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sunriseantebellum · 3 years ago

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“AS ABOVE, SO BELOW” – a tasm!peter x reader au

Summary: You’re a social media manager for the Daily Bugle by day and a secret agent with the Black Cats by night. And him? As far as you know, he’s a Spyder. And a pain in your ass. → or, a spy/secret agent rivals to teammates/actually coworkers to lovers fic.

Words: 12,030 (!!! that’s a lot of love and hard work! would appreciate a comment after reading!)

🕷 A/N: my first ever tasm!peter fic, for @spidervee’s tasm!peter au event last april! a little late, but i’m so happy this fic is finally out in the world—i hope you’ll have as much fun reading it as i did writing it! (perhaps more to come? who knows!) special thanks to @darlingwendy who was with me every step of the way on this journey hehe.

🕸 rated t but no minors please! poc reader; gender neutral pronouns; has both other marvel characters and original characters on the side; double lives / secret identities; professional rivalry; coworkers; BANTER; kissing & suggestive themes (but all the way at the end)

mood board | full fic below & on ao3 | dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Are you sure you can’t join us for drinks?” Your co-worker Betty asks, leaning over your desk as you stuff your belongings into your tote bag.

You shake your head. “I got my part-time thing tonight, sorry. Next time?”

“You said that last time. You’re always working! You need to let loose and have fun. What’s the harm in living a little?”

“Mmm, because that means spending money and spending money means having less money to pay rent and I love New York and I want to keep living in it?”

Betty sighs. “Alright, good point.”

“I mean it though—the next time I’m free, I will come hang. ‘Kay?” You hold your pinky out to show you mean business.

Betty rolls her eyes but links her pinky with yours anyway. “Well, try to have some fun this weekend.”

“I’ll do my best.” You give your linked pinkies a shake before letting go.

Betty smiles, satisfied for now. “See you on Monday then.”

“See ya!” You loop your arm through the straps of your bag and make your way out the door, managing to get to the elevator before it closes.

Once it gets to the ground floor, you swipe through the biometrics and call out a goodbye to the guard at the front desk as you run off.

The Daily Bugle is a great place to work; you enjoy your job and you like your colleagues. And like you said, you love New York; you have ever since you had first seen it on TV. That’s why you moved here, and why you work at the Bugle: not just to have your finger on the pulse of what’s happening in the city and to its people, but to use the words in your power to do something about it—or at the very least, have those words inspire those with more power to make an actual change.

As for the things beyond change and beyond your power during your day job? Well, that’s why you freelance.

The real fun begins after you leave the building.

“Alright, you’re closing in. The target should be just up ahead. Door on the left.”

“Got it, Nina,” you respond to your partner on the other end of the call. “By the way, remind me to leave the next gala extraction to another agent, my feet are killing me.”

You push on the door and it’s much heavier than you expect. Big wooden doors in rich people’s homes are always heavier than most, but there’s something else about this.

With a final grunt, you get the door open. You walk inside and see a table had been pushed behind it—and two security guards were restrained on the floor, unconscious.

“What the hell?” You say under your breath.

“What’s going on?” Nina’s voice sounds in your ear.

“You didn’t spot any movement in the room before I came in, did you?”

“No, why? What’s your visual?”

“Two men—security, I think—knocked out and tied up. Looks like really thick nylon?” You lean over to get a feel, pinching and pulling at the material. “Weird, it’s sticky…”

There’s a chill in the air suddenly, and you look up to see a window left open. “Someone else was just here.”

“What? Okay, get out of th—”

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice comes in suddenly. “You aren’t allowed in here.”

Great, you think. Time to put those high school drama classes to work.

“Oh, thank God you’re here!” You cry out helplessly. “I was looking for the restroom and when I opened the door, I just saw these two men on the ground!”

You point at them shakily before bringing your hands to your chest to feign timidity. Turning to the guard with your best doe-eyed look, you pout.

“I have no idea what happened, I just drank a little too much and I really need to pee and—”

“Don’t worry, you aren’t in trouble. And the bathrooms are down the hall.” You’ve disarmed him. Good. “Did you see anything suspicious before you came in?”

“No, sir.” You shake your head. “D-do I need to call the cops, or..?” Your eyes swiftly scan the room a final time.

“That’s alright, we’ll handle it. You take care now.”

“Thank you so much!”

You rush out the door and make your way to the exit. In a calm voice, you say, “I’m headed out, bring the car back around.”

“What the hell was that? Also, how do I submit you to the next Tony’s?”

“Normally, I’d laugh at that but I’m not in the mood. Nee, we have a problem.”

“Tell me in the car, I’m pulling up to the front.”

You spot the black sedan and quickly make your way to it, opening the door and slipping in with ease as you kick off your heels.

“Welcome back. What’s the problem?”

“The nylon I mentioned earlier? Not nylon.”

“You mentioned it was sticky, what was it?”

You open your palm to reveal the piece you were able to extract earlier. “Synthetic web.”

You are very good at what you do. It’s a fact that everyone you’ve worked with (or worked against) knows. Some have even called you the best. You’ve never missed the mark on any job you’ve worked at—until tonight.

So right now, sitting in your boss’ office at Black Cat HQ, is what you can only assume being called to the principal’s office is like.

Felicia sits on her desk, arms folded. “So, who wants to tell me what happened in there?”

Nina looks at you and you nod slightly.

“We think someone may have hijacked the mission. They got to the target first. We didn’t see it coming.”

“The reason I’m not mad is that this kind of situation doesn’t normally happen to either of you. But that’s also the reason why I’m taking this very seriously. You understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Nina reply.

“Okay, continue.”

“Everything was going according to plan—Nina gave me the all-clear, but when I got to the room, it had already been compromised. Whoever was in there blocked the door and incapacitated two of the security team. I think the infiltration point was the window because it was still open when I arrived.”

Felicia nods and turns to Nina. “No cause for alarm before this?”

“No, ma’am. And I checked for any breadcrumbs left behind or any signs of hacking, but nothing.”

Felicia’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “The only one who could bypass our system that cleanly would be—”

“Another agency?” You speak up.

She turns to you. “Yes. A serious accusation. Did you find anything else at the scene that might support this?”

You nod. “Security entered before I had the chance to investigate the room fully, but I was able to verify what the two were tied up with.” You take out a folded gum wrapper where you placed the web from earlier. “It was this sticky, nylon-like material. I think it could be synthetic webbing.”

Felicia sighs, seemingly in relief, which confuses you and Nina. “You should have led with that. Alright, both of you go home.”

You and your teammate exchange a look. “What?”

“Call it a prank, the beginning of a friendly rivalry, whatever. You’ve finally got yourself an equal. It’s just a thing we do to establish rapport between two agencies.”

You feel like you might end up leaving this room more confused than when you came. “I’m sorry, I’m not understanding—”

“Oh right, that!” Nina says suddenly.

You turn to her. “Huh?”

“Goodnight, agents.” Felicia dismisses you both with a flourish of her hand, motioning to the door.

“I’ll explain on the way home,” Nina promises.

At home, you process the events that transpired on what you thought would be just a regular day of spy work. (As regular as spy work gets, you suppose.)

