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harkermylee · 16 days ago

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🕷️ | Invisible string (web)

Spider-Man Nat x fem!reader

Summary: in which you are Spider-Man’s biggest fan. What happens when you find out that, under the mask, your favourite hero shares a face with the girl you hate?

word count: 4.3k

Warnings: self harm (I think ?), coach Martinez is a dick (shocker), smoking.

Part 1: here

➤ Part 2

New York, the city that never sleeps. But it sure as hell sleeps around you think to yourself as you sit cross legged on the metro that’s supposed to lead you home, facing a couple that is— in your opinion, trying to eat each other's faces off, gross.

You turn your head to the side, facing the window instead, as you observe the disappearing tracks, trying not to let your mind wonder to the one person it shouldn’t, Natalie. Natalie and her infuriating personality, her obnoxious disappearance from the team hang out due to “boredom” and her terrific bleach blonde hair that frames her delicate features. Wait, what? You’re already getting off track.

In a futile attempt to drown your unwanted thoughts of the team's winger, you pick up your phone and refresh the Spider-Man updates page to see if there’s anything new regarding the superhero’s whereabouts.

You scroll down the website, your sticky finger that you were too lazy to wash off after eating Jackie’s expensive pastries, hitting your phone screen repeatedly in a scroll motion and then you see it.

“BREAKING: ROBBERS FROM MIDTOWN CHASE CAUGHT!”

You smile to yourself, as you scroll down and keep reading the article about how Spider-Man had caught the three bank robbers on top of the building, webbing them and leaving one of them in their underwear, while their bag of money remained untouched, dangling on a lamp post nearby, covered in sticky web fluid.

You manage to stiff a laugh as you look at the file attached to the bottom of the page, there they sat 3 men, mid 30s, webbed to the roof’s southeast corner and the one that sat in the middle wearing only his underwear and the princess Peach mask he used for the assault, you wonder how that even happened, how did he manage to lose his clothes and most of all why did he keep the mask if he was okay with discarding his garments.

You’re rudely pulled out of your playful mood when the metro comes to a halt and you’re reminded of your stop and the fact that you still need to get home.

You get out of the metro and get ready to climb the endless row of stairs that lead to the outside, bumping into a few people on the way.

When you finally reach the outside you breathe in the fresh air while the lights and the sound of moving vehicles fill your ears.

You’re about to pull out your headphones when you hear it— the unmistakable thwip of webbing against brick. The same one you heard when he flung you out of the falling bus. You almost put your hand to your head thinking you’re having some kind of ptsd induced hallucination when you see it, that indisputable blur of dark red and blue, swinging through the skies.

You stare in awe, your mouth agape making you resemble a fish out of water. When Spider-Man miscalculates the angle of his last swing and bangs his body against the brick wall of the building that stands about twenty feet in front of you.

For a moment you remain paralysed, what were you supposed to do? You turn your head from side to side scanning your surroundings and realise you're alone, alone with a fallen Spider-Man.

You manage to get out of your shocked state and run to him, to check if he’s okay, you hope he is because honestly you have no idea what to do if he doesn’t get up before you reach him.

Luckily he does.

You now stand in front of him, your favourite hero and he’s so close, you feel the beat of your heart thumping against your chest as your hands get sweatier and sweatier.

“Uh—“ You get stuck on what to say, what are you supposed to say? Ask the masked vigilante if he’s okay, if he needs an ibuprofen? Does he take ibuprofen? “Are you alright…?” You blurt out before you’re able to stop yourself.

“Yea yea peachy just—“ His body swings from side to side as if he’s got some kind of restless energy he’s never quite been able to kick. “You know keeping the city safe and all that, crime never sleeps you know.” He finishes, while pulling his already perfectly placed mask down. You wonder if he’s afraid that the face planting somehow moved it and revealed his identity to you.

“Right.” You manage. “I’m sure face planting is very helpful.” Did you just say that? What the hell is wrong with you?

“I’ll have you know I’ve stopped two robberies and saved a falling kitten from a tree all before dinner.” He protests, and you swear he’s checking you out by the way his masked face tilts over your figure.

Now you have to laugh. “A kitten?” You ask, a shy smile adorning your flushed face.

