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thatgeekyemo · 2 years ago

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Hope Dangles On A String

peter parker x reader | 3.3k

summery: "So you're telling me you don't know about how Spider-Man killed Mysterio?" You can't have heard that right. Mysterio was dead?

You blinked. "What?"

prompt 5: "Could you hold my hand?", requested by iloveyou3000 on Wattpad

note: I wanna see who gets some references I made. Some are more tricky than the others. (Hint: I've already made one)Also, this was written before NWH came out :)

The library had become one of your favorite places since you came back. It was quiet, filled with knowledge, and always air conditioned.

The library at Midtown School of Science and Technology in particular was a place you spent most of your free time in nowadays. You always got to the school early in the morning and always stayed hours after the school day was over. Ever since The Blip, it had become your second home; it was the most familiar place you could go to. A place where you could re-adjust to the world you grew up in and catch up on the five years of history you missed.

Currently, there weren't many people in the library with you, since school wasn't set to start for another month. But the administration always left the doors open for the book club and Decathlon team. You weren't in either, but as long as you still followed the rules, you were always welcome.

The library was a safe place. No one ever bothered you, and you could always get what you wanted to get done done.

You were friends with the librarian. You even helped out every once in a while. Being surrounded by so much information and stories helped you feel at ease. Helped you feel like you weren't the only person with the loss of them. Like you weren't the only one out of the loop.

With a book open in front of you--about how the world dealt and built itself back up after half its population suddenly disappearing--you tried your hardest to understand how the world functioned when you were gone, having been one of the people that disappeared.

It was a hard thing to wrap your mind around, believing that you had been gone five whole years. Everything just seemed like a blink to you. One second, you were scared for your life, wondering if Iron Man and Spider-Man were ever going to come back from following that alien spaceship into the sky. The next, you found yourself on the floor in a bedroom that wasn't yours, but at the same time was. One second, you had been sitting in dead silence, the next, the air was filled with the ear splitting yell of a young girl, screaming at you like you were an intruder in your own home.

You were.

In what felt like a blink, an entire five years had passed on Earth. Had passed everywhere. People grieved. Then people moved on with their lives.

You, among hundreds of thousands of other people, had to find new homes. New jobs. It was hard to believe that you were thrust five years and two months into the future, when just a second ago, you had been in 2018.

But of course, you knew the entire world couldn't be playing a giant trick. That against all probability, it had actually happened. You had to believe it whether you wanted to or not. This was your life now.

Just as you were getting settled, some boxes in your new room still unpacked, your parents urged you to go on your science class' summer field trip. They, as well as you, had thought that maybe it could help you unwind from the stress of living in a familiar but unfamiliar world.

Instead, Mysterio and the Elementals had happened, and what was supposed to be a relaxing summer vacation turned into looking over your shoulder to make sure another danger wasn't creeping up out of thin air every waking moment.

You had broken down in the airport once it was all over. Once everyone was safe. It was all too much. You didn't understand how people could live their lives like it was normal. How they weren't affected like you were. Too many life changing and endangering events had happened in rapid succession and it was too much for you.

It was Peter who held you then like he always had. It was Peter who pulled you from your spiraling state by making you focus on his voice. It was Peter who held your hand and wouldn't let go until you were okay enough to pull away.

You could always count on him to get you out of a tough place and stick by your side for the entirety of it all. And he didn't ask for anything out of it. Just that you would do the same.

That was a promise you had made to him years ago.

There were two other people in the library with you, not including the librarian, who was in the back room. You took note of them the second they walked in. You didn't know their names, so you figured might have been kids that survived. It was easier for you to keep an eye on everything around you. It made you feel better. The two teens had identical books of their own open in front of them, so you had initially assumed they were in the school's book club. But as the time passed, they disregarded reading and resorted to their phones. It didn't matter to you what they were doing. As long as it didn't break your concentration, they could talk quietly and laugh amongst themselves all they wanted. You didn't bother them, they didn't bother you.

So when you caught them staring, you had tried to disregard it. You hadn't done nothing much other than read the book you had checked out. There was a list of things that made you uncomfortable, and people staring was on it. You could feel their eyes on you as you kept your own trained on the pages in your hands. You knew you hadn't looked bad when you left your house that morning--your clothes were clean, your hair was combed--yet there was something that continued to make you their point of interest. It set you on edge, how their whispering dropped so that even you couldn't hear the words in the silence of the library. You hadn't done anything wrong, so what made you so interesting?

