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oddlykilledghosts · 1 year

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Just Thought I’d Drop In - Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Late and lost on your first day of work as a journalist at the Daily Bugle (J. Jonah Jameson will have to store up on cough drops and tea to protect that voice of his from yelling at you too much) you are saved by Spider-Man before getting mugged for your prize laptop

🕷️You and Peter are both freshly out of college! A little more comic based and general than solely about what we’ve seen in just one of the screen adaptations, so feel free to imagine any of the Spider-boy actors as our leading man here 🕷️

✎another idea I revamped and rewrote so hopefully you guys like it!

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairings: Spider-Man x reader, Peter Parker x reader

There were a lot of things that went wrong on the streets of New York City. And, sure, a big number of them caused the (somewhat secret) population of vigilantes and superheroes to call the concrete jungle their home. But a common trouble, you had found, was not its residents getting lost. Everyone had told you, over and over, it’s a grid system. It’s not hard. You’ll be fine, they would muse happily, never really knowing how deep your lack of direction went. But you were the one who wanted to move to New York during college, live out your dreams and become a journalist for the big apple. Really though, at the moment as you wandered the streets, all you could hear was your mom’s words echoing and bouncing around in your head. She’d warned you a multitude of times that superheroes just meant more trouble, and NYC attracted them like magnets. You had countered that superheroes protected people from crime, it just seemed like there was more of it because they brought it to light. Even so, in the present, the sun was shining brightly overhead as you let the idea of being a headline yourself slip from your mind as you used your phone to try and navigate yourself back into the right direction of your job.

It was your first day at the Daily Bugle as a real journalist. At least you hoped it would be, if you could find the way to get there. Your new apartment didn’t seem that far from the building when you had scoped it out beforehand, but now it seemed that you had miscalculated. Trailing the street signs, your eyes finally fell back upon your phone, trying to think of where you had unfortunately ended up. It had to be around here somewhere, you thought to yourself miserably. You put in the address again, just to be sure. Then, as you pressed the “go” button (for what felt like the fiftieth time that day with all the wrong turns you had made) your phone pinged and a monotone voice resembling a British woman told you to take a right. And a second later, nothing, the voice sputtering and fading as the screen on your phone blinked out.

Great, you thought. Just the perfect time for your phone to die.

Yeah, you were definitely going to be late.

Cold air whipped across your face as you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself and looked up from the dead brick the device in your hand had become. The wind had picked up suddenly and your hair flew wildly into your face as you looked around at your surroundings. Great, you thought for the second time, it wasn’t familiar at all. You thought back to your phone and how far it said the destination was. Was it fifteen minutes or fifty? You couldn’t have been that far off the mark. Yes, you had wanted to try a new coffee shop that you had seen the other day and that had been a mile or so off the course, but it couldn’t have thrown you off that much. As you continued to look around, the streets that appeared normally busy were now empty in comparison. Only a few millings of people were walking around busily.

"Excuse me." Said a low, dark gravelly tone. The voice that spoke didn’t sound very polite, contrary to its choice of words, and your heart sank to the soles of your feet. Maybe your mom had been right, (about a lot of things but) mostly that you should’ve roomed with that one friend of yours. You could’ve walked to work together. Made a morning out of it. Would’ve been a lot safer that way since crime had gone up the past couple of months. You always brushed it off and told her she watched too much of the news. Says the reporter.

Hesitantly, you turned around to face the gruff voice and it seemed laughable how much his appearance had matched your imagination. Classic depiction of one of Wilson Fisk's thugs. The city was crawling with them. Honestly, the news outlets were over their head in reporting what Fisk was doing to the city (which was partly why you had gotten the open position at the Daily Bugle). It also didn’t help that it wasn’t a secret that Fisk liked to threaten reporters. Even so, the man in front of you didn't seem as sophisticated as Fisk’s guys were usually described (but were never actually caught on camera). Maybe just a regular thug, you thought. For a second your mind even had the faintest idea that this would make a great story for the Bugle. Crime Hitting SkyRocket Heights As Reporter Gets Assaulted In Broad Daylight, the title could read. No, you decided, maybe that’s a little long. It would have to be worked into something more catchy.

He wasn't very tall and he didn't even look as scary as he could’ve. You could even tell that he had cut himself shaving that morning on his left cheek. Maybe you could take him, you thought. You had your wits and were quick enough. Then your heart sped up as adrenaline slowly entered your bloodstream, stopping only slightly as you glanced down and saw the gun in his hands. Your idea flatlined slowly with an incessant tone in your head that told you to get out of there.

Trying your best to sound tough, you lowered your voice and held your own, "What do you want?"

He nodded his head towards your bag. Your eyes widened. Your laptop. Everything…practically your whole life was on that device. Including the story that had gotten you hired. An exposé on Spider-Man defeating one of Fisk’s hideouts. The appliance would’ve been sold for a pretty penny too. Your parents had given it to you for graduating and getting the journalist job. It was priceless to you, but you were sure the thug in front of you could find a price that fit his needs.