“Chicks dig that shit.” He answers. “Plus all the fellas deserve saving, even the tiny fluffy ones.”

He’s such a dork, Spider-Man is a dork, the same guy that swings through the city, stops masked killers, biochemical weapons and whatnot is a complete dork, you can’t wrap your head around it. But you suppose it shouldn’t be that surprising after all, under the mask, there still has to be a real human guy, you ponder.

“I suppose you're right. You’re the superhero after all” You respond, suddenly very aware of the existence of your arms.

He’s still for a moment as if he’s sizing you up and then his voice rises again, deep and raspy, you like the sound.

“You’re that chick from the bus right? Spider-Man backpack?” He asks, and you swear you can see an outline of a smirk.

You freeze but then regain your senses quickly. “First of all, that backpack wasn’t mine.” You complain, but there’s one thing you now won’t be able to get out of your head, Spider-Man, your favourite hero of all time, remembers you.

“It was in your hand!” He says, voice loud and obvious only missing a duh at the end.

“It was the kid’s!”

“Right, the kid’s.” He responds, a playful mocking tone now coating his raspy voice.

“It’s no shame you know.” He continues. “I have lots of fans, I’m used to the T-shirts and the lunch-boxes. I think it’s cute really, I’m honoured.”

You’re speechless, you don’t know what to say, on the one hand you want to protest, tell him the backpack wasn’t yours and for him to lower his ego. But— it’s Spider-Man your Spider-Man and you don’t want the— what you’re sure— will be the last and only conversation you’ll ever have with him to be of you bitching with him. So you concede, for now, and go for a softer approach, one that is true.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving me from the bus.”

“It’s no biggie, it’s part of the job description.” He brushes it off.

“Still…” You attempt to continue, but you feel your cheeks starting to heat up.

“The pleasure was mine.” He says, and then he turns his head in the opposite direction.

You look to where his head turned and then hear the familiar sound of sirens.

“I gotta bounce.” He says. “I told you crime never sleeps, but you never believe me.” He shoots a web to the top of the building. “See you around.”

And with that he’s gone in a familiar blur of red and blue.

You stand still in your place for a second trying to process what the hell just happened, but then something he said suddenly starts rubbing you the wrong way. “You never believe me.” The way he phrased that making it seem like the two of you have known each other for years.

But you shrug it off, probably just an error on his part, maybe his first language isn’t English, he sure as hell didn’t have a New York accent, that much was clear.

It’s currently 7AM, which means you are almost thirty minutes late to coach Martinez’s mandatory early practice, god you’re screwed.

You run through the hallway that leads to the field, your cleats echoing through the corridor’s tiled floor, your mothers voice still ringing in your head about indecency all because you got dressed in the back of the car while she drove, you argued that what was indecent was showing up 30 minutes late to practice, all because she refused to drive you until you cleaned your room and did the dishes, total bullshit.

When you finally reach the field you see it, all of the girls already sitting on the grass stretching. Meaning they already ran all their laps, even Natalie is here, now you’re definitely screwed.

You hear a loud thrilling sound coming from coach Martinez’s whistle. Which in turn, makes all the girls sitting on the grass stare at you, a curious expression in each and every one of their faces. Well except for Natalie, hers is pure mocking.

“Number 3.” Coach Martinez’s screams. “Do you want to explain to me what’s more important than regionals?”

“What?” You attempt, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“I’m sure whatever made you half an hour late to my practice was very important.” He continues.

“Sorry coach, it won’t happen again.” You apologise, as you strive to blink away the tears that are starting to form in the corner of your eyes as he yells at you.

“It better not.” He conveys. “Or you’re benched for the rest of the season.” He finishes.

You suddenly feel stuck, paralysed in your spot, benched? You?

“Coach—“ You try to plead, it wasn’t even your fault, you didn’t have a drivers license, you were dependent on your parents' rides. But coach wasn’t hearing any of it, his face red with anger, nostrils dilated.

“Twelve laps now!” He orders. “And I’ll be timing them!”

You don’t even attempt to get a word in, you just comply, sprinting to the side of the field to begin your laps.

You dig your nails into the palm of your hands, crescent moon marks already forming, in a futile attempt to focus on the sting rather than coach's voice poisoning your ears or the burning sensation in your eyes as you try to blink back tears.