You didn't like being the center of attention. Not more than you already were. People treated you like you were some kind of baby, since you returned. They pitied you. Saw you as someone who needed help. And while you were, you didn't need them butting in. You had your own support group. Your own ways of getting the help you needed. But no one knew. No one really cared. Not unless their 'acts of kindness' were visible for the public to see.

So why single you out now? In the seclusion of the library, where no one else was around?

You thought about leaving, just to get away from their prying eyes. You had noticed them get up and move to a table closer to yours, really not subtlety at all. But then just as you made the decision to pack up once you finished the chapter you were on, you realized that you could hear them. The reason because they moved closer or having raised their voices up for debate.

"But she's his best friend!"

"You can't seriously think she helped him do it, can you?"

"We don't have any proof she didn't!"

They seemed to be arguing. Loud enough for you to hear. Loud enough for you to figure out they were talking about you.

It made your skin crawl. The fact that you were the topic of their conversation, but you had no idea what they were talking about. The fact that they were blaming you for something. You hadn't committed a crime in your life. The closest you'd ever come was bearing witness to more than a few.

You unconsciously found yourself squeezing your fists tight enough that you felt your nails digging into the palms of your hands. Taking a deep breath, you came to the unsettling conclusion that they wouldn't stop unless you dealt with it.

For the first time, you turned your head to look at them. Taking a moment to try and further understand the situation, you watched them. They couldn't have been older than you, they looked around your age. One of two things that stood out from the picture was that the girl had dyed bright pink hair. The other was the bright red news headline that lit up her discarded phone screen.

The boy caught your eyes first, promptly shutting his mouth and a look of fear flickering on his face. His reaction made the girl stop and look over at you, her eyes narrowing instantly. Like you were some kind of suspect. And going off of what you heard them talk about, you might as well be.

Shakily, you stood up and walked over to their table, holding your arms close to your body. You opened your mouth to say something, but you hadn't really thought this through.

After a gulp, you found your voice. But you were starting to feel small under the girls stare. "Hi." You tested carefully, your voice quiet. "Do you- do you need me for something?"

Her eyes lit up like she was just given a gift. The boy just cowered in his seat, like he was ashamed. "Yes, actually!" Her voice was cheerful, but the smile on her face was fake. Her words had a sharp edge to them, and you were afraid that they were nearing to cut you. "You haven't heard the news?"

"Billie, don't." The boy whispered behind her, glancing up, but avoiding your gaze.

"Don't what?" You tried not to flinch as Billie stood up. You couldn't stop yourself from stepping back though. She was taller than you, and her proximity was too close. "What news?"

"About Spider-Man." she stated blankly like she was bored you didn't already know. She paused, and it looked like she was waiting for your reaction. "About Peter Parker."

"No?" You said slowly, confused to hear those names put together like that. You wanted to ask, but that wasn't the point. You wanted them to stop talking about you. If for some reason there was some news involving Peter and Spider-Man that he hadn't told you yet, you were sure to find out soon. And if you didn't, you could just look it up when you got home. "What does it have to do with me?"

"Billie." The boy warned again, but she just sent him a glare.

"Get your phone out."

"I don't--"

"Now!"

"Um," you started to stammer over your words, not understanding what was going on. "Excuse me? I-I don't really want to be recorded--"

"So you're telling me you don't know about how Spider-Man killed Mysterio?"

You can't have heard that right.

Mysterio was dead?

You blinked. "What?"

"Don't play dumb." She snapped, her brows furrowed in determination, making you flinch. The accusation unlike any you had ever heard. "Tell us the truth. Did you help Peter Parker murder Quentin Beck?"

The words hit you like a slap to the face. They didn't sound right. They didn't feel right.

Peter wasn't Spider-Man.

Was he?

And Spider-Man definitely wasn't a murderer.

That you knew for sure.

Did you?

Peter wasn't Spider-Man. He would have told you. And you knew for a fact that Peter wouldn't kill someone. Neither would Spider-Man. And he sure as hell wouldn't have killed another hero.

But that's not what Billie was saying. She was saying that Peter Parker was Spider-Man. That Peter killed Mysterio. Killed Quentin Beck. And that you knew--no. Not knew. Helped him do it.

A hundred things were clawing at your brain, wanting to be spoken all at once. It swarmed in your head, bombarding your thoughts. It was hard, but you managed piece together a single sentence. Albeit choppy. "I don't-- I have no idea what you're talking about." You breathed out shakily.

"It's a simple question: did you, or did you not?" Billie asked again, her voice more insistent this time. The boy fumbled with his phone as she stepped forward, forcing you back.