As it turns out, two of the best covert organizations in New York—the Black Cats (whom you work for) and the Spyders—have been maintaining an equally covert partnership over years as a means to balance out the spy “market” in the city.

The more you think about it, the more it makes sense: how else could they operate the way they do and manage to not step on each others’ toes? Or steal any of the others’ clients, for that matter. It’s pretty cool to imagine that even though both sides have done a lot of less-than-legal things in their line of work (for the good of the many, of course), there were still boundaries they wouldn’t cross. But then again, it would be wrong to think that being an agent means not having any rules.

You go to bed that night excited about what lies in store for you. Whoever this is had made the first move tonight, which means they probably think have the upper hand. Maybe they do, for now—but not for long.

For the rest of the weekend, you spend your time crawling the web (so to speak) to find out where Spyders’ next hit will be.

The thing about New Yorkers is that they love vigilantes, especially when they dress the part. Must be the theatrics of it all.

The Black Cats stick to classic catsuits, but their expertise is undercover work—you rarely see them coming since they’ve mastered the art of blending into any situation. The catsuit is usually for more critical extraction missions, where you would need to run and scale and jump and climb. Most situations required you to dress the part, like Friday’s gala event.

The Spyders’ costumes, on the other hand, are more eye-catching, typically ranging from black to blue with hints of red. Their methods are a bit flashier too—they like making it known who had bested the baddies. And as far as you know, almost all their missions were of the high-stake kind, a quick swing by and sneak out.

In other words: the Black Cats operate in the dark, while the Spyders love the attention.

It’s not a judgment call—there’s a reason why they’re one of the best in the city and it’s because that method works for them. It’s just bizarre to you that you couldn’t be any more different.

You consider this to your benefit when you come across the social accounts for ‘spydersightings’. Fairly active on both Twitter and Instagram, these accounts update in real-time and source from user submissions—exactly what you need to track the Spyders down.

You follow spydersightings using realistic-looking burner accounts (just in case) and turn notifications on. The trap is set, and all you have to do is wait.

Come Monday, you have a spring in your step when you get to your desk at 8—right on time. Betty eyes you suspiciously. “Good morning!” You greet her.

“Someone’s chipper. I guess you did end up having some fun this weekend?”

“I did, actually. Lots of reading. Very insightful.”

Betty sighs, but it’s lighthearted. “Not really my idea of fun but, whatever floats your boat.”

“Any meetings you need to sit in this morning?” You ask.

“Let me check.” Betty pulls up her calendar and purses her lips. “Hey, would you look at that—not ‘til 10.”

“Great. Wanna go grab a coffee downstairs?”

“Jeez, this is you without coffee? I’m almost afraid of what you’ll be like caffeinated.”

“Listen,” you start to say in defense, realizing you haven’t even sat down since you arrived. “This is only because I lack sleep. A couple more hours without coffee and I’ll crash on my desk. You’ll come back from your 10 o’clock with me drooling on my laptop.”

“Can’t have that,” Betty replies, getting up from her desk. “Who’s turn is it to buy?”

Opening the Notion app on your phone, you flash the page she created with a record of your shared expenses, as she calls it. “I paid last time, so it’s you today.”

You and your ‘work wife’ walk arm-in-arm and head down on the elevator. The line at the Coffee Bean is exactly what you’d expect at the ground floor of a building with several different companies whose employees would rather pay for an overpriced latte or cold brew than use the break room’s free 3-in-1 on a Monday morning. Which is perfectly fine—you’d rather be here chatting away with your friend than sitting down and working.

At your prompting, Betty tells you all about how her weekend went. You make a mental note to do your best to attend the next after-work hang—especially if it’s karaoke. You kill at karaoke.

“Regular Americano for Peter?” You hear the barista call over Betty’s voice.

“Yeah, that’s me, thanks.” In your peripheral, you see guy with dark hair and glasses make his way to the counter. He’s quite tall and fairly lean, wearing a loose flannel on top of a dark grey t-shirt paired with dark jeans and Nikes. He’s also kind of cute.

“Hey, welcome back, man! Long time no see,” the barista—Ned, you read from his name tag—says warmly. The two engage in small talk and you turn your attention back to Betty, who seems to have turned her head towards them as well.

“Who’s that?” You lift your chin in their direction.

“Oh, that’s Peter! He works in development.”

“Is he new?”

She tilts her head. “Yes and no? He was here before you, then he left for a while. Personal stuff. I think it’s only his second week back.”

You can tell she’s eyeing you and following the trail of your gaze. Then you hear her gasp all of a sudden so you turn back to her. “What—”

“Wait. You think he’s cute, don’t you? I could introduce you!” She says conspiratorially.

“What?! No!” You blurt out, almost too loudly. You calm your voice back down to a normal tone to not draw any attention. “I’m just curious. And anyway, I told you before, I don’t have time to date.”

She hums thoughtfully. “You know what, you kind of remind me of him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Actually, we dated for a little bit and he was always crazy busy with his part-time stuff, too.”

“At least I did you the courtesy of being upfront that I can only commit to you being my work wife.”

Betty laughs. “Okay, fine. I won’t instigate anything. I’m sure your paths will cross eventually, anyway.”

“Social Media and Tech? Not likely.”

“Who knows!” She shrugs, palms in the air. “Jameson might ask for something crazy.”

“What would be crazy is if he finally ups our department’s budget.”

You finally get to the front of the line and Ned greets you with trained but genuine cheerfulness, the latter form more pronounced in Betty’s direction. You make a mental note of this while she orders a medium iced latte for herself and a large cold brew with three pumps of caramel for you. She thanks Ned and he beams before both of you move to the side to wait for your drinks to be served up.

In the corner of your eye, you spy Peter by the bussing station. He’d already finished with his coffee but was lingering for some reason, eyes scanning your area. You quickly look away, but not before you see him toss his cup and head in your direction.

“Hey, Betty! Thought that was you.” He saunters over with his arms open for a friendly hug.

Betty tiptoes slightly and crosses her arms around his back, patting the material of his jacket twice. “Pete, glad to see you back here!”

“Good to be back.” Peter catches your eyes as he lets go of Betty. “Who’s this?”

You automatically hold out your hand for a shake and tell him your name. “I head the social media department. Been at the Bugle for around six months now.”

He smiles and takes your hand in his firm grip, giving it a couple of shakes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. You, too.” You find yourself biting back your smile so you don’t seem too pleased. Over your shoulder, you can feel Betty’s gaze. She’s probably smiling, too. You release Peter’s hand and let yours fall to your side.

He checks his watch. “Well, I gotta run. I have a 9 o’clock. But I’ll see you ladies around?” He shoots a couple of finger guns your way as he runs off.

You and Betty wave goodbye just as your drinks are served. Picking up your cold brew and giving it a swirl with your straw, you share your thoughts with an expectant Betty. “He’s… interesting.”

“Mm-hmm.” She sips on her latte and looks up at you with knowing eyes.

You roll yours. “Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

“You were the one who wanted to get coffee,” she points out. You say nothing more on the elevator ride back up.

A few days pass and nothing comes up on your radar about Spyder’s whereabouts. You even asked for a bit of extra help from Nina to use the Black Cat’s resources (authorized by Felicia, of course) to tap into police scanners—but get nothing but literal radio silence about Spyder.

