from Donnie" - Leo chuckled
No way! He has more emotions besides grumpy and stern!
As for Leo, he just hopes that trusting you didn't end like Karai
warnings: foul language, descriptions of violence, possibly some mild gore/blood/injury descriptions, angst, possible smut but will be tagged in chapter, cringe reader (look she has to be peter parker accurate), more TBD.
🕸️︵ series summary: it was never a notion that someone could go toe to toe with clark as the clumsiest, cringiest, most awkward, glasses wearing dork at the daily planet, but the new hire definitely tries. perhaps the reminder of his best friend makes it easy for jimmy olsen to look out for her, but as two months go by he’s a little too invested in the girl who takes permanent residence in the desk fused to his. with his attention clouded by her, jimmy begins to notice the subtle changes in her persona after her chance article on visiting a rare arachnid collector; tardy arrivals at work, hurried excuses and rushing out when news drops that a villain has arrived in metropolis, plenty of new bruises, but also a newfound confidence. it seems he’s the only one who notices, since everyone else is chasing after the masked vigilante in a spider suit that seemed to show up overnight. maybe clark and her had a lot more in common than he thought.
or
🕸️ ︵ jimmy olsen has literal models tripping over themselves to get just a weekend alone with him, so why is he so head over heels for the weird, flaky new photographer who gets suspiciously good pictures of spidergirl?
notes: misc. tall!reader, we need justice for tall!reader ok?, glasses wearing reader bc pre bite duh, no descriptors of reader except a general height, i picture her as 5’7 because she’ll be a superhero and… it makes sense and i never see tall/average height reader, general mentions of hair at times due to spidey costume, depictions of vague strength improvement post-bite but no mention of body type, any images in chapter banners are just suggestive, they don’t depict reader, just general ideas.