"No!" You said as firmly as you could, tripping over your feet. If it wasn't for the table you were sitting at to catch you, you would have fallen. "I didn't even-- I didn't even know!" Why couldn't she hear the truth in your voice?

All comfort you found in the library disappeared in an instant. The silence you adored felt deafening. The calm was suffocating.

"How am I supposed to believe you? You're his best friend! Everyone knows that! You had to know something." She spouted the accusations as easily as popping a bubble. "Ryan, are you getting this on camera? Every news outlet is looking for any known associates, and we need this proof!"

"Who- who the hell do you think you are?" You could feel your own voice breaking as you continued to back away until you felt the strap of your bag hanging off the back of the chair you were sitting in. You snatched up the book you were reading and almost missed shoving it in. "I told you I don't want to be recorded! Leave- leave me alone!"

You grabbed your things and ran for the door, but the words continued to follow you.

Spider-Man killed Mysterio?

Did you help Peter Parker murder Quentin Beck?

You heaved a breath, the feeling of it getting harder and harder to breathe quickly overcoming you.

You didn't understand.

What was going on?

The sunlight seemed too harsh as you nearly fell over yourself outside. You didn't stop though. Not until Billie and Ryan gave up on chasing you. Until you were far away from the library. And only then did you stop only to breath so you wouldn't collapse.

It looked like the world was frozen. Their eyes glued to the nearest screen available. Phones, shop televisions. Any screen on any one of the hundreds of skyscrapers surrounding you.

And they all read the same thing.

London Attack Revelations: Spider-Man responsible for Hero Mysterio's Death

THEDAILYBUGLE.NET EXCLUSIVE: Peter Parker revealed as the murderer behind the mask of the menace known as the 'Spider-Man'

Voices overlapped in your head. The people around you reacting. The different news stations relaying each other. Your own.

But what stood out the most was the shaky video on display directly across the street from you.

You didn't recognize the man, but you recognized the suit. This man was Mysterio. Beck. Beat up with blood on his face and surrounded by broken glass.

And the words came right from him mouth.

"Spider-Man's name is Peter Parker!"

You felt your senses dulling around you then. The only thing you could hear was the rapid beating of your own heart trying to keep you alive.

So many secrets. So many truths. Too many.

You felt yourself loosing your grip, but no one was there to stop you from falling.

Usually Peter did that.

But Peter wasn't there.

Peter was Spider-Man?

Peter was a murderer?

A loud roar from a gathering crowd was enough to get you moving, even though you felt--well, you didn't know how you felt.

Your feet moved without much thought. Bringing you to the one place where you thought you could be safe. Where you could lock the door and cover your ears and close your eyes and wish it would all go away. That you would wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Your feet moved, and you mindlessly made it back to your empty apartment.

It wasn't home. You home had been taken away from you. The walls were empty. The furniture brand new.

Your hands shook as you locked the door behind you. That's when you lost the sliver of control you had, sliding down against the front of the door in a gasp that let everything flood you.

Tears burned against your skin as they streamed down your face. Tears of confusion. Tears of hurt. Tears of anger. Tears of any reason you could possibly think of.

It was a lot to comprehend at once.

Too much.

A frantic knocking on your door made you flinch and let out a yelp. You scrambled away, barely standing yourself up when you heard a voice.

"Y/N?" It was Peter. "Are you-- are you in there?"

Oh God, it was Peter. Standing on the other side of your apartment door. Sounding the most scared you've ever heard him in his entire life.

You stayed silent.

"Y/N, please-please. I can hear you,"

And you could hear just how much he was pleading. How his voice was shaking with every syllable.

"Please let me in. I can-- I don't know what you've heard yet, but I can explain everything. But I really need you to let me in. You're all I have left and I know-- I know it's selfish, but, Y/N, you're my only hope."

You're breathing became heavier and it held like someone was squeezing your heart in their fist.

You couldn't leave him out there.

But in a quick motion, you reached forward and unlocked the door.

Once the locked clicked, the door opened and Peter stepped in faster than you could register, locking the door again behind him. "Y/N, I'm so sorry--"

You backed away from him. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't make you leave." You demanded, the words sounding more foreign than a different language as they left your mouth.

Peter's expression was heartbreaking. His hair darker and plastered to his face from sweat. His eyes glossed over with tears already threatening to spill. A look of hurt painted over his face like it was a damaged canvas.

"L-look, I know about everything that they're saying about me out there, and-and I know how it sounds. Y/N, I'm not asking you to like me right now or even trust me until you sort things out because I know this is too much so fast. And I'm so, so sorry. But I'm alone and I'm afraid and all I'm asking is could you please just hold my hand? Even if you can only do it for a little bit?"

