Work Text:
The first picture Peter had taken of you was by accident. He’d been trying to capture the opening of a newly renovated wing of the library near his apartment. Since crime had been a bit quieter lately, making Spider-Man’s activities quieter as well, Jameson had sent him on more menial jobs for The Daily Bugle.
He’d only seen you in the photos after the fact when editing them, finding you amongst the crowd with sunglasses resting on your head and a book in your hands, your smile wide with a happiness that permeated throughout the air.
The photos only caught part of your face, but he could see the excitement and wonder in your eyes, embarrassingly finding himself returning to them more than necessary. When documenting events for the paper, they often didn’t have such a happy ending — misused public resources, corrupt members in power, or something much more sinister and violent. Between that and his job of saving this city, he didn’t find as many calm or nice moments anymore, even forgetting about them altogether.
But here you were, unequivocally full of joy at something that should’ve had him smiling as well, if he weren’t so focused on taking pictures Jameson wouldn’t yell at him for. And so, he picked one of the photos in which you were off to the side alongside other joyful people and families looking at the ribbon cutting, and he put it right at the top of the story.
The next day at work, he found himself going to get coffee as usual, but maybe he’d had a lighter step to walk. A more relaxed way of drifting through the world as he entered The Daily Bugle’s office. If you could find happiness in the small things, maybe he could too.
–
The next time Peter got a photo of you wasn’t actually one he took. You did.
He’d done something menial, saving a cat from a tree, and came back to the ground, kitty in hand, to a crowd gathering around. He didn’t mind the attention, he’d gotten used to it by now, especially when it wasn’t negative. This wasn’t a mob – rather a group of people pleased to see him, including the cat’s owner thanking him over and over again. A cat owner he definitely recognized.
You’d had a rough morning, spilling coffee on yourself and creating a mess on the floor – only for your cat to walk through and get his fur drenched. Giving him a bath did not go well either, full of his hissing and your groan when knocking came at your door. Half-soaked and tired, when you opened up the door to your neighbor, your cat took the chance to book it. Shoving your head out into the hallway, you caught a glimpse of his tail disappearing out the window at the end of the hall.
Your neighbor handed you a package that’d accidentally been delivered to her apartment, which you threw inside your place before slipping on your nearest shoes. Grumbled “sorry’s” passed your lips as you passed others while racing to the building’s front door to chase after your horrible (and adorable) cat. Cool morning air of the late summer greeted you as your eyes flashed across every inch of the streets, buildings, even trash cans. But the pitiful cries of your cat came from above.
Straining your neck, you saw flashes of orange swishing in a tree near your building. “Oh god,” you muttered while racing to the bottom of it. Bark scratched against your palms as you leaned against the trunk, looking up at him. His claws sunk into the tree far out of reach for you to grab.
Calling the fire department certainly felt like overkill to get your now traumatized (read: overdramatic) cat out of a tree, and a bit cliche. Shaking your head, you told him, “Please just get down here. I will give you a hundred treats and unlimited attention.” A long sigh loosened from your lungs, hoping he somehow understood your pleas.
“Sure wish I got that kind of reward,” a soft voice laughed out behind you.
Any embarrassment heating your face seemed to drain away when you turned to come face to face with Spider-Man sticking to the wall of your building, looking right at you with those big white eyes. Words escaped you for a second as you kept staring. You’d only ever watched him swing on television, barely catching him as a speck in the distant horizon of the city’s skyline if you were lucky. You couldn’t stop staring, even as he tilted his head at you.
“Guess all I need now is the hundred treats,” he said, and you could’ve sworn he smiled under that mask. You would’ve laughed along with his silent ones if he hadn’t pointed out your incessant gazing.
“Well, only if you get him down, that is.” Your nervousness bled through your words, maybe from his presence. Probably your cat. The sweat coating your palms didn’t know anymore.
Breaths floated past your lips a little easier when Spider-Man lept up into the tree and grabbed your cat, much to his dismay. More cries came from above until they sounded from directly in front of you, webbed gloves wrapped around his middle and holding tight as he wiggled.
“Oh thank you,” you said before whispering to your cat, “And hush, you got yourself into this, Samwise.” You took him from the superhero, silently chastising him. Of course your cat would do this to you – send you out into the streets in dirty clothes and disheveled… well, everything, only to stand in front of literal Spider-Man like this. The people that had gathered only for a moment started dispersing after the excitement died down, not that there’d been much to begin with besides you talking to a cat.
