a/n: brand new day spoilers. reader and peter start dating after nwh, mj does not exist. most basic fic of all time but it was literally pressing at the sides of my head. not proof-read. probably fucked up pov at some point.
Peter always calls. He texts, sure, but if you ask him what he prefers, he’ll shrug and say, “Sometimes, it’s just nicer to hear your voice.”
Placating. Diplomatic. The words of a man who spends most of his time using both hands to launch himself between skyscrapers.
And Peter always calls at 5 PM on Thursdays. He knows you get out of work at 4:40, knows you’ll be taking the longer route home. For nearly two years, Peter has called at 5 PM every Thursday. It’s a dance routine, and a well-practiced one at that. And when he falls out of step, so do you.
You let it go when the phone doesn’t ring at five. He’s probably still in class, you shake your head. Fell asleep at his desk again, couldn’t get to the phone. Six o’clock passes and you check his location, still in his apartment. No texts and no calls. You try to call, but get his voicemail.
“Hey, Pete, it’s me. Call me back when you get the chance.” I pause. “I miss you. Okay, talk soon. Bye, babe.”
By ten, you’ve called four times and left a whole flood of messages. You’ve chewed your nails down to the stubs. Midnight rolls around, and you’re already out the door. Peter lives two blocks over and, though you rarely make the walk over alone, you’ve got pepper spray in your bag. And besides, with Spider-man out at night, the crime wasn’t terrible either way.
You knock on the door rapidly, glancing around the hallway. “Peter?” You whisper before pressing your ear to the door. “Peter.” Your hand lands on the door, twisting at the knob. You inhale sharply as the knob turns freely, pushing the door open and slipping into the apartment. You turn and lock the door behind you. “Peter?” You call, taking your shoes off. “It’s just me, don’t freak. I was getting kind of worried about you.” Still no response. “Peter.” Your breath catches as you spot drops of something dark and red on the floorboards. Blood. “Peter!”
You rush into the bedroom, where the blood continues, but there’s nobody there. “Pete!” You are nearly shouting, trying to keep your breath calm. Your swivel around the room, searching for another sign of blood, of Peter, of–
Spider-man.
His suit is hung over Peter’s chair. There’s a Tide pen on the desk, and it’s clear someone had tried to get a patch of blood out of the sleeve. Spider-man uses Tide pens. You don’t have too much time to think about it, fingers suddenly picking up the mask and glossing over the lenses. Did Spider-man beat up your boyfriend? Or vice versa? Or Peter is just helping him out with a Tide pen, since Peter carries one on him most of the time, he’s really prone to getting blood on his –
Oh. It clicks in your head and you nearly drop the mask. But, instead, you raise it to your face and inhale softly. It smells like blood, sweat, and Prada Ocean.
It smells like the stupid bottle of cologne you gave Peter a year ago. Your eyes go wide. “Peter?” You call out again, voice tilting nervously.
A door clicks open behind you, and you nearly scream, startling Peter as he emerges from the bathroom, clearly just showered and in his boxers. “Jesus Christ, Y/n, how did you get in here?” He groans, closing his eyes after the shock fades.
“Your door is open, Peter, that’s so dangerous!” You push back, before remembering what you were doing before he came out. His eyes fly open as he also seems to register the situation, wide pupils landing on the mask hovering between your finger-tips.
“Uh, Y/n.” “Why do you have this?” You hold up the mask.
“It’s not mine.” His words are clipped, and he grabs a t-shirt off the ground. “Yeah, no shit, Peter, it’s Spider-man. Why is it here?” Wide-eyed, he pulls the shirt over his head. “It’s not what you think, Y/n, okay– he got stuck on the fire escape, and I–”
“You better come up with something more believable than that.” You shake your head, hands starting to tremble.
“It’s just a costume, Y/n.” “Peter, this is not just a costume, this– this is the real thing! Why won’t you tell me what’s happening? And where have you been all day, I’ve been freaking out–” You start rambling, the stress of the day pouring out of you when Peter practically groans.
“Fuck, Y/n, I was just a little busy, ‘m fine and ‘m here, it’s not that big of a deal!” “You’re dodging my question! You always do–” “Would you please just drop it?” He squints his eyes. “Please, Y/n.”
You stare at him, mouth opened a bit. “Peter.”
He doesn’t look at you, crashing onto the edge of his bed, head in his hands. “Just– please, baby. Please don’t make me.” “Pete, just talk to me.” “Please.”
Peter wasn’t even sure what he was asking for anymore. For you not to leave him, for you to ignore what you were seeing, for you to walk out and be safe somewhere far away. “Y/n.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Just go, go home.”
You stare at him, taken aback. “Are you serious?” Peter looked up at you from his hands, and for a moment you forgot what you were even pressing him for. He looked awful. He looked like he had been holding the sky above him for years, like the weight of the entire universe pressed down on his temples. Your eyebrows knit together, real concern bleeding into your anger. “Peter, what’s happening with you? Would you just– just talk to me here.”
You set the mask in your hand down on the desk, crouching down in front of Peter’s bed, trying to get him to hold your eyes. “Jesus, baby, what’s going on?”
Peter squeezed his eyes shut as you came down to his level, unable to look you in the eye and force himself to admit he had been lying to you. He was on the verge of tears, his voice high and shaky. “I can’t talk about it.”
You ducked down to try and catch his eye again, hands coming up to his face. “You can tell me anything, you know that?” He was already shaking his head.