Your eyes didn't leave Peter.

They couldn't.

You didn't see Spider-Man as you looked at him. You didn't see someone capable of killing someone in cold blood.

All you saw was the boy who held you when times got rough.

The boy who defended you from bullies even if it meant he would be going home with a black eye.

The boy who stayed up with you all hours of the night when you woke up from a bad dream.

The boy who cared about you more than he cared about himself.

The boy who held your hand through it all.

And here he was. In front of you. Asking you to do the same.

After all, you had promised.

Peter Parker wasn't a murderer. That, you were sure of. The odds could be stacked against him twenty times over and you still wouldn't believe it.

But everyone wasn't like you. The world believed it. And the world was after him.

You looked at the boy. Peter wasn't a murderer, but he was broken. Broken over and over so many times, that he's now unable to put himself back together all alone.

You looked at the boy who held your hand all those years, and was asking the simple thing of you: to hold his back.

You looked at Peter, and all you could see was someone who needed you the way you needed him. The boy who has always needed you the way you needed him.

And now more than ever.

You cleared your mind enough to focus on that one thing. If you had learned anything, is that you needed to take the road to recovery one step at a time. And you already know what the first step was. What you had to do.

You take his hand.

A fractured smile twitched on his lips as he held on tight, heavy with the fear that you might let go. But you already made up your mind, despite what you knew you were going to have to do. Knowing that when the time came, you would have to turn your back on the world. To protect Peter. Because he needed you like you needed him.

"I can do more than that."

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thatgeekyemo · 2 years ago

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Moments To Remember

peter parker x reader | 4.9k

summery: don't ever tell peter parker he doesn't know what he's fighting for. his reasons, past, present, and future influence him daily; his moments to remember

requested prompt 41: "I love you.", request from starrr238 over on Wattpad

Over the years, Peter was told he had a special look that only ever appeared when he was looking at you. An adoration that was reserved for you and only you. His head always tilted slightly to the side, letting a few curls of his hair flop over his face. He wore a soft smile, and there was a warmth in his eyes that never appeared for anyone else. You were always the subject of his gaze, and he always watched you intently. He swept his eyes over every part of you, memorizing you how you were, focusing more intently on your hands, your hair, but always most importantly, your face. Every time he looked at you like that, he was always taking a mental snapshot. Creating a timeless moment in his mind, filed away in the folder of ever growing reasons why he loved you.

If he wanted to, Peter could shuffle through the pictures of perfection he created of you. The way you held his hands after your first kiss so many years ago. Bathed in the golden glow of a setting sun after a picnic in the park. Hair messy, chewing on the back of a pen, and wearing a two day old outfit as you were cramming for your college finals. The love in your eyes as you said yes, the metal band around your finger gleaming against the candle-light. The moments the two of you succeeded in dancing under the spotlight, swaying gently to the slow music—you in your white dress and last name officially his.

There was no doubt the same look was on Peter's face now as he looked at you. His breathing calm and even. You were only a few feet away, in the apartment the both of you shared, nestled into the corner of the couch, but the want to be near you and pull you close intensified. He would no doubt do this later, but right now...right now was a moment to remember.

You were in one of your favorite flowy dresses, the one you kept wearing for its practicality and comfort even as you kept growing. A blanket was draped over your shoulders, and your legs were tucked under you the best they could be, which was a feat in itself. You had a book in your hand, and Peter could tell you were deep into the story by the way your brow furrowed. He followed the ways your eyes flitted from line to line, the small changes in your expression and soft gasps as events unfolded on the paper in front of you.

Between turning the page and nibbling cheese off a plate that was balanced on a pillow for easier access next to you, your hand rested soothingly on the large bump that was your very pregnant stomach, occasionally rubbing mindless circles.

Peter wondered if he could somehow make this moment last forever, but he settled for the comfortable silence instead. The steady thrum of the rain beating on the window outside did nothing to bring down the mood in the cozy New York apartment you and Peter called home.

Everything that was in front of him, everything he had, it was all he ever needed and more. And he just couldn't wait until his family would grow by one more. A child he would proudly call his own. The chance to be the best father—and for you to be the best mother.