Then on Thursday, a few minutes after 5 PM, your phone buzzes. At first glance, you already see the word ‘spyder’ and tap on the bubble immediately.

@spydersightings: remember when a lucky fan was able to get a photo with a spyder? #tbt @whatsupdanger, 2018

You see a blurry photo of someone in a Spyder suit flashing a peace sign swinging above a little boy. The boy is probably around 13 years old, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. You find yourself smiling and giving the post a like, despite it not being all that useful to you.

Another notif pops up then, and this one is the one you’ve been waiting for. You jump to your feet, shut your laptop down, and holler a quick goodbye to Betty.

“Gotta run!”

“Don’t work too hard!” She barely looks up from her laptop despite it being the end of the day.

Typical Betty. You add, “Same to you—go home!”

She smiles and waves you off good-naturedly while you race to the elevators.

Once you get to the ground floor, you make a call. “Nee? Meet me at HQ. I got a lead.”

“You know what,” Nina’s voice comes through your in-ears. “I just realized how funny it is that you’re being targeted by a Spyder for this… spy-valry.”

“What?” You huff, slightly out of breath from your climb. You hate buildings with broken elevators. Unfortunately, New York is chock-full of them, and mobs love to stash their loot in them.

There’s the unmistakable sound of chips crunching. “Spy rivalry. I just made it up.”

“I got that, I meant ‘what’ like—” you make a sound of exertion as you finally reach your destination, pulling the metal doors apart and pushing yourself through them—“why is it funny? And are you eating?”

“Yes.” Their mouth is full as they reply. “And it’s hilarious considering your history—”

“Out of all the groups operating in New York,” you interrupt with a whine as you catch your breath, “why couldn’t we bump into a Widow instead—or like, Daredevil or something. We’ve taken down the Kingpin’s goons several times and I haven’t seen him once. It just had to be a web-slinger?”

“What’s the problem? If I recall correctly, you liked those spider boys.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Nee, don’t even—”

“I’m pretty sure I remember you even having a huge crush on one of them in high school. Even said something about how you wanted to fight side by side one da—”

“Okay, first of all, you know all mission comms are recorded, right? And second of all, that was like ten years ago and way before I knew about all the other cool people protecting the city,” you say defensively. “I’m on the ninth floor now by the way. Which room am I looking for?”

“903.” You switch your mask settings to night vision and make your way over while your guy-in-the-chair-slash-longtime-friend continues. “And I want it documented when you admit you had to have found it kind of cool that you’re on the same level with someone you’ve admired for years. You heard what Felicia said, whoever this is sees you as their equal!”

“Found it. Going in,” you report, taking out a retractable claw from your gloves to pick the lock. “Also, so rude of you to corner me on this knowing I’ve never lied to you in my life and never will.”

Nina snickers, satisfied. The pin inside the doorknob clicks.

“Yeah,” you admit with a smile, pushing the door open quietly. “It’s the highlight of my career.”

The door opens without a creak and you step through it, drawing your claw back into your glove.

“Whoa.”

“Confirm your visual, agent?”

“It’s quite the visual, alright.”

Right in front of you was the centerpiece of Raphael’s School of Athens painting: the iconic conversation between Plato and Aristotle.

Of course, the painting itself remains on the walls of the Vatican; this is the original sketch Raphael had drawn as a reference. It was supposed to be kept safe—and in one piece—where it was restored, at the Pinacoteca Ambrosiana art gallery in Milan. What the hell is it doing with the mob?

Whatever the reason, you know it starts and ends with it not belonging here. Art was for all of the world to see, not as some hidden treasure only exclusive to a chosen few.

You report your findings on your comms and bring out the carrying bag you had folded into your utility belt. It fits perfectly, and you send grateful vibes out to the universe that it was only a section of the masterpiece—otherwise, you wouldn’t have known how to sneak it out.

“Item acquired,” you inform your partner.

“Nice work. There’s a window in the next room, it’s not too far from the fire escape. It leads to the back alley so I’ll pick you up there. And before you ask, it can’t be opened from the outside without you breaking the glass, so your route really had to be from the ground up.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.” You’re about to head out before you spot a pad of paper and a pen on the table. You smirk to yourself and think it might be a good time to leave a note.

“What’s the holdup?” Nina asks.

“Just leaving a note for our spider friend. Doing the courtesy of letting them know I got to it first.” You keep it short and sweet with a “Gotcha. ♡”

When you set the pen down, you hear a thump! from above.

“Uh Nee, what’s above me? I think I just heard something. Is it a neighbor or—”

“The only thing above you is the rooftop.” Nina pauses. “I think it might be your spider friend.”

“Shoot. They’ll probably see me if I leave now.”

“Your fault for writing a love letter—”

“I wasn’t writing a—!” You stop yourself suddenly, realizing an outburst could blow your entire operation. “Whatever, I need to hide. Don’t make a sound until I say I’m in the clear,” you instruct.

You stealthily open the next door and find it leads to a small bedroom. The window for your escape is directly across from you on the left side; on the right: a cabinet rests against the wall, a bed beside it.

Realizing you still have the note in your hand, you promptly open the window, just enough to make it look like it was left like that haphazardly. You slip the carrying bag behind the cabinet and against the wall, just in case. Then, you place the note on the far end of the bed, nearer the door, before dropping down and rolling underneath it.

Finding space at the bottom of the cabinet, you shift half of your body to fit in the slot, moving as far away from the door as you can. It opens and you expect them to walk in, but you see nothing on the ground.

You do, however, continue to hear movement—and then you realize they’re probably on the ceiling. Of course.

“Anyone in here?” They call out.

Stay calm, you remind yourself. You’ve set the room up to look like you’ve already left, so all you need to do now is wait for them to believe it. You focus on quieting your breathing, making sure that even your heartbeat is steady.

Suddenly, the red-and-webbed feet of the suit you know all too well land on the floor by the bed. You watch as they lean forward, presumably to pick up the note you left.

You hear a chuckle and can’t help but smile to yourself. Their voice sounds youthful; definitely not a teenager, but anywhere between the young adult and older range—you deduce their maturity level would probably fit that. And if you would profile them based on that maturity… they were probably male.

You watch as his feet move closer to the window and you inch your head ever so slightly to be able to get a glimpse. He’s leaning by the window now, pushing open the gap you left wider.

Sticking his head out the window, he checks what would probably be the direction of the fire escape. He must find nothing, because he pockets your note (as to where you had no idea) and mutters a “next time” before crawling out the window, allowing it to shut behind him as he scales upward.

You wait a minute or two to make sure he’s really left before you allow yourself to breathe normally again.

“All clear,” you whisper, shimmying your way out from under the furniture. You retrieve the painting from behind the cabinet. “Heading out now.”

“Phew. Okay. I’m here in the alley.”

“Copy that.”

You exit the window and make sure it closes tightly by pushing against it. Once you’ve secured it, you head towards the fire escape, easily making your way down the bars.

True to their word, Nina is waiting in the car right at the end of the ladder. They open the door to the passenger seat for you and you jump in, placing the carrying case in the backseat before you settle in with your seat belt.