“Don’t shut me out, Pete, I just want to help you.” “You’re going to be mad at me.” “Baby, I’m mad at you already, you don’t really need to–”
“I’m Spider-man.” Peter breathes out, his eyes nervously scanning your face. Your hands fall from his face and he feels his stomach drop.
“Yeah, Peter, I know.”
Peter pulls back, his eyes narrowing. “What?” You shake your head.
“Your suit is on your desk, it smells like your cologne. Do you put cologne on when you go out like that?” Peter blinks rapidly, not sure how to answer the question.
You press further. “Is that why you’ve been so distant?”
He shrugs, but his eyes are full of tears. “I feel like I’ve been lying to you.”
You nod. “Are you?” He shrugs again. “I was.” “Then tell me.”
Peter exhaled, shaking. “What do you want to know?”
“The whole Avengers thing, the bombs, and the bank robberies, that’s all been you?”
Peter nodded, chewing on his cheek. “Yeah. That was me.” You blink. “Oh my god.” You stood up, reality beginning to sink in on you. Peter stood up quickly too.
“Y/n, you should sit,” He spoke softly.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “I didn’t know how to.” “And all– all those times you came over to mine all beat up?”
Peter looked at the ground, guilt piling in his throat.
“You told me you kept getting hit by Lime Scooters, oh my god, Pete.” Your hand came up to your mouth.
“I’m sorry, Y/n, please. Just sit down.”
You keep pacing, and he stands, his hands coming up to your hips in an attempt to steady you. “C’mon, baby, look here. I’m okay. Really,” He soothes.
“Peter, this is awful, this is really, really dangerous stuff you’re doing.” “I know, but I have to do it.” “Did you have to lie to me about it?”
Peter’s eyes close, and his mouth twists like he’s trying to keep from crying. “I don’t want you to be scared of me.”
You shook your head, taking a small step back. Peter’s hands fall from your hips. “I’m not scared of you, Peter, I’m scared for you. I’ve seen the Damage Control attacks in the news, people have died. What happens if–”
“I’ve been doing this for a while, Y/n, I’m already careful.” “None of this is careful, Peter!” “How would you know?” Peter’s voice began to climb.
“Well, you didn’t tell me!” “Yeah, because I knew you would act–” “Don’t even, Peter.” You put up a finger, warning him. Taking two more steps back, you shake your head. “You’re so– Peter, what would have happened if you had died out there? And nobody knew? It’s bad enough you’re hurting yourself this much!” “Y/n.” “I can’t talk to you like this, I’m so– my god, I’m so confused.” “I’m trying to explain!” “Just– I need air, I need–”
Peter backed up, his hands coming up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” He rasped. “Please, would you just sit down?” “Peter, I think I should go.”
Peter’s mouth parts, slightly, like he wants to protest. He shakes his head, looking down for a moment as he closes his mouth again. “Okay. Okay, yeah. Just– just call me, okay? If you– if you’re ready.”
Peter must assume you’re not ready. Because it’s been a full week, and there has been radio silence between the two of you. He’s seen you, of course, perched above the city, watching your walk home when it’s late. He knows you’ve seen him, too. You know he’s there, watching for you. But you can’t bring yourself to look up at him in that suit. To acknowledge that it is him, that his eyes are behind those lenses, his face behind that mask.
Because you see that mask everywhere. On the street, behind your eyelids, and on the news. On the news, when every major channel is reporting about how Spiderman has been shot.
“Peter.” You sit up straight as he stirs, pulling at the oxygen mask over his face. “Leave it, Pete, you’re okay.”
“Y/n.” He sits up higher, taking off the mask. You scoot closer, brushing back his hair. “You’re okay, you’re okay. You scared the shit out of me.” “What happened?” “Baby, you tell me. I see on the news that you’ve been shot, and then I get a call from some guy named Frank telling me I need to come here.” “Is Frank here?” “Yeah, he’s outside. Who is he?” Peter coughs. “He’s a friend.” “He said he shot you.”
Peter pauses. “He’s still a friend.”
You sniffle, and Peter’s eyes snap up again. Your eyes are red and teary already.
He reaches for your hand, and you let him. “I’m okay, Y/n. I heal fast. That’s part of the– the deal, I guess.”
“This is exactly what I was scared of.”
Peter slumps, suddenly feeling small. “I promise I’m okay now.” “But it could’ve been worse. You– he said you were almost dead, Pete.”
“I’m not, though.” Peter attempts, smiling sheepishly.
You don’t laugh.
“Y/n. I– I know this is scary. And dangerous. And I know you’re worried. But this is– this is what I do, this is what I am. And I have to. I have to.” “Peter.” “I know people are dying. I know I almost died. But more people will die if I do nothing.” “Peter.” “I don’t want to lose you because of this. I don’t want to pick between being Spider-man and being your boyfriend.” “Peter, stop.”
He falls quiet, big brown eyes staring up at you. “We can talk, okay? You– you scared the shit out of me, but I’m here. You’re not scaring me away. I’m not asking you to choose. You just got shot, and I just– I just want you to be okay.”
Peter grips your hand tighter, leaning forward to press his mouth against where your hands intertwine. “I am.”
“Let me get Frank.” You clear your throat to stand. Peter’s brow furrows.
“Why?” “He said he had a plan to get you out. Something about him wanting to try on your mask.”