“Samwise?” he questioned while brushing a finger along your cat’s forehead. Soon, soft purring began vibrating against your chest.
With a small laugh, you said, “Yeah, he’s just as sweet as Samwise Gamgee, but it seems he’s just as adventurous too. Thank you, again.”
“Of course. Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, right?” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck, but you doubted he could actually itch anything through that suit. Was he as nervous as you?
Though it mostly went against your judgment, you knew your friends wouldn’t believe you if you didn’t have some sort of proof that this all happened. “Okay, I know you’re probably really busy and I look completely wild, but could I take a quick picture with you?”
He looked up from where he’d been staring (and cooing) at Samwise to lock eyes with you, and though you couldn’t see any part of his face, it still brought a heat to your cheeks. “If wild means pretty, then I’d love to.”
Oh. If you hadn’t been flustered before, that sure did it. Fishing your phone out of your pocket with a cat in your arms and shaking fingers proved difficult. But you finally held it up, hoping to finish with all this and let him get on with his life – only for the sun to shine right into your eyes at this angle.
“Ah, maybe I should turn the other way…” you started but were quickly cut off by the sound of Spider-Man shooting webs from his wrist.
“Does that help?”
Looking up, you saw that he created a web in between branches of the tree – right where the sun had been shining into your vision.
“Yeah… yeah, that’s great. Thank you,” you said in a quiet voice, suddenly unsure whether all Spider-Man fan interactions felt this intense. Was it just you?
You brought the phone back and focused it, though selfies were never your talent. So while you balanced Samwise and struggled to get the three of you in frame, Spider-Man brought his hand up and angled it up slightly.
“There…” he mumbled, and the body heat rolling off of him had you frozen, had you in a hold until you saw that hint of his mask moving in the camera as if he were smiling for the picture. So you followed suit, capturing a picture of you, him, and your cat he just saved all bathed in the morning sunlight.
“Hey, be sure to share that with me on Twitter, okay? If you know my page on there… it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole ‘save a cat from a tree’ thing.” He laughed again, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it quickly becoming one of your favorite sounds.
“Yeah, I know it,” you started saying, aware that everyone in New York knew about his social media presence, but… “I’m just not sure it’s the best picture of me, you know?”
That time, there was no denying the way the eyes on his mask shot up. “Well I’d be dying to know the best picture there is of you, because that must sure be something,” he told you. And you were about to respond (you absolutely were, not just stand there and stumble over your words and unable to make eye contact), but sirens began to start up in the distance.
He yelled out, “You better share that with me!” as he shot out a web, leaving you with no argument as he swung away. Holding Samwise close to your body, you let out a breath and watched as Spider-Man floated above the skyline.
And later that night, you did end up sending it to him despite how you thought you looked in it. He had stood so close to you, and your heart melted everytime you saw the way his hand rested against Samwise’s cheek – who all but adored the attention and pressed back into him. Peter had to keep himself from opening your message immediately, especially since he was in the middle of taking down a man trying to break into a store.
“Hey! You can’t just leave me here!” the man clothed in black said as he hung from a fire escape in the alleyway next door. Meanwhile, Peter stood there, hovering his thumb over your message after shooting a web over the man’s mouth.
Peter internally groaned as he began pacing back and forth. Was he overthinking this? He probably was. He ran a hand over his face before deciding to wait until he got home to open it… to play it cool – he was being really cool about all this.
Until he did open it and fell in love with a different part of you each time he glanced at it.
–
The next picture Peter had of you came from someone else, a fan of his that tweeted at him a day after he’d talked with you again.
You’d been sitting out on your fire escape, sweater on and hot drink in hand as fall quickly approached, watching the dipping sunset about to kiss the tops of New York’s buildings. And you nearly spilled it all – almost dropped the mug down on top of pedestrians passing by – when Spider-Man landed on your railing and sat down on it.
The sudden gasp threatening to come out stopped in your throat, your fingers tightening against the mug’s handle as you tried to calm your breathing.
“Oh god, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare you,” he rushed out, reaching his hands toward you as he apologized. All of his super strength would go into internally smacking himself in the face later.
By the time you could think clearly again, you looked up at him and his legs swinging back and forth. “Not sure how you thought landing on someone’s fire escape from the sky wouldn’t scare them, but it’s okay,” you said with a breathy laugh.
“Fair. You’ve got me there,” he admitted. And before the following silence became too overbearing and overwhelmed by the traffic below, he asked, “How’s Samwise doing?”
You blinked at him, eyes wide as you thought about it. “He’s…” you paused, “He’s well. No more climbing trees for him, unless I get you on speed dial.”