When Peter was satisfied, he was careful moving around the couch, not wanting to disturb you as much as he could. Your lips quirked up into a smile as he stole a slice of cheese and he settled down next to you, his hand joining yours on your stomach, mouth chewing a small bite as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

The silence continued, and Peter didn't dare to break it with meaningless words. He could stay there with you for hours and never get bored. Sometimes, he didn't understand how he could have ever gotten so lucky. His entire life, he was only a kid from Queens. He used to be a nobody. And then he became Spider-Man. But even then, the hero and Peter Parker were two separate people. He hadn't started to feel truly special until he met you. He watched as you fell in love with the boy beneath the mask, and suddenly, that kid from Queens was the personality Peter began to favor more and more. He could make you smile without having to impress you with his powers, and that was when he realized that somehow, out of all the billions of people in the world, he had found the one.

Minutes ticked by, and Peter was content as he rested his head on your shoulder, his eyes closed, listening to you breathe and the two healthy heartbeats your body held. The heartbeat of his wife, and the heartbeat of his future daughter.

He felt you shift underneath him, heard the rustle of the pages of your book. A soft sigh had him raise his head, his eyes not open just yet.

You brought your palm to his face, pulling him closer so you could place a soft kiss on his lips. Peter smiled as your thumb gently swiped over the light freckles on his cheek, and tried to follow you as you pulled away, but your quiet whisper stopped him.

"I need to pee."

Opening his eyes, Peter chuckled softly. "Do you want help up?"

"Please," you sighed, reaching for his hands as Peter stood up in a fluid motion from the couch. Once you reached around the six month mark, you were so determined to continue to do basic things like getting out of bed or sitting up by yourself, but the tasks just grew harder and harder the farther along in your pregnancy, until the point where you learned to just surrender and accept Peter's help.

He remembered the first day you couldn't move from your favorite armchair by yourself. How your face flushed from frustration as you attempted to push yourself up, but you were too far sunk into the cushions and you were sporting an entire cabbage in your uterus.

You had called Pepper that night, nearly in tears because the baby was going to hinder your ability to move around and you actually had to start asking for help—which you at the time had made out to be akin to the greatest sin of all.

At the same time, Peter was on the other side of the room. While you were on the phone talking to a woman who empathized with you, he had accepted a call from a very tired Tony Stark, who assured him that he was in the exact same position with Pepper when she was seven months—and in fact, from what he could hear, your rant was nearly identical.

Peter held on to keep you balanced as you teetered a little bit as you stood on your feet, but once he was sure you could stand, his hands gravitated to either side of your belly.

"Has she said hello today?" He asked, leaning his head to touch yours.

"Loads of times. You missed a very active day." You snorted. "Got dangerously close to my ribs too. I swear, if she fractures one of them again..."

"I told you that's not my fault!" Peter grinned, pulling his head back to look at you. "Babies do it all the time, freaky super-spider genetics have nothing to do with it!"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head, and Peter could tell you were fighting the urge to smile as he pressed a kiss to your temple and you slipped out of his arms to pass by him.

A smile never left Peter's face as he watched you waddle your way to the bathroom in little and careful steps. There was something endearing about the way you had started to walk so you could see your feet and balance, and to your dismay, it had led to Peter calling you his penguin on more than one occasion. It was all the more annoying when you had actually dressed in white and black once. After a long struggle to roll out of an empty bed, you had made your way to the kitchen, where Peter had been attempting to make breakfast and you were greeted with a perfectly purposeful Morning, penguin. You had stuck your tongue out at Peter, but he just countered that you'd walked right into that one. You had, so to his victory, you couldn't even argue.

Once the door closed behind you, Peter hovered around the hallway, just a couple of feet away in case you needed him. It didn't matter how many times you told him that he could help with anything else, but you at least wanted the dignity to wipe by yourself, you would always see him across from you as you exited the bathroom, always using the excuse of fixing the pictures that hung on the wall.

Surprisingly, you smugly smirked at him this time. Too amused to react as you waddled past, flipping him off over your shoulder, Peter just shook his head and drifted over to the kitchen.

"Any requests for the chef?" He called out, peering into the refrigerator.

"Please retire from the chef career, because someone who can burn water shouldn't cater to his pregnant wife?" He heard you call back and a grin split his face.

"Agreed, but you can't argue: I make a mean sandwich though!"

"You do. How about you make that then? And more cheese would be amazing." He heard you reply and he grabbed the lunch meat from the shelf.

"What d'you want?" He asked, peering down at his options as he grabbed some bread. "We got ham, turkey— oo! There's even some of the good roast beef left!" Peter opened the bag and took a small sniff. "Nevermind!" He gagged, tossing the meat into the trash and the sound of your laughter buzzed beautifully in his head. "Thats a no-go on the roast beef."

"No, the—mhm!" Peter straightened up so fast he almost hit his head on the bottom of the overhead cabinets at the sound of your pained moan. He quickly twisted to look at you, finding you grasping the back of the couch and slightly hunched as you were holding your belly.