You’re on lap 8 when you finally manage to get a hold of yourself, the physical exhaustion trumping the emotional pain you felt.

You feel nothing but embarrassment as you make the turn to lap nine, being the only one in the field running while all the other girls chat contentedly as they stretch, starts feeling like a humiliation ritual to you.

You thought your day couldn’t possibly get any worse, but then you hear it, a pair of cleats running quickly behind you, the person, who’s breath you now can feel hitting the back of your neck, clearly attempting to catch up to you. You turn your head to the side when the person finally reaches your side. And then you see it— bleach blonde hair, sticking wildly outside her little ponytail— Natalie, of course she had to come and bask in your misery.

“I’m not in the mood.” You spit out, fastening your pace in a useless attempt to get away from her.

“Cmon princess, he’ll come around, he's not gonna bench our best defender.” She says, her mouth opening slightly as she breathes in the fresh air to be able to keep up with you.

But you don’t take her words as reassurance, in your head, she’s kicking you while you’re already down.

“Scatorccio don’t you have anything better to do? Or anyone?” You spit at her while rolling your eyes.

She didn’t take kindly to your insult, her smirk turning into a deep frown.

But she recovers quickly, her pained expression becoming defiant in record time. “Oh yeah? And what made you so late princess? Too many spidey documentaries to watch?” She mocks.

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.” And with that she runs back to the rest of the team, settling in the grass in the middle of Van and Laura Lee.

After what it felt like forever you manage to finish your laps. Running back to the group while holding your breath slightly so as to not appear worn out by the punishment.

Practice goes as usual from there, you still get the occasional glare from coach Martinez followed immediately by Laura Lee’s pitiful stare, but you manage.

You’re placed on Natalie’s opposite team during the scrimmage. And she was not making your life easy, playing with an aggression that makes it seem like she has something to prove.

The ball approaches your team's goal in Shauna’s feet after Natalie made a perfect pass to get it there. But you manage to intercept Shauna’s goal sending the ball flying in Taissa's direction who scores a goal for your team. Making Natalie give you a glare accompanied by her signature middle finger.

Practice ends, Taissa comes to pat you on the back. And the two of you walk to the locker rooms together engaging in light conversation, Van and Natalie trailing behind you, engrossed in their own talk.

After taking your uniform off and showering, you now sit in front of the mirror, towel covering your body while you comb through your hair.

You see Taissa behind you in the mirrors reflection.

“Hey are you going to that thing tomorrow?” She asks, passing her hands through her hair and adjusting it slightly while eyeing herself in the dirty mirror.

“What thing?” You ask while you comb through a particularly stubborn knot.

“You know that club over on Jerome? Apparently Jackie knows one of the bouncers.”

“That’s bullshit.” You argue, Jackie sneaking into a club and knowing that kind of people? Something about it just seems off. If Taissa was talking about Natalie then you would believe her but Jackie? Clubbing? Since when?

“I was skeptical too but it doesn’t hurt to go. Team bonding and all that.” She then stands straighter and then twirls her hair and blinks her eyes imitating the captain of the team, in typical Jackie fashion. Coaxing a laugh out of you. “Plus, if we can’t get in, Jackie said we could all crash at her place.” She says while laughing with you.

“I’ll ask my parents.” You concede.

“Now, that’s what I like to hear.” She says, while walking back to the benches to grab her gym bag and meeting Van who was waiting patiently for her by the door.

You finish combing through your hair and make your way to English class, your wet hair dampening your sweater slightly sending a shiver down your spine.

You sit in the second row when you hear the teacher babbling about a mandatory project that will be done in pairs, that’s worth a third of your grade— Great, you think to yourself. The project consists of analysing a poem of your choice with your partner and making an oral presentation about it.

“In order to make it fair, the pairs will be chosen randomly.” The teacher announced.

She then divided the students in two groups and wrote half of the names of the people present in the class on tiny pieces of paper and threw them in a little wooden box. The other half was instructed to go to the front and pick it up and read the name out loud.

Ms. Smith calls your name and sends you to the left, meaning you're in the group that will have to pick a crumpled up piece of paper from her box of despair. Seriously couldn’t she just let you pick the pairs like a normal person?