The eyes on his suit narrowed for a moment before he hopped off the railing, coming to stand just a little closer to you. “Is this your way of asking for my number?”
He couldn’t help but laugh – at your own surprised giggle, at the way you hid your burning face behind your cup, and at how the skin of your face crinkled with each laugh. “So Spider-Man– Can I call you that?”
“Mr. Spider-Man, The Spidester. Any of the following adjectives between ‘The’ and ‘Spider-Man’: Amazing, Spectacular, Friendly Neighborhood, Handsome… the list goes on,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Through a smile you desperately tried to hide, you said, “Okay, Spidey, I was going to ask whether you’re this flirty with all of the citizens you help.”
God was he glad you couldn’t see the red painting his cheeks or somehow sense the warmth in his chest from your words. “Maybe it’s just the lucky ones that I help save their cats.”
“Ah, so it’s luck then?” you asked, and there was no missing the teasing look you gave him or the way your body subconsciously leaned toward his.
He felt the suit pull taut as he nodded. “Yeah, luckier than winning the lottery, I’d say.”
Pursing your lips, you considered him for a moment. And Peter had never felt so seen by someone who couldn’t actually see him. It made him want to know what went on in that pretty head of yours. Really pretty.
Your hands rose up to gesture at him, breaking him from his staring as a chilled breeze went by. “Okay, next question. Do you ever get cold in that thing? Snow’s not far off here, and your suit doesn’t look very… winterized.”
For a moment, he thought about teasing you, saying something about how you were checking him out enough to notice that about his suit, but he wouldn’t deny an audience to talk about his technology with. “For a while, it wasn’t. I wore a hat sometimes, a scarf made by my… relative – but that didn’t exactly scream ‘intimidating’ to people, so I had to make adjustments to the suit. It’s now a bit more insulated, but moving around and beating ass usually warm me up too.”
The sudden laugh you let out at brought an unmissable smile to his lips. Oh, how he wanted to make you do that again and again. “I suppose it would,” you said in between breaths. And maybe you thought better of it, but you followed up with, “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee or something? As a thanks for Samwise.”
Peter almost said yes in an instant, anything to keep you talking to him for just a little longer. But angry yelling erupted a block over, some argument he picked up with his hearing. The screaming in his head telling him to ignore it and choose you instead nearly drowned it out, but he couldn’t.
With a weight in his stomach, he said, “Raincheck? Duty calls.” You only nodded, eyebrows all scrunched up before he lept from the fire escape and off to the fight starting to break out. It was that moment right before he left that a fan caught with their phone.
It looked a little fuzzy from how far away it was taken, but it was unmistakably Spider-Man standing across from you. It’d be difficult to make out your face, but he knew it was you. The two of you almost looked domestic there, having a sweet conversation about your lives before the day ended.
The tweet came with speculations as to who you were and what he was doing with you. All of that ate away at the lump in his throat, so he found a way to get it deleted in case anyone tried finding you – but not before saving the photo himself to dream about a simpler life where you knew who he was.
–
Peter shouldn’t have done it. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he did it anyway. Why? It seemed he never could think straight when looking at you, or being near you. Or even thinking about you for that matter. Sometimes, he wondered whether you had powers too, but just for making his mind all fuzzy and dull when it came to you. So against better judgment, he took the assignment The Daily Bugle had given him to interview workers about a series of recent break-ins – like the flower shop you worked at.
He’d found himself catching glimpses of you here and there while on patrol, not that he was looking for you, of course. But he just so happened to see you walk into the same shop almost every day, so he kept an eye on it to make sure you were safe as you trudged home after too-long shifts in your work clothes and uncomfortable but “work-appropriate” shoes. Not that him doing so meant anything. Right?
And he rationalized to himself that it was all worth it when he saw someone trying to force inside the building after hours while you and a coworker cleaned up and readied it for the next day. The man made his way in, shouting something to you two, a gleaming knife extending past his fingertips.
But Peter had been there, moving faster than he had in months. His vision nearly blacked out as his webs pulled the man back out onto the street, and he had no control over the hands that pressed this worthless man into the tar – wanting to push him into it. The knife had been thrown when he’d been pulled, landing somewhere too far to save this man, not from Peter. He could barely feel the writhing below him, the angry shouts of this person barely reaching his ears.
Then, he heard your voice. Something about calling 911, something about checking whether Spider-Man was okay. They should’ve asked about the other guy. But Peter loosened a breath, dropping his head for a moment before picking the man up and webbing him to the nearest street lamp. You were okay.