You let out a nervous chuckle as your eyebrows furrowed, "I don't think so." Were you really ready to die because of a laptop? Your boss, J. Jonah Jameson, would’ve probably liked to think you were ready to lay it all on the line for the story on the ‘spider-menace’ that was stored there. You hadn’t given Jameson the whole thing, obviously, and if this guy wiped your laptop clean the story and the evidence you had found would be gone forever.

If you had been sure the man in front of you could’ve been one of Fisk’s goons, you would’ve been more suspicious at his inherent knowledge of you having something valuable in your bag. The evidence you had on Fisk could blow the case wide open. But muggings happen every day in New York. Maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Definitely the wrong time though, as you were still late to work.

He raised his gun towards your face, hiding it partially in his long jacket sleeves, and backed you towards an alley between two shops on the street you were on. At the end of the stretch was a saddening dead end. It seemed to glare at you as a disappointing parent would. "Sweetheart, let's not do something we’ll regret."

"Don't." You backed away, staring him in the eyes all the way, and then stopped when your back finally hit the wall. "Call me." What were you getting yourself into? "Sweetheart."

You saw his fingers twitch towards the trigger. I'm going to die as an idiot, you thought, a big fat idiot who thought that I could fist fight a guy with a gun. You closed your eyes, now clutching your messenger bag with all the life you were about to lose, and readied yourself for the inevitable blow.

Thwip

After a few seconds of squeezing your eyes shut, thinking that the bright lights you saw behind your eyelids were the sweet, sweet afterlife…the end never came. Surprised, you slowly opened up your eyes. The gun was gone and yet the mugger’s arm was still aimed forward at you as if he was about to play a mean game of pretend (maybe a fitting game of Cops and Robbers). You followed his gaze, which had become less intimidating and more disoriented, where his eyes were now looking up towards the roof of the building behind you.

Thwip

And with a single blink, you almost missed it. The thief flew into the air and was covered with webs, conveniently sticking him to the side of the building parallel to you. And then, as if by a woosh of fresh air he was suddenly replaced by a familiar masked face you had used in almost all of your work. Spider-Man.

The spider landed in front of you, gracefully bracing the impact, and looked at you through his mask. It was unfortunate that you couldn’t read his expression through the material, but watched as he went to cross his arms and lean against the wall opposite you, "Lucky I got here in time, got yourself in quite the mess there.” His voice was jokingly cocky, but somehow pleasant. It touched somewhere in your memory receptors, as if you had heard it in familiarity before. Witnesses had said this before, that the amazing Spider-Man acted as if though the people he saved and himself were already close comrades. Maybe that was it. Also to experience someone you had recently written about talking to you so casually threw you off. Someone who had also been able to take down too many to count of Fisk’s thugs…easily.

“I could’ve handled it.” You said, jutting your chin out. Then realizing self-consciously, you finally let go of the death grip you had on your bag and straightened up your posture to one with more confidence. Mental notes started flurrying in your brain and you were struggling to capture every detail. This had to be a story. A first hand account, relayed through the Daily Bugle. Jameson would go crazy. And whilst that may be true, it wasn’t like you could whip out a notebook in front of the guy and start taking notes on what he was like up close without seeming like a complete and utter psycho. Every blink acted, to you, like the shutter of a camera. Hopefully, you would be able to remember this all later.

He held his hands up and laughed, “Didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Tomato Tomahto.” You ignored the fact that he was right. You most definitely needed his help and weren’t surprised at how very thankful you were for the fact that he had been there to save your life. But with the shock that still pulsed through your heart, you stayed quiet. In such a quick moment, you’d thought you would be dead. And yet, here you were talking to a superhero.

“You work for the Daily Bugle, right?” Spider-Man asked naturally, as if it was information everyone knew.

“How’d you know that?” A pause while you thought, eyeing the not so obvious Daily Bugle patch on your bag, “I’m barely official.” Your heart in your chest, still pumping vigorously with a rush, skipped one beat and then continued.

“Do you want me to say I’ve got eyes everywhere, or that I just happen to keep my eyes on reporters who have their eye on me?” So Spider-Man knew who you were. He probably even knew of your first story you ever did on him, back when you were still in college. You shuttered, it wasn’t badly written, it just needed more concrete facts. Hopefully, you were wrong and Spider boy here just knew about you and the sensitive information you had gathered on Fisk that corroborated his takedown. With luck, he didn’t have extensive knowledge on all the stories you had written about him in your so far, short career.

“You know a way to get there? I got lost." A pause. "Laugh all you want.” Plainly, you admitted this. It was better than lying at least. But you squinted at him, as if to try and read his face better (albeit through the mask).