You’re in line, there’s about 3 people in front of you. When it’s your turn, you put your hand in the box and grab one of the slivers of paper. Your heart drops as you read the name.

Natalie Scatorccio.

Seriously? Couldn’t it have been literally anyone else?

You look at the front and see Natalie with the group on the right looking as disinterested as ever while messing with the cord of her headphones.

“Natalie Scatorccio.” You finally say, and catch her looking at you with a frown.

“I’m not working with her.” She protests looking at Ms. Smith, stepping out of her seat in the back.

“Ms. Scatorccio back to your seat please.” Ms. Smith says, looking exasperated.

“This is such bullshit.” Nat keeps protesting, slamming her hand on the table.

“Language.” The teacher warns.

You make your way back to your seat and then you see Nat looking at you like you somehow rigged the picking.

“I’m not working with you.” She whisper-yells.

“Like you ever work at all.” You strike back.

“I SWEAR—“ she starts, but is unable to finish as the teacher's voice booms through the classroom.

“Natalie principal’s office now.”

The next thing you see is Natalie hurriedly throwing her things in her backpack and scurrying out of the classroom with a scowl on her face.

You watch her storm out of the classroom with a stunned expression, sure you and Nat had never really gotten along for some reason. But this was too much of a reaction even for her, especially over an English paper. In fact, you’re the one who should be mad, she’s the serial class skipper not you. If anyone got the short end of the stick, it was you.

You leave the school after your last class, headphones covering your ears when Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill starts playing. You immediately skip it in disgust, the song making you stupidly think about Nat.

Your boots echo through the paved street, hitting some puddles making water splatter all around you. You stop underneath a closed cafe when it starts raining slightly. You look around, you're alone apart from the occasional lost tourist, so you decide to light a cigarette.

You started experimenting smoking with Lottie during the summer. But never did it without her or near anyone who was at the school. It’s not like it was a taboo thing between the girls on the team or anything but for some reason you didn’t want people to know, after all you had an image to upkeep, plus Nat would never let you hear the end of it, god why are you always thinking about her? Get a grip.

You light the cigarette after your second try and put it to your lips inhaling the smoke, letting it sit before exhaling it out. Appreciating the slight buzzing sensation it brings you after the horrible day that you had.

You’re half way through the cigarette when you hear something akin to spandex landing in a puddle right beside you wetting you slightly. You’re about to protest when you see him.

Spider-Man?

“Spider-Man?” You question, seriously does everything just happen today? Is mercury in retrograde or something?

“The only and only.” He responds.

“What—“

“Just you know, came to save the day and all that.” He explains, fists clenched at his side. For some reason he seems… nervous.

“Do I look like I’m in need of saving?” You question, stumping the cigarette beneath your boot. If it was any other day you’d be a babbling mess, but today it seems even your nervous system is exhausted.

“I don’t know, are you?” He teases.

You stay silent for a while unable to formulate an appropriate response, because what were you supposed to say? To Spider-Man of all people.

“Just… had a bad day that’s all.” You concede and hope that that's enough for him. Still you can’t get over how insane this is Spider-Man just asked you about your day.

“Damn that sucks…” He answers. “Want me to cheer you up? He asks while standing up straighter.

You’re appalled. “What—?” You question.

“Cmon I’ll show you a cool place.” He suggests. “You’re not afraid I’ll kidnap you are you?” He jokes.

“I— ok.” You agree, at this point even if he was going to kidnap you it would probably be the highlight of your day.

“Ok, just…” He gets close to you. “Hold on tight.” He commands.

“What?”

“Cmon it’s not that weird.” He then places a latex gloved hand on your waist and guides your arm to wrap around his neck. You notice he’s shorter than you expected.

He then shoots a web that sticks to the top of the building and swings you both through the city.

You try your best not to scream in terror, somehow in your fantasies being held up at fifty feet by an unknown substance didn’t seem quite as terrifying, speaking of terrifying his web seems way to thin to be able to support the weight of two people, but you manage to push the thought to the back of your head before you start spiralling.

Spider-Man lands on top of an apartment building, landing on the ledge while clutching your waist to steady you, your stomach does summersaults at the feel of his hands on your skin.