“You okay?” Nina asks once you’re strapped in.

“Yeah,” you reply, still a little out of breath. “That was a close one though.”

“But also kinda thrilling, huh?” They grin.

You nod, smiling, too. “And pretty interesting.”

“How so?”

Turning to them with a curious glint in your eye, you say, “He sounded… kind of familiar.”

You don’t have time for this. You’re a social media manager for the Daily Bugle by day and a secret agent with the Black Cats by night. And him? As far as you know, he’s a Spyder. And a pain in your ass.

Your game of cat-and-mouse spider continued to the point where you would both end up leaving notes for the other at your missions, often a one-liner and a scorecard where one point moved from one column to the next. The most recent one from him was a simple “YOUR MOVE.” followed by a tally with his spider logo and a drawing of black cat—tied at five on each side.

It was a back-and-forth for a total of ten assignments in a little over three weeks—yet you still knew nothing about your rival.

Except that you would eventually meet at some point. You could feel it.

Unfortunately, “some point” would have to wait. You had been too busy with your day job to handle any more nighttime endeavors. One job is hard enough, and you didn’t want to burn yourself out—even if you enjoyed both kinds of work.

But it’s not like you had been missing anything big on the spy front. Not that there was a lack of crime, but when spydersightings wasn’t doing more throwback posts, they were posting sightings of an agent in a different suit.

It isn’t that you’re paying any “extra” attention (despite what Nina might say—you’d argue that it’s literally your job to pay attention to these things), you’re just aware that each agent has a specific suit. There’s a difference in shape and/or color for the spider emblem, and the shades of blues, reds, and sometimes blacks of the suit would also vary, as well as the stitching of the suit itself.

The Black Cats are similar in this aspect, you note, but a lot more subtle; you all wore catsuits but you were able to choose whether it’d be a one-piece or a set, and customize your collars, zippers, and belt buckles, too.

To outsiders, it might be counterintuitive to have defining elements on spy suits, but it hasn’t cost anyone’s identity just yet. And honestly, being able to personalize your own suit is just fun.

Something considerably less fun is your day job. Most times, you do enjoy it, but you’re currently running a big interdepartmental project: a revamp of the Bugle’s digital strategy. It’s moments like these when you kind of regret being so good at your job, because when you’ve proven yourself reliable in a corporate setting, then people will start relying on you for things that should probably earn you a bigger paycheck while still working with your current one. (It can’t just be you who sees this as a problem—you’re quite sure most people would rather money come easy.)

On the bright side, you’re having fun working with a team for once. Covering content and social media at the Bugle is usually a one-person job—another set of eyes would definitely help, but Jameson says the budget can’t cover that and give you a raise—and the only real connection you’ve made at the office was with Betty, partly because she sits closest to you.

As much as you’re a great independent worker, you do love teamwork when the rest of the team are just as capable as you. That’s why you and Nina get along so well (apart from the fact that you’ve been friends for years) and why you don’t end up going home completely drained at the end of the day. It’s tough and taxing work, but still somewhat enjoyable.

And maybe it doesn’t hurt that one of the people you’ve started seeing more of is a certain Peter Parker. For purely professional reasons, of course.

Peter saunters in with that gait of his, holding his laptop in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. He’s wearing a blue sweater that fits nicely around his shoulders, and you notice your first impression of him being “lean” was wrong—though to be fair to you he was in an ill-fitting flannel at that time. This knitted piece was snug in all the right places. You could practically see the shape of his toned arms beneath the sleeves…

You manage to redirect your focus, ignoring what looks like the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.

“Hey! I just sent you an email,” you tell him as you look back down at your laptop. “There’s something wrong with the website’s blog section, the tags aren’t functioning right. Also, I think the Instagram RSS is buggy.”

“Hey, yourself,” he greets, walking closer. “Yeah, I just got your email actually and thought I’d swing by.”

“Oh?”

“Just had to get outta my seat and stretch for a little bit.” He looks right at you. “Feels like I’ve forgotten what the sun looked like.”

“What?” You laugh, feeling a blush creep in at his gaze.

“Do you know what the developer’s side of this floor looks like? The blinds are shut, the lights on are the bare minimum needed for sight, and everyone uses dark mode on their machines. It’s like a bat cave.”

“Ah,” you say, and it’s at this point that you realize all you’ve been saying are one-word replies. “Well, I’ve never been in the tech area.”

“Right.” He nods in understanding before he brings his straw to his mouth and sips the last of his drink. “Okay, scoot over.”

“Sorry, what?”

Peter sets his laptop down on your desk and tosses his empty drink in a nearby bin. He makes a small fist pump when it goes in like a basket.

When he sees you haven’t inched from your position, he explains, “It’ll be easier to adjust the code and ask you to check if it’s all firing correctly while I’m here, instead of us having to go back and forth on Slack.”

You sigh and nod in agreement, moving to the other side of the desk as he pulls in a chair—Betty’s, since she was in a meeting—to sit beside you.

“Don’t mind me. Just continue doing your thing while I do mine.”

You smile politely. “That was the plan.”

The two of you work in comfortable silence, the only sound between you the typing on your keyboards until Peter groans at his screen.

You glance at him in concern before looking back at your screen to continue what you were working on. “What’s up?”

“This page has been weird since day one,” he complains. “Whoever coded it didn’t know what they were doing. I wanna redo the page from scratch so bad, but my project leader won’t let me mess with the timeline.” From your peripheral, you can see that he’s leaning in your direction, looking pointedly at you.

You look away from your laptop to return his expression and roll your eyes lightheartedly. “Unfortunately your project leader is under strict orders to stick to the said timeline. Nothing I can do.”

The both of you share a laugh before looking back at your respective screens.

“You know,” he says in between clicks, “I didn’t take you for the glasses-wearing type.”

You feel a little self-conscious; you forgot you were wearing them today. You explain anyway, “Been nearsighted since the sixth grade. I wear contacts most of the time but my eyes didn’t feel like cooperating with me today. And my insurance doesn’t cover Lasik, so.” You shrug. “How about you?”

“I feel kinda bad now.” He takes the frames off his face. “Mine are just for show.”

“Really?” Part of you wants to add to look smart or something?—but in your few interactions with this guy, you know he doesn’t need to look it; he is smart.

“Yeah, anti-blue light or something. My aunt got them for me when she realized that aside from the video games, I really did have to stare at a screen all day for work too, in order to pay the bills.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

“It is.” He slides his specs back on with a smile. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her that there isn’t much scientific proof about the harms of blue light from screens though.”

You smile. “Sweet of you.”

“I’ve been told,” he comments back and returns to his laptop. Before you can add anything else, he finishes clacking away at his keyboard with a flourish. “There, we should be all set up now. Go check.”

You refresh the page, checking the links and tags again. He fixed the problem quite promptly, taking another milestone off the project timeline.

“That did it,” you confirm. “Thanks.” You turn to him and smile.

He smiles back. “Yeah, no problem.”

Your phone buzzes and you immediately see ‘spyder’ as your screen lights up. His eyes follow the flash, but your hand is quick enough to lock the screen.

Or so you think. “You a fan?” He asks.