Still, when he turned to you, your coworker on the phone in the shop, he had to ask. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
You blinked a few times, your arms wrapped around your middle. “Uh, yeah we’re okay. I’m okay, just a bit shaken up. Thank you… again.” Despite what had happened, you let out a small laugh. “We should really stop meeting like this.”
And in seeing that soft smile of yours, he was Peter again to himself. Not Spider-Man. He wished you could do that for him every day.
“How would you rather meet, then?” he asked, and if he didn’t love the flustered look you got, he would’ve been sadder about you turning away from him from embarrassment.
“Any other time than my or my cat’s life in danger. I think that’d be a good start.” You clasped one hand over the other as you rocked from one foot to the other. Only did his grin drop when you said, “We’ve, um, called the police. So you should probably head out before they get here.”
He took a bit of solace in how sad you sounded about him having to leave, so he swung away with a little hope in his heart. And really, it should’ve ended there. But he accepted the assignment to show up at the flower shop to interview people about it. Who knows? Maybe you wouldn’t work that day.
“Hi! Are you from The Daily Bugle? My boss said you’d be coming in.” You’d opened the door when he knocked on it, that brightness you always brought took his breath away in the best way.
Appropriate answers to your question would have been “Yes, I am” or “Yeah, my name’s Peter. Nice to meet you.” But he stared at you for a few seconds trying to come up with anything – the way your eyes lit up keeping him off balance and constantly teetering on some unknown cliff. He held up his camera as some sort of answer before finally breathing out, “Yes, sorry. It’s just a bit early for me.”
Laughing, you waved him off. “I get that. Come on in.” You told him your name and a bit about the place while showing him the few things inside the shop – most of it just being wall-to-wall flowers.
He followed you in, shaking his head and letting his hair flop against his face. Peter swore he tried his hardest not to stare like some love-sick fool, but he watched you lean against the counter like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. You asked, “What can I answer for you, uh…”
“Peter,” he offered as he scribbled down notes of what you’d said in between glances at you, as he didn’t trust himself to remember anything but your name that repeated over and over again in his head like a mantra. “Could you tell me a bit about what happened last night, if you’re comfortable with that.”
Subtlety, less violent this time, you wrapped an arm around your middle again as you nodded. You gave a smile, but it looked like a performance. He could feel your heartbeat.
“Of course. I and another coworker had locked the doors and began shutting the shop down when the man forced himself inside. He… he threatened us with a knife to unload the cash register,” you said, your eyes flicking between Peter’s face and the floor. “Not that we had much to hand over. But luckily we didn’t have to. Spider-Man showed up and stopped him.”
Peter felt some strange sort of pride at how relieved you looked as you continued describing the events once he had gotten there. The tension in your shoulders relaxed, your breathing evened out. Even your smile looked more real, authentic. He’d done that. Not that you knew it.
You let him take a picture of you for the story he’d write up, not that Jameson would be too pleased about anything in support of Spider-Man. But Peter wasn’t going to pass up on an opportunity to get another picture of you.
Even in black and white, the photo laid out in next week’s newspaper did your kindness justice. It somehow looked imbued within every expression you gave. You were surrounded by flowers and bouquets you had put together yourself. You belonged there, and Peter couldn’t help but feel that he belonged there behind the camera trying to capture you in as many photos as possible – keep you close to him as a picture if he couldn’t have you next to him living, breathing, being you.
And maybe he shouldn’t have, but Peter came back to the shop again and again, quickly becoming your favorite customer. Almost every time, he wanted to buy the flowers just to pass them right back across the counter and give them to you. Instead, Aunt May looked pleasantly surprised every time he came home with them, accompanied by red cheeks and an exasperated look on his face.
–
That photo of you in the flower shop, of your grinning face immortalized as the most beautiful person Peter had met – it was the same photo news outlets and newspapers used for you a few weeks later when you’d been attacked, targeted. He couldn’t bring himself to keep it anymore, not when it sat below headlines that made him sick and hateful.
His inner voice was right, the one that told him to stay away from you. That shouted at him to remember all the other people that’d gotten hurt because they knew him, because someone had found out you were important to Peter. And he didn’t really know you – had no reason to care about you as much as he did. But you’d crashed into his life at a time when he didn’t have many people to care about, especially now that he lived alone.
And he’d gotten to know what book you were reading at the moment, your favorite flower combinations to say just the right thing, the subtle way you quirked your mouth when trying to hide a smile. It’d overridden any self-preservation or reminder of what could happen to you.