"Are you two okay?" He asked immediately, urgency in his voice, and you just waved your hand at him, letting out a staggered breath as you turned your head to see him already taking steps on your direction.

"We're fine." You told him and smiled. "I was just saying that the sandwich is yours. You forgot to eat lunch because you were too busy ogling me, and if you're gonna go on patrol later, I don't need your stomach waking me up in the middle of the night."

Peter just rolled his eyes, searching through the unorganized silverware drawer for a butter knife so he would have something to spread mayonnaise with. He found a spoon instead. "'Ogling' makes me sound like a creep."

"Says the man that wears a skintight costume and fights bad guys for a living." He heard you let out a soft groan as you sat back down in your spot. "Don't spiders literally just sit around all day and wait for their prey to get caught in their web? You've done that before. I don't know—" you clicked your tongue— "that kinda spells creep to me."

"That's so totally not fair that you get to use something I did years ago against me! It was a stakeout! The whole point is to wait for someone!" Peter tried to stop himself from laughing, looking over his shoulder to see your sarcastic smile scrunching up your face. He failed.

"Hey, I'm just stating the facts." You promptly stated.

"Then you forgot to add just how good I look wearing said skintight suit."

"Don't need a lot of imagination to see what's underneath," You hummed behind him, and Peter remembered to cut you more slices of cheese before he put it away as he added some to his sandwich. "Though I wonder how many people stare at your ass when you swing by." You added as an afterthought.

Peter snorted, searching fridge again for the jar of pickles he swore he saw earlier that week. "Please don't make that a legitimate thought in my head."

"Too late! It's already there!" He rolled his eyes, knowing that you were right. Well, that gave him something to mull over later.

"Are you sure you don't want a sandwich?" He asked, hesitant to put away the ingredients in front of him as he pushed his now finished sandwich to the side next to your plate of cheese, closing the lid on the pickle jar. "I got the stuff right here,"

"Just the cheese, please!"

"Coming right up."

He was by your side soon enough, handing over your plate with his sandwich in one hand—the other resting on your stomach as he whispered encouragements to the baby inside between bites, trying to get her move around.

Peter would be lying if he said he expected his life to be as perfect as it was. Sometimes, he felt like he was living in a dream.

He never exactly knew he could love someone as deeply as he loved you. It was different from how he loved May. From how he loved Tony and Pepper and Morgan and everyone else. It was a type of love that he assumed was only granted to a few lucky individuals. A love for not just you, but for all of you. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Every flaw and imperfection you thought you had. Never once in his life had Peter looked at you and saw anything but perfection.

And to further that, he never thought he could care about someone so much before they were born. He was so close to becoming a father—any day now, really. Your due date was in a week, and Peter could hardly wait. In a week, an entire brand new person would be introduced into the world. One that he would have a key role in raising. A life among others that Peter would protect at all costs.

It didn't take long for Peter to figure out that this love...this love was the love he saw in the world. The love in waking up to see the sun shining brightly in the sky. In feeling of the wind against his skin. In feeling blades of grass between his fingers and the earth beneath him. The feeling of seeing someone feel important and acknowledged in this large world when you do something as small as giving them a smile and a wave.

All of the indiscernable and irrefutable details that make up life—that love—is what Peter fought for. What he suited up for to protect. And while he had seen it before, having you in his life only amplified his ability to appreciate it all. And he wouldn't know what to do without you. You were an integral part of him now, just as was he to you.

Peter wasn't in the mood to leave you just yet as the sounds of sirens started rose against the sounds of the rain outside, but it was you who urged him to go.

He knew it couldn't have been easy for you, him being Spider-Man — especially now that the both of you were worrying for two — but no matter how many conversations over the years the both of you have had, the conclusion was always the same: there was no way you could ever force Peter to give up doing what he does. Being the hero to the people who don't think they have one.

Not just a hero to the world, but a hero to the men and women who have to walk home alone at night and are scared of every shadow of a person that they pass. To the children who are too afraid to speak up against their abusive families. To the ones who get picked on by their peers for being different. To the single parents working two jobs to support their household.

Spider-Man might help save the world sometimes, or stop a bank robbery or a weapons ring or even an underground mob, but New York City saw him as something more than just another Avenger.

Spider-Man was hope.

And to Peter, that was one of the best things he could ever be. It was why no matter how many times he got knocked down, he always got back up.

Things threatened to get complicated the second Spider-Man had begun to follow the cacophony of sirens. It didn't take long to intercept their route and use zip webs to pick up the pace after finding out who the police were chasing.