You try to play it cool. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He nods, but doesn’t say more. You’re thankful he dropped the subject. “Well,” he stands and picks up his laptop off the table. “I should be getting back to my station.”

You nod. “Thanks for stopping by.”

He starts to walk away before spinning on his heel to turn back. “You know, I could do that more often. Stop by. If you’d like that.”

The sudden invitation—if that’s what you could call it—surprises you, but you can’t help but grin. “I would like that. Or, you know, we could also get a coffee. Outside the office. Maybe when this is all over and we have some room to breathe?”

Peter matches your grin. “I’ll hold you to that offer.”

You nod in acknowledgment and supply a small “Cool”. He echoes your response and you laugh.

“I’ll go and head back now,” he says.

“Okay. Bye!”

“See ya!” He clicks his tongue and flashes what you now see as his signature finger guns before dashing away.

“Just so you know,” you hear from behind you. You turn around and find Betty, who had apparently returned from her meeting in the nick of time. “I heard all of that. I also heard what was not being said.”

You know there’s no use arguing with her, so you just laugh and tell her to shut up.

A couple of weeks later and your project at the Bugle wraps up. Surprisingly, Jameson treats the floor to a pizza party—one where everyone only gets a single slice each but, hey, it’s something.

You’re in the middle of a conversation with Betty when Peter walks up to you, plastic cup in hand.

“Hey, ladies,” he greets. You and Betty say a “hey” back before he lifts his chin in the direction of your drinks. “Can I get you a refill?”

“I’m good,” Betty replies.

You check your cup to see you’re almost out, so you accept his offer. “That’d be great actually. I hope we’re not out of Coke Zero?”

He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I actually just took the last of what was in the bottle. But you know what?” He hands you his nearly-full cup and takes away your nearly-empty one. “Here. I don’t mind bouncing to a Diet or Regular or whatever.”

“Are you su—” you being to protest, but he’s already downed the rest of your drink.

“I’m sure. It’s no problem.” He flashes a smile and you concede.

“Thanks. Hurry back?”

He nods before running off—not unlike a puppy, you note.

You don’t even notice the smile on your face until Betty points it out. “Look at you!” she says. “Can’t believe you were the mayor of I-Don’t-Have-Time-To-Date Town a couple of months ago and now you’re getting your flirt on.”

“To be fair, we still haven’t gone on an actual date. Just a few joint coffee runs with like, 10-minute conversations.”

Betty makes a noncommittal noise while you take a sip from your—Peter’s?—drink.

“But who knows?” You add. “Now that the project’s over…”

Just as you were about to allow yourself to indulge in normal-person things, your phone buzzes with messages.

Nee: you finally free from the corporate clutches tonight? got an assignment that’s up our alley

Nee: LOL. didn’t even realize i made a cat joke at first. i’m hilarious

“Let me guess…” Betty starts.

“Yeah, my freelance thing wants me to come in. I could use the extra cash, I’ve been without for some time now…”

Betty sighs, knowing all too well what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your lack of free time. At that moment, Peter returns with his drink.

“Hi again.”

His charm is irresistible, you just have to smile. “Hi,” you say back.

There’s a ping! of a notification next to you and it’s coming from Betty’s phone. You notice her reply swiftly with a smile on her face. She finishes her drink and sets it down on the table. “I gotta go. Would you toss this for me?”

“Yeah, sure. Where are you off to?” You ask.

“A date. With Ned, from downstairs?” She smiles again.

“The barista? Oh, I knew he was into you!” You gush.

“Glad he took my advice to finally ask you out,” Peter adds, almost bragging. “Have fun, you two.”

“Thanks. See ya Monday!”

“Bye!” You wave after her as she skips to the elevator.

“Speaking of which… on my round trip to the drinks table, I was thinking about that coffee,” Peter starts. “Would you wanna grab some dinner instead? And maybe catch a movie?”

A pang of disappointment weighs on your chest. “Pete, I’d love to, I really would. It’s just that—you know how I mentioned I freelance sometimes?”

“Oh. I see, no worries.” His face falls ever so slightly, but the look of understanding is more prominent. “Actually, something came up for me too, I was just wondering if I could ditch.”

You smile apologetically. “I really am sorry. But next time! Definitely next time.”

“Yeah, for sure!” He nods.

There’s a moment of silence before you add, “I actually have to head out, so um. I’ll see you Monday?”

“Don’t worry about it. Let me walk you to the elevator?”

You nod, smiling. “I’d like that.”

The two of you walk together, shoulders brushing from time to time. Thankfully, the silence between you isn’t awkward at all—in fact, it feels like he’s as bummed as you are, which is oddly comforting.

Locking eyes as you wait for the elevator to shut, you give a small wave and he flashes you a peace sign. At the last second, you dart out to peck him on the cheek, and you giggle at his stunned expression as the doors close.

“This better be good, Nee. I missed out on a date tonight.”

“A date?” Nina exclaims in your in-ear, mouth half-full.

“Don’t tease!”

“I’m not! I’m happy for you! It’s about time!” They say sincerely.

“Yeah, well, the thing about time is I don’t have the luxury of it.”

Nina makes a lighthearted scoff. “You are so dramatic.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan. “This is the worst!”

“That wasn’t a cue for you to give another example—”

“No, Nee. Look.”

You snap a photo of what you see in front of you: another empty safe, save for a piece of paper. No guesses needed to know who it’s from: there was a “Missed me?” in that now-annoyingly-familiar scrawl, and your score tallies—with a point in his favor.

Sighing, you say, “I’ll clear out, there’s nothing left for me to do here anyway.”

“Wait, don’t go just yet.”

“What’s up, Nina?”

“I just picked up a signal—” they pause, probably to verify the location— “on the roof! I think you can still manage to get the package. And maybe meet your Spyder friend, too!”

You don’t respond—you already started running as soon as you heard the word ‘signal’.

It’s an office building, so you find the stairway easily. There are a few floors above you to get to the roof. You smirk to yourself realizing that this is the perfect time to use your favorite spy tool—your grappling hooks.

You aim the hooks at the handrails and manage to pull yourself up each floor swiftly. Finally, you see the door at the top and kick it in.

Your veins are rushing with adrenaline when you make it to the roof. Panting, you look around and see a figure in an unmistakable shade of red examining a flash drive—the very one you were supposed to take from the safe.

He spots you and mutters a “shit”, and you run toward him at top speed. As you approach, he readies his position to spar, but you catch him by surprise when you take the low ground and sweep his leg, causing him to lose his balance.

You snap your head around to see the drive in mid-air and quickly tumble towards it to catch it in your hand.

“I got it,” you manage to say under your breath. But before you can pocket the device, a string of web takes it away.

“Sorry,” the Spyder says, probably not very sorry at all. “No hard feelings?”

Before you can even reply, he’s gone—swinging from building to building and getting farther and farther away from you.

Automatically, you start to go after him, aiming your grappling hooks at the building across from you.

“Hey!” You suddenly hear Nina yell your name in your ear. “Don’t even think about it. You’ve never used the grapples to swing across buildings before. Maybe practice that in a safe space before you do it out on the field, huh?”

You pant. “I almost had him.”

“Yes. And you were amazing. But let’s call it, okay?”