Every night on patrol, he watched over your hospital room to make sure no one came near to hurt you. After, he’d spend hours tracking down the crime group that did it. That wanted to rid Spider-Man of the city. He’d almost kept the mug shots of each bloodied scum criminal he took down, who dared put a finger on you.
As Peter, he swallowed down his shame and self-hatred to visit you in the hospital – a bouquet in hand. Opening up your room door, he slipped in, letting out a sharp breath before facing you. The parts inside his chest that had hardened over these past days softened, nearly crumbled, at the way your eyes lit up at seeing him.
“Peter, you came,” you sighed out. You couldn’t move all that well, not with the bruising and the few fractures you sustained, but he could see the energy fighting in your body. Could feel it.
Holding out the flowers toward you, he said, “Yeah, of course I did.” He found himself unable to look at you long, each discolored part of your skin and wince at your body’s pain unbearable to witness.
Your hand brushed his, caressing his fingers as if to tell him it’d be okay, as you took the bouquet. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” Your voice barely broke the humming of the machines hooked up throughout the room, but the smile you hid behind the petals explained your feelings well enough.
He took a seat next to you, his body aching to touch yours in some way. To rest a hand on yours or kiss each bruise you had. But he didn’t, not after what he’d done. “How are you feeling?”
You gave a sad sort of laugh, one that wasn’t funny but at least didn’t bring tears with it. “Let’s just say I’m better now that you’re here.”
He knew you meant it, but it couldn’t be true, not when him being there had led to all of this. Biting back a groan, he said, “I… I wanted to see how you were doing, but I also wanted to say goodbye.” His eyes stayed glued to the tiled floor, speckled in beige and too shiny. “I just–”
“I know it was you.”
Peter Parker always had a smart remark, a witty comeback. Especially when it came to you and the joy he could pull from you. But not now. Your words froze him, sending ice through his skin and shredding down into his nervous system.
You made the first move, reaching out a hand to his knee to stop its shaking. He hadn’t even known he had been shaking his leg. But it made him shut his eyes, force even breaths through his nose.
“There was no way I could forget your voice, or how you tilt your head when you’re confused,” you told him, and his throat felt tight at the slight crack in your voice. “I forgive you, Peter. As long as you don’t say goodbye.”
You made him so careless… carefree, for once in his life. His calloused palms scratched against his face, the pressure of his fingers against his scalp like iron weights – weight as heavy as his mistakes that he paid witness to right in front of him. “I can’t.”
“At least stay with me for a little longer,” you pleaded. Your hand reached up to wrap around his wrist and pull them away, forcing him to look at you. And you smiled, the only smile that he couldn’t resist. So he stayed, holding you until he embedded his fingerprints into your skin.
–
For a long time, Peter had forgotten all about those photos – they were just wishes thrown into the wind for some future he hoped to have with you. So when you took that first picture of you as a couple, a picture of him kissing you on the cheek in Central Park, arms wrapped around one another and no world outside the two of you, how could he think about any other photo?
He’d brought you there after you’d healed, the painful memories faded from your skin. You fell asleep in that hospital bed with your hand entwined in his to find him still there when you awoke. He hadn’t said goodbye.
Peter had asked you out with another bouquet, one that you’d told him meant eternal gratitude and affection. If you hadn’t had gone through everything, maybe you would have been embarrassed at how fast you told him yes. But with the way his honey eyes melted at your answer, you couldn’t regret something like that.
That photo of that first date stayed with him all the time, printed out and everything. Peter did the same for the next one – of you both lounging lazily in his bed and morning sun streaming in through the blinds. Then the same for the one from the photo booth at the mall. His wallet soon stretched against its seams before you made him choose one to keep in there or he’d end up losing all of them somehow. The rest decorated the walls and shelves while others found their way into a shoebox he hid so it’d never be damaged.
But he never stop taking photos of you to remind himself of what he had. In the middle of cooking dinner, sauce and measuring cups everywhere, he took a picture of you, hands of your hips and trying to not look amused. But he saw you in a way his camera could never capture, so you smiled against your will. Peter even took one while swinging through the air with you, your body clung to his as you tucked your face against his neck. You’d smacked him for that one, but there was no helping him when it came to you.
The one photo he chose to keep tucked against his body, to remind him to make it home, was the one from a family dinner. It looked simple, cute with friends and family surrounding you two with wide smiles, but it’d always been more to him. There was his family, his life far away from his hidden one. The life you had given him.