You look over from the ledge and notice you can see the entirety of New York from there, it truly is a sight.

“Wow…” You mutter before you’re able to stop yourself.

“Cool right?” He questions in a childish boyish voice, akin to the one of little kid asking his mother if he likes his drawing.

“Yea…” You then look at him, really look at him and realise that you’re on top of an unknown building with Spider-Man.

“Oh my god.” You say, while covering your mouth. “What am I doing?”

“Relax, prin—“ He almost says. “Everything is fine.” He says while sitting on the edge of the roof.

You don’t sit next to him, opting to sit a little further out from imminent death, after all you don’t have spider powers.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence until his voice breaks through the quiet atmosphere.

“So what could possibly be so bad as to warrant cigarette smoking?” He asks, his masked face resting on his hand.

“Am I about to be scolded?” You question tentatively, getting a lecture from Spider-Man was not on your today’s to do list, or ever if you’re being honest.

“Nah, trust me, I ain’t the one.” He confesses. “But they do say it’s bad for your lungs or some shit like that.”

“Addictive too.” You add.

“Tell me about it.”

Now you’re intrigued Spider-Man smokes? For some reason you always saw him as the Super-Man type, 100% good, no flaws, but Spider-Man is real, a real guy behind that mask. Maybe he too has his bad days.

“You confessing to something?” You ask, looking in his general direction.

In turn, his big white lenses turn to your face.

“I’m not exactly ashamed.” He admits. “I take it you are?”

“Not shame per se I just … I don’t know, I have a certain image and I’m scared of breaking it.” You confess.

“Ah— I see…” he now looks down observing the passing civilians and chatting tourists that from this high up look like ants.

Your eyes rake over his figure, landing on his webshooter the thought from earlier coming back to you. How does that tiny thing hold up two people?

“How does that work?” You ask, pointing to his webshooter.

"Oh, these?" He ponders, flexing his wrists, showing off the web-shooters attached to them.

"These gorgeous things” He continues. “Just a little something I designed. Salicylic acid, toluene, methanol and— some other classified ingredients…”

“Like what?” You ask, intrigued. To be honest you don’t even know half the things he just named. Which leads you to another conclusion, Spider-Man is smart, stupidly smart even.

“I can’t tell you!” He says with a mock offended voice. “They’re the secret sauce to my whole swinging spider gig.”

“Is it illegal?”

“Perish the thought.” He reassures, but somehow you don’t believe him.

“So you definitely make these they don’t— I don’t know … come out of you?”

He laughs at that. "Nah, I'm not some kind of human web factory. I mean that'd be cool, but also— gross…" He ponders.

“Man the Spider-Man gossip blogs are gonna be crushed.” You tease, your gaze falling on his gloved fingers rather than his web-shooter.

“The spidey stalker gang? Please I once saw someone wonder if I had a spider sac.” He tells you while shaking his head as if to remove the image from his mind.

“Do you?” You ask, playfully

“Not only one but two.” He says, sarcasm coating his raspy voice.

“It’s getting late…” he ponders. “I’ll swing ya home.”

“Nuh uh. I don’t trust those webs anymore.” You say while looking at his web-shooters.

“You don’t trust my genius?” He asks, hand flying to his heart in a dramatic mock wounded act.

“Nope.”

“Fine, you're welcome to take the stairs.”

His bravado dies quickly though, turning around to face you one more time.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” He questions one more time, timidly.

“I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself.” He says before disappearing.

You were mostly lying to him. You did trust his genius mostly, after all his webs work, but you needed the time alone to process the fact that Spider-Man just brought you to a rooftop to cheer you up. I mean how does that even happen? You think to yourself as you make your way down the emergency stairs of the building, accompanied only by the sound of the heels of your boots hitting the metal stairs.

You reach the bottom of the stairs and feel your phone vibrating in your coat pocket. You take it off and see the Spider-Man news icon glowing on your screen.

Seriously what could you possibly be up to? You just left half an hour ago—you think to yourself.

You click on the website and are shocked by what you read.

“BREAKING: SPIDER-MAN TAKES HEAVY HIT IN ONGOING BATTLE”— (Click here for more details)

₊˚ෆ tags: @rodrick-heffleysgf @sky-444

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