“Fine,” you accept. You were exhausted anyway.

“Come on. Let’s go for some milkshakes. You deserve it.”

“Alright. But only if you’re buying.”

“Your wish is my command. You’ll probably want to take the fire escape to get outta there. Meet you at the bottom.”

“Thanks, Nina.”

When you get home from your milkshake date, as you’re emptying your pockets, you find that tonight’s encounter might not be a complete loss after all.

Other than finally meeting your rival mask-to-mask, you realize he got clumsy with his last note: he left a clue.

Unlike the other ones he left (which seemed to be just plain paper), his most recent message was written on the back of a receipt—from a very familiar cafe, no less.

That’s right: the Coffee Bean on the ground floor of the Bugle Building. The only problem is that it’s smack in the business district and the building alone is forty-six stories tall. So, it could be anyone from those 3 floors devoted to the editorial office, 2 sub-basement levels for the printing presses, and 41 floors rented out to other companies or tenants or what-have-yous.

Still, you know there’s only one way this competition will end—and you’re one step closer to it.

At this point, you realize that catching your Spyder would need a new strategy—one that may involve not actually engaging with the Spyder for a while. Putting your pride aside and letting him keep the one point he has over you, you would opt to surveil in the meantime, observing his movements to and from the scenes spydersightings would post about. If you couldn’t beat him at the location, you’d steal from under him on his way out.

It turns out that having an active social life actually helps this new strategy. You’d finally accepted Betty’s invites to go out with other people from the office after work, and since you were always in densely populated areas, it was quite easy to spot any commotion. If a Spyder was in the area, you’d hear about it.

You’d even gone out of your way to plan some of the hangouts—a win-win situation for both Betty and yourself: Betty gets to have fun with friends, and you get to narrow down a location.

Then, on days you weren’t being social, you’d head to the gym to train your upper body and core, or to the Black Cat training center to practice your grappling hook maneuvers. Though you can admit you’ll never be as smooth as a Spyder, you were getting the hang of swinging.

And on top of all that preparation under the guise of work-life balance, you’d even used one of your precious vacation days at work so you could preserve your energy for the grand finale.

Tonight is the night, you can feel it.

“Alright, I’m getting a new heat signature above you,” Nina says. “Are you ready to intercept the package?”

“Born ready. Let’s go.”

You move towards what you and Nina had mapped out as the nearest extraction point to the wall, keeping a keen eye out for your Spyder.

And then you see it—a glint of red in the night sky.

“I’m moving in,” you report.

From this point forward, every one of your movements needs to be precise.

You watch him land on the building wall so you run to the adjacent corner, shooting your grappling hook so you can climb up as well.

Pulling upwards, you scale the wall—then use your weight to swing around the corner.

“Surprise!” You say, unable to keep it in. He turns his body toward you and in a fraction of a second, you can see his mask pulled halfway up, the brown envelope being held between his teeth.

You shift your weight so that your feet can land on his chest. He makes an oof! sound as you fold your knees in and push as you take the folder with one hand, before you swing back on your rope.

Midair, you retract your hook and shoot it to a lower section of the next building, so you could find your way to the ground more easily. You brace your landing with a tumble before immediately breaking out into a run to find your escape route.

“Great work!” Nina cheers excitedly in your ear. “Just a few blocks ahead, you’ll find the manhole we talked about. I’ll lead you out of there and when you come out, you’ll be right in front of the car.”

“I see the manhole. I’m going in.”

“See you on the other side.”

You take the crowbar you had strategically left in the alley and lift the manhole with minimal effort. Despite the stench of the sewer, you were in euphoria. Absolutely buzzing. Simply elated. Just over the moon.

Everything is going according to plan—until you trigger a web trap.

In your haste, you failed to check if the place was booby-trapped. Now, you were all but glued to the ground, the webs reaching your knees. You couldn’t leave your boots behind even if you wanted to.

“Nee, we got a problem. I’m stuck.”

“What?” They don’t mask the worry in their voice. “In… what?”

“A web.”

“Thank God. I thought it was something else, considering the location.” It takes a beat before they realize— “wait, did you say web? Shit.”

“Yeah, that might have been just slightly better,” you quip, attempting to wriggle out of the trap to no avail. “If we found his getaway area, and this is the sewer nearest that, it makes sense he’d have it secured somehow.”

“Damn. Well, at least you have the folder, right?”

You’re about to reply in affirmative when you suddenly feel a presence looming behind you—and then a red-and-blue-clothed arm reaches out to take the envelope from your hands.

“Surprise,” comes the smug voice. “I’ll take that.”

“Shit. We were so close,” you hear Nina say.

The Spyder crosses in front of you as he boasts his victory. “Sorry I didn’t have time to write another note, but I believe that puts me two points in the lead?”

Refusing to give him the satisfaction, you assert, “You know, I had that one.”

“Of course you did,” he replies, his tone patronizing. “The other ones, too.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you really not going to acknowledge—”

“No, actually, I know you did.” You both pause, and you consider if he just gave you a compliment. Then he continues, “That’s why swooping in at the last minute to finish the job is just so satisfying.”

You scoff, incredulous yet proud despite still being stuck in your shoes. But you won’t go down without a fight. “I don’t know what’s worse, if you were ignorant about me being good or that you’d rather take credit for how good I am. You know what, this is how I know you’re definitely a white cis man. And I mean that as a complete insult.”

“What?” He laughs incredulously. You can’t help but grin.

“I mean, the way you just take credit for a person of color’s hard work so easily.” (Also, you saw his lips, but you didn’t think you had to add that.)

“Hey hey whoa, you playing this card?” He puts his hands up in front of his chest (one of them still holding onto the envelope), as if surrendering.

You smirk, wanting to drive another nail into the coffin of your comeback. “If I have to. Who knows, maybe I’ll make an anonymous tip to the Daily Bugle about how their favorite Spyder is bigoted, opportunistic—”

“You’re joking,” he interrupts, and you really are, but he’s laughing, and it’s kind of cute, so you continue.

“Yeah, Twitter will have your ass. You’ll be canceled by even the most liberal of stan accounts.”

“Okay, but good luck since I work at the Bugle and—”

“Wait, what did you just say?”

If this were a TV show, you would hear that record scratch sound.

Did this Spyder just… accidentally reveal his identity?

“…Whaaat?” He laughs nervously.

You obviously can’t see under the mask, but the way his body freezes makes you think his face is probably such a funny thing to behold right now, eyes widening in mortification before he shuts them tightly. He squeezes the bridge of his nose through the mask and puts his face in his hands.

“Look can we just forget ab—”

“Hold on,” you say, processing the information you now know.

The Coffee Bean receipt, the Daily Bugle connection, and that familiar charm… there’s no way.

Unless… maybe the simplest answer is the right one?

You decide to take that chance and say, “Peter?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just slowly takes his face out of his hands. With the mask, his expression is unreadable. But you have to keep pushing.

You know that unmasking him (so to speak) will finally end the competition, so maybe it was time for a little more risk. After all, you were already so close to the big win.

“Since we’re in the business of meeting each other equally,” you interrupt before giving a little pause. “Me, too.”