Puma had been spotted running rampant on the streets of New York, and Peter knew that Spider-Man had to try to contain him before the police got into a fight they wouldn't be able to win.

The rain stung even through his suit as Peter fought. Charcoal clouds crowded the sky and the winds had picked up as the calming midsummer shower had turned into a violent storm. Although having over two decades to try and find the answer, he still couldn't understand just how fast a situation could change. Just ten minutes ago Peter was sitting in his home with you in his arms. Now he was grappling with a man who had history and a personal grudge against Spider-Man; though he seemed less man and more mountain lion in this particular encounter.

Drowned out by the weather around them, the battle between Spider-Man and Puma was just as thunderous.

It was a vicious dance — one involving slashing claws and gnashing teeth. One Peter could see he was quickly loosing the advantage in.

As the rain poured down harder and harder — the sound being the only thing Peter could hear next to Puma's snarls and Karen's voice in his mask — the more Peter became confined to the ground, where his opponent had the upper hand. Neither Spider-Man or his webs could stick to a surface drenched in water, and the glass of the surrounding buildings had waterfalls streaming down its sides.

Spider-Man had very narrowly dodged a pounce and spun around in time to see Puma skid across the asphalt of the abandoned road before digging his claws into the ground and immediately charging forward, eyes bright and wild.

Peter was rapidly loosing stamina in the game of stay away he was playing as his brain churned, trying to think of a way out of the situation he was in. But Puma was fast and smart, and never gave him a chance to keep his train of thought — the quips long abandoned in exchange for both panic and the determination to come out on top of the fight unscathed.

Vaulting over an overturned car, Spider-Man landed on his back and kicked the vehicle into the air just as Puma had jumped. The thwack that filled the air as the two collided was almost sickening, if he hadn't known that the attack wouldn't be more than a minor hindrance.

Still, it had given him enough time to get farther away as he backspringed up, and therefore, more time to think.

But his thoughts seemed to come to a screeching halt as your picture appeared in the top left of his lenses before racing even faster. Peter knew he had been avoiding the constant thrum of his phone, which he had no doubt they had been messages considering how many he had received over the course of the fight, but a small ball of guilt began to form when he realized those messages had been from you. They had to be. And the matter had to be important if you were now calling the emergency number that connected you directly to his suit.

Jumping to a lamp post, Peter hesitated in whether he should answer the call. On one hand, he was struggling to stay one step ahead of Puma without any distractions, but on the other he knew you only contacted him through Karen if it was something that absolutely couldn't wait and needed him now.

"Peter." His name came out in a gasp over the line, and he almost stumbled at the sound of pain laced in your voice.

A roar, and Puma threw the car off of him, staggering back up and twisting around to find Spider-Man perched in the air.

"Are you okay?" Peter rushed out, fear overwhelming the guilt in his stomach.

"I tried— I tried to wait for you—"

Your labored breaths didn't carry over in any way that put Peter in any ease. Especially when Puma spotted him, and began to stalk his way.

"So you could— so you could fight. I saw on the news..."

Peter flipped off the post as Puma charged into it, and he found his footing on the slick ground. Spider-Man's webs still stuck in matted fur, and he was able to launch himself into the mutates side, flinging Puma into the department store across the street.

"But I can't any longer—"

Peter's eyes darted frantically behind his mask, the thought of what was happening in his absence starting to make itself obvious. "Y/N, are you—"

"The baby, Peter," you gasped out, and Peter could hear the rushed voices of others around you. "She's coming."

In a moment of panic, time seemed to freeze and Peter's mind went blank.

Just how an innocent rain shower turned into a monstrous storm, or how an equal battle threatened to turn into a loosing fight, you had now gone into labor after seemingly being fine before he had left.

Peter wasn't expecting it to be today, although he knew for a fact that due dates were only estimates. He was more than prepared to be a father, but the odds were quickly stacking against him and he was suddenly wracked with fear.

Puma's roar was only registered when it was too late, Peter's spider sense screaming 'get out of the way', but the boy himself having no time to react with anything other than to turn in time to see the beast lunge with an open jaw, and tackle him right to the ground.

Landing on the ground knocked all the air from his lungs, but Peter had more things to worry about than breathing.

The both of them tumbled down the road in circles, each fighting to break free of each other's grasp. Peter held tightly onto Puma's wrists, only just barely keeping the man's claws inches from his face while wrestling with the rest of the bigger body on top of him.

You had hung up, and while Peter didn't know exactly why, he hoped it was because someone else was there with you and decided that you listening to the fight wasn't a good idea — to which he would agree. Although, he hadn't said all he wanted to say to you.