“What?” The Spyder—Peter?—asks.

You hear Nina’s voice in your ear at the same time. “What are you doing?”

“I… work at the Bugle, too…”

“You’re kidding.” He doesn’t bother masking his disbelief.

“Trust me,” you say, both to him and to Nina listening in.

You lift the mask off your face. “Surprise,” you announce for the second time that night (though you’ve lost count of just how many there’d already been).

“You…” You can tell by his voice and the way he shakes his head that there’s a smile on his face.

“It’s me,” you confirm with a smile. “And you are…?”

The Spyder’s mask comes off next to reveal the face of the boy you’ve grown fond of: Peter Parker.

“You got me.” He smiles, wide, and you match the shape.

Then it dawns on you both that you’re still stuck.

“Oh shit, sorry, lemme just—” he rips through the webs easily— “there you go.” He holds out his arm to steady you as you step out of the trap area.

“My hero,” you comment, and you swear he blushes. You decide to use this to your advantage. “So, Peter. You wanna get us out of here? I’m sure there are still some diners open if you wanted to grab something to eat.”

Cocking his head to the side, he gives you another boyish grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I have a car waiting at the end of the tunnel. And a person who’s very curious about you,” you add, pointing to your ear.

He leans forward (a little close, but you’re chill about it) and says “hi.”

Nina says, “Tell him he gave us a lot of grief. Or I can just tell him myself later.”

“Oh, I heard ya,” he replies, chuckling as he pulls back. “I gotta drop this off at home first, though.” He brandishes the folder in his hand.

You fold your hands across your chest and shake your head. “Hmm, no, I think I should take that.”

It actually looks like he considers giving it away. “What’s in it for me?” He jokes.

“I think I can make it worth your while.” You wink.

“Oh.”

“Mm-hmm.” You hold your hand out and he places the folder in there. “Good boy.”

“Still here, by the way,” Nina says quickly. “And waiting in an increasingly dark alley.”

You smile, folder now in your possession. “We’re on our way.”

Peter’s able to grab a backpack he had stashed away for emergency outfit changes. He throws on a jacket and sweatpants over his suit.

You introduce Nina and Peter to each other and they get along great, but Nina chooses to drop the two of you off at a nearby diner so as to not be a third wheel.

As you grab your backup coat from the car, they whisper, “Guess you didn’t miss your date after all, huh?”

You both grin and tell them to shut up as they drive off laughing.

Throwing on your coat, you walk over to Peter who’s waiting at the entrance of the diner. You notice he’s grinning, too. “So, were you talking about me or something?”

You’re starting to wonder if he has some sort of super-hearing. “And if I was?”

“Then great. No further comments from me.” He shrugs and you laugh as you both enter the diner.

A waiter arrives to greet and seat you at a table with a free basket of breadsticks and two glasses of tap water. You order a grilled cheese and tomato soup for yourself and he gets a bacon cheeseburger plus two Coke Zeros, one for each of you.

“I just realized something,” you say as the waiter leaves. “You work in development.”

“Yes.” Peter replies with a nod.

“Web development,” you reiterate, stressing your point.

“Yes,” he repeats, knowing exactly how it sounds, and stuffing a breadstick into his pleased grin. “What can I say, I commit to the bit.”

You laugh and you realize it comes so easy with him. You take a big drink from your water and grab a breadstick to munch on to avoid getting flustered by the epiphany.

“So, how does it feel like to win? You did unmask me.”

“It feels pretty good,” you admit. “But how does this end, does the loser have to stop working as a spy or something?”

“No, no.”

“But how will you know I won’t expose you?”

He leans in close and lowers his voice. “Well first, because you’re a spy too, so you know the rules. Second, your boss won’t let you, because of said rules. And third, because I know you well enough to know you have integrity.” He locks eyes with you in an earnest and you nod. He backs away slightly and continues, “Besides, it’s not that big a secret. I have some people in my life that know.”

“Really?”

“Well I don’t exactly go around advertising it but, you know, the people that care and worry about me deserve to know where I go most nights.”

“Like your aunt?”

“She was the first one I told.” He smiles. “What about you? I’m sure you have people you confide in.”

“Well, it helps that my oldest friend is my partner on the job, so I’m not really left itching to tell anyone else,” you confess. “My parents are worried enough; they’re barely convinced that little ol’ me can take care of myself in such a big city.”

“Well, I think one day they’d be happy to know they’re wrong. All things in their own time, of course.”

“Thanks, Peter.” You smile at his sincerity and understanding.

The food soon arrives and you chat over your meals. You allow him to dip a fry in your tomato soup and he gives you a little piece of his bacon. When the check arrives, he offers to pay for it all and you let him as “reparations”, which he accepts with a laugh.

It’s a nice night for a walk, so you both decide to head home that way, extending your date with more conversation.

“So, why did you want to become an agent? Assuming it was your choice,” Peter asks,

“Honestly, I lived a pretty comfortable life. It wasn’t luxurious by any means but we had it good. If I had stayed in my small town, I don’t think anything exciting would ever happen to me, and I would’ve been okay with that,” you tell him. “And then in my senior year of high school, I saw this guy in a spider suit on the news, constantly saving the day. Then I realized that there was something more to life, and it was waiting for me in New York.”

Peter smiles, suddenly shy at the implied admission of admiration. “So, no tragic backstory then?”

“No, thankfully I didn’t have anything too bad happen to me for me to want to help people.” You smile back. “I’ve just seen too much bad to not do anything about it. How about you?”

“My uncle…” he trails off, wondering if this is good first date conversation.

You sense his hesitance and say, “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

He shakes his head. “No it’s alright, I brought it up. My uncle was killed when I was in high school, and I couldn’t help but think it was part of a bigger conspiracy. I did some digging and I ended up being right. Then the Spyders approached me and the rest is history.”

“Hey,” you say, gently holding him by the arm to stop him in his tracks. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

He smiles. “It was a long time ago. But thank you.”

“Can I give you a hug?” You ask.

“Uh, yes,” he replies.

His eagerness makes you laugh, and you tiptoe a bit to hold him in an embrace. You can feel him nuzzle your neck and you feel like you’re hugging a big dog.

“Anyway.” He motions to continue walking and you follow suit. “Enough about me—how the heck do you manage a full-time job and this on the side? And be good at both?”

You shrug, smiling. “We all need hobbies. Plus, it’s good exercise.”

He laughs. “You serious?”

“I am! Also, weirdly one is a form of de-stressing from the other.”

“You’re amazing.”

You fight the blush that creeps in at the compliment. “Thanks. I could say the same about you.” You pause, readying yourself for the admission. “Well, I have. Pretty famously.”

“Oh, have you?” He asks, suddenly very curious.

“Well, not to brag, but I was the first person to call you the ‘amazing spider-man’ on Twitter.”

“No way.”

You nod. “Remember how I mentioned my senior year…”

“You’re kidding!”

“Actually, that was what got me a job offer from the Bugle. Which is kind of funny, considering—” You stop yourself.

“Considering what?” He steps in front of you to keep from evading the question.

“Uh, considering I was just a small-town teen from—”

“No, wait, don’t tell me you had a stan account, too.”