Puma snarled above Spider-Man, fangs snapping closer and closer to his face with every second as Peter was struggling to hold him back.

Dread striked deep into Peter's chest. He couldn't lose this fight, not like this, not today.

Spider-Man couldn't die yet. Too many people needed him to be a light in an otherwise precarious world. The citizens of New York, the Avengers, his Aunt May, you,

His daughter.

Peter knew the dangers that came with being a hero like Spider-Man. He had since Iron Man saved him when he was eight. Since he evacuated NYC in 2012. Since he first donned the mask when he was fourteen. When he blinked into the future and fought in a war to save the world. Peter knew, yet he continued to fight.

Because that's what he did.

He didn't fight just to save the world, he fought so people could keep living. One might think they were the same thing, but if you look closely, there is a difference.

See, living was what Peter fought for. The adventure that was the world and all the pleasures and hardships that came with it. Living was experience.

And there were still a whole lot of experiences Peter still hadn't gotten to live through just yet. He was about to be a father. He had an entirely new future ahead of him, full of all of the crying and laughing and bonding and love that came with parenthood.

He wanted to hold the tiny human being that would soon be born into the world in his arms, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before she would grow up just like he had. He wanted to be there for all of the late night feedings and messy diapers and tantrums, first days of school and nightmares and first kisses. He wanted to raise and shape a life with you just the way your parents had with you, how his aunt and uncle had done with him.

It was rare that Peter ever fought for himself, but he did so now more than ever. Because right now, his wife was in labor, and Peter wasn't going to make an orphan of his daughter. Just as he hadn't made his wife a widow, or have his aunt and the Starks go through the loss of a child.

In a bout of strength, Peter was able to turn the tables.

With a kick up, Spider-Man was able to launch Puma into the sky and to get a good enough grip with two webs to swing him around.

Puma's body hit the pavement with a thud that briefly shook the ground. He still stirred, but was too disoriented to do anything more than try to lift his head.

From there, Peter made quick work of subduing him even further, just as the police began to close in on all sides.

Spider-Man stood over the unconscious body unable to revel in victory. He only stood long enough to make sure Puma would be captured. Then he was gone.

Peter Parker was then by your side in the hospital room in a matter of minutes. He was out of breath and drenched in both rain and sweat, but he had made it. A crowd of familiar faces greeted him, but his priority was you as he immediately took your hand.

For the second time that day, his brain had gone completely blank. But this one was different, denoted by the smile that he wasn't sure was able to leave his lips.

Another picture to file away in his moments to remember was one of you and the baby girl you held in your arms. Tears of happiness pricked at your eyes, your hair was a mess, and you were wearing a hospital gown, but none of that mattered. What did was the smile on your own face as you gazed down at the swaddled baby in your arms, skin bright and flushed from having both just been born and fresh from crying.

Peter leaned over and you turned your head to him, momentarily meeting his eyes. He didn't want to think about the fear you had felt yourself, that he wouldn't have made it to the birth of his daughter, because that hadn't happened. He was here and he had made it and it couldn't have gone any better.

He pressed his lips to yours briefly in a chaste kiss before peering down at the baby in your arms, his own body gravitating to become like a shield to the outside world around the three of you.

Peter's head tilted to the side, and he had to resist the urge to push his hair back and out of his face. His gaze was focused warmly on the tiny human barely as long as his forearm resting calmly in her mothers arms. She was a new face to memorize, with puffy cheeks and eyes squeezed shut and a few strands of brown hair atop her head. Surely, a face that would change tremendously over time, but that didn't matter, because he just took a snapshot of this stage as if he had his camera with him. And it wasn't hard to realize that the look he always saved for you was now extended to one more.

"I love you."

His words were a whisper to his daughter, only able to be heard by her and her mother only.

His words were a promise.

Love is what he lived for. Love is what he fought for. Love is why he survived — why he always will.

Because Spider-Man fought for that love in the world. Because that love made living worth it, because that love was crucial to the experience living granted.

Peter found that love in a lot of things. In the air, the sun, the sky, the trees and the grass. His friends and his family. In a simple thing such as a smile, or a wave, or a hug, or a single word.

Of course he had been scared, but that was all part of the experience. Life isn't life without the experience of fear. But the product of coming out the other end having conquered it was worth so much more in the end. That's why he wasn't afraid to be Spider-Man. That's why he wasn't afraid to love freely and love openly.

He closed his eyes and viewed the still he'd created in his mind.

It was another perfect moment to remember.

The first of his new family.

The first of thousands more.

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