“That’s all you get. Find the rest out yourself.” You walk past him in nonchalance. “Anyway, I believe you know your way around the web.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” he says, catching up to you easily. “You know what, I could just hack you.”

You eye him dead-on. “You wouldn’t.”

“Maybe. But maybe you don’t know me well enough to say what I would and wouldn’t do. How do you think I was able to beat you on the job so many times?”

“Equal times,” you correct. “And I won in the end using fair means.”

“Not sure how you would define fair since we’re essentially Robin Hoods, but okay.” He shrugs. “So, you’re a fan? Like, a longtime fan?”

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at how he switched the topic back. “I pretty much moved to New York because of you. Yes, I’m a fan.” You can tell by the look on his face that he’s about to say something really smug, so you add, “But Daredevil is my favorite.”

Peter stops in his tracks. “Yeah, right.”

You nod, stopping next to him. “It’s true.”

“You know, he’s a friend of mine, actually.”

Well, you weren’t expecting that. “O-oh?”

“Yeah, I could introduce you—are you blushing?”

“I am not!” You laugh and start to walk ahead so he can’t take a closer look at your face.

He chases after you. “You totally are!” Then you notice him stop before returning to a more leisurely pace. “Oh, you know what? I take back the introduction thing.”

“No! Why!” You whine as you turn back to him, and then you notice the redness at the top of his ears. “Wait, are you jealous?”

“Definitely not!” Peter says almost immediately, avoiding eye contact.

You stand right in front of him, arms crossed, and narrow your eyes. “Are you lying?”

He looks down at you and gulps. “... Maybe?”

Pleased with yourself, you smile. “And you say I don’t know you well enough.”

You walk a little more in comfortable silence when Peter suddenly—but gently—grabs your wrists and leads you to an empty alley. “Hey, come here. I wanna try something.”

“Okay…” You start. “I hope you’re aware of what this looks like.”

He laughs and says, “Trust me.” And you do. “Just—stay right there.” He positions you in front of the wall of the alley.

“Alright.” You stand and wait just like he asked.

After a few minutes, you hear the sound of his web-shooters and the call of your name from above you. You look up to see him lowering himself from the top of the fire escape railing to hang in front of you.

You do what you do best when you’re nervous: talk. “You know, like this, you look more like a bat than you do a spider.”

This gets him to laugh, but he tells you in a hushed voice, “For once. Just for this one moment. Stop talking.”

You nod.

“Good. I’m going to kiss you now. Nod if—” He laughs. You’re already nodding.

Your hands find the back of his head and you pull him closer to meet his lips with yours.

Kissing Peter is the most amazing thing you’ve ever experienced in your life.

You can say with confidence that you’ve never been kissed like this before—acrobatics aside. He kisses you the same way he looks at you; like nothing else around you matters. It’s only your first of what you’re sure will be many kisses, but you can already feel like it will be just like hearing his laugh—every time will set your heart as aflutter as the first. You know this is something you will always look for from now on; his kiss is your new favorite song, your new regular coffee order, your new bedtime hoodie.

The first thing you say when you pull apart for air is, “Wow.” The second is, “You were jealous.”

Peter groans, and you laugh. “Could you please just savor this moment with me.” It’s not a question or a request. He leans forward for another kiss.

You accept it in multitudes and giggle against his lips. “How long have you been wanting to do this?”

“With you, or in general?”

“Uh, both.”

He takes a moment to consider the question. “Long enough.”

You grin. “So, the same answer for both? Would it also be the same if I asked you how long you’ve been wanting to kiss me, regardless of direction?”

Still upside-down, he rolls his eyes. “Well, would it be the same if I asked you the same questions?”

“Would it be the same answer for in or out of our suits?”

“Don’t make me come down there.”

“And what if I want you to?” You smile.

Peter flips over easily and lands on his feet. As soon as he does, he steps toward you again for another kiss, holding you firmly by the waist and breathing you in deeply. You relish in another first kiss with him, this time right-side-up.

When you pull away, you say, “Actually, I only did that so you could come down and stop the blood from rushing to your head. But thanks.”

“Hmm, you care about me or something?” He asks smugly.

“Um, well, you know…” You say, getting a kick out of frustrating him.

“I got another question: do you ever stop talking?”

You laugh and shake your head. “Nuh-uh. You gotta make me.”

“Okay, challenge accepted.” He takes you by the hand and leads you towards the fire escape. “Come upstairs?”

Now you’re speechless. Your jaw drops and Peter is smirking so hard.

“You took us to the back of your apartment building to make out?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Thought it’d be convenient.”

“Oh my God.” You laugh, fully enjoying this moment. “You really are amazing.”

“So you’ll come up?”

“Yes, but only if you swing me up there.”

Without even taking a beat, Peter takes your hands and wraps them around his neck, then lightly lifts your legs to wrap around his waist. “Hold on tight.”

Before you know it, you hear the sound of his web-shooters and you’re zooming in the air. When you land, it’s softly onto his bedroom floor, and his lips are on yours again.

Work becomes a lot easier after you and Peter get together. Of course, injustices—whether you see them on social media manager for the Daily Bugle or as a secret agent with the Black Cats—will always keep you up at night, but it’s always good to know you have someone to come home to at the end of the day.

Sometimes, it’s even better when that person becomes a partner you can rely on, to get you through any kind of tangled web or any sticky situation, no matter what kind of job you’re working on.

But the days you can relax with each other and just be are the best. When Peter tells you one of his favorite ways to relax is on a web hammock between two skyscrapers, you immediately demand he make one for two on the next mission you work together.

And here you are, watching the sunset from 50 stories up, playing 20 Questions.

“Okay: flight or telekinesis?” You ask.

“Flight, always flight,” Peter answers. “That way I won’t have to reload my web-shooters all the time. Or deal with traffic, like, ever again.”

“That’s a good answer.” You nod. “Telekinesis for me though, hands down. But it’s one of those powers that are definitely, like, really important to go to the right person. I accept that.”

“I think you could handle it.”

“Aww, babe.” You lean your head on his chest. “Thank you for trusting me.”

He chuckles and pats your head. “My turn. Back to basics: cats or dogs?”

“Dogs,” you say automatically. “No brainer.”

“You’re a dog person?” He asks, surprised. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Why? Oh, is it the catsuit?” You tease.

He pauses, furrowing his brow to look serious. “Yes. And I was fully prepared to tell you that I’m a dog person but I’ll make an exception for you.”

You laugh at this and smack his chest playfully. “I just think it’s funny the catsuit misled you.”

“More than it being ‘misleading’, I think a better way to put it is that it distracts me.” The way he eyes you make you feel conscious and confident at the same time.

“Ah, if it distracts you so much, should I take it off? So you can concentrate better?” You offer with a smirk, hand on the zipper down your chest.

“Wow. Here? Didn’t think you were such a tease.” He raises an eyebrow.

You move closer to him, further egging him on. “Well, not here. But it looks like there’s still a lot you don’t know about me, Parker.”

Peter hums thoughtfully, pressing a kiss onto your smiling mouth. “I think I’ll take my time finding out.”

thank you for making it to the end!! please consider a like/comment/reblog after reading. 🥰️

tags: @spidervee @fallensilencefics

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