The guy behind the mask chuckled, happy to oblige to your latter statement, “I don’t even want to think about how you managed to get this lost.”

“So you know where it is.” You huffed. Of course Spider-Man knew where it was, J. Jonah Jameson practically hated him and revered him as a danger to society as we know it. Keep your ‘enemies’ close, as they say.

Spider-Man pretended to check his watch, “You’re way past late, but I bet I can make up for it.” There was an obvious smirk laced in with his words, even through his mask.

“What are you-aaaAAAHHHHHAH-” Before you could say more, the infamous spider grabbed your hand and pulled you close to him, shooting a web up to the top of the buildings and towards the sky. Your breath hitched and your heart hammered in your head as it looped around your body, but your eyes stayed open wide as you watched New York hum around you in a blur. You had seen this on TV, him swinging around the city, but experiencing it was slightly more terrifying. Suddenly, with each dip you gripped onto the superhero with more and more vigor, hoping that your fingers weren’t clawing into his back too hard. He said a few things while in the air, but it was muffled out through the wind and through you being much too anxious to be able to listen properly. You’re sure though, at first, that he had asked if you were okay.

All of a sudden, you had to keep blinking to believe it was true. That, and to keep bugs from flying into your eyes. It felt like a whole different New York, happening and unfolding so quickly around you. Each dip from the swing caused you to hear snippets of loud conversations and honking of cars and police radios going off. And then when you were closer to the tops of the sky scrapers, it all quieted and peace surrounded the air. But it was all New York. It was all alive. However much fear this was causing your heart, you wanted to experience this forever. It felt accelerating, and like nothing you had ever undergone before.

And then suddenly the movement stopped and you were still holding on to the masked vigilante, with your face hiding in his shoulder after making its way there during the swinging around New York bit. After a beat, he finally said, “You can let go now, we’re on what appears to be pretty solid ground.”

A warmth crept into your cheeks, and you were suddenly glad the icy winds had picked up again to hide your blush, as you unattached yourself from the hero and stepped onto the building’s open roof. “Sorry.”

“Happens to new web-slingers all the time, don’t sweat it.” He said this charmingly, as if it were true that this was a normal occurrence. A little smile crept onto your lips as you decided to take his word for it, thinking about whether or not the Daily Bugle’s readers would like to know that Spider-Man took people for joyrides (joy-swings?). You would add for his benefit that this was only in dire situations, of course.

As you looked at the new setting you had stepped onto, you realized you were on top of a building. The press building where the Daily Bugle now operated out of. Instead of acting shocked in a ‘this doesn’t seem real way’, you asked jokingly, “Was I really that far away? It seemed like an awful lot of…what did you call it web sw-”

“Web-slinging.” Spider-Man finished for you, seemingly feeling accomplished in what he named his activity. “And yeah, you were pretty far gone. I’d say it was a gift being able to get that lost, but it’s-”

“More likely a curse. I know, my mom tells me everyday.” You completed for the masked man in front of you.

He raised his arm again as a way to feign checking his watch, and let out an upbeat, “Whew!” with a breath and then continued. “Well, I better be off. By the way…the door needs a little kick to open it,” He pointed to the rooftop exit to the left of where you were standing, and wind still blowing your hair in uncontrollable ways, your gaze followed his direction. When you looked back at him, he was standing on the ledge of the roof, ready to swing off again. “Till next time.”

“Hopefully then I won’t be in too much trouble.” You shouted over the wind.

“Don’t be so sure.” Spider-Man shouted back, laughing and giving you a little farewell of a nod, and then launched himself over the side of the building.

_________________

When you finally moved, after standing staring at the spot he had left, you found he was right about the door. You did have to hit it a few times to get it to nudge open, but you were concerningly unsurprised how he knew it was unlocked. Even so, you would fail to later tell anyone of the missed inspection of the rooftop door from which you had gotten in. The first rule of journalism was to know what questions to ask and when. But a new rule entered your mind, which was to keep your mouth shut about something that could provide Spider-Man any minuscule amount of help, especially after saving your life. You figured there was a reason he knew about the door and you owed him that much. At least with seeing how you were already planning to write a story about your short interaction with him.

Creeping your way down the stairs, careful not to alert security of the way you had gotten in (a journalist also had to know when others would ask questions that they didn’t want being answered), you made your way to the floor where your new cubicle awaited you at the Daily Bugle’s press office. It was a good thing it was located on one of the higher levels because you found it rather quickly and were relieved you didn’t have to troop yourself down countless flights of stairs. But when you got to the entrance, you froze in awe. Leading to the offices were these two large glass doors, soaring much higher than your own height. On it read, simply, ‘Daily Bugle’ with its signature horn between the words. Underneath, it read in a smaller font, ‘New York’s finest daily paper’. Bodies bustled inside behind the glass and you heard the melodic sound of ruffling papers and hurried voices.

What brought you back to reality, though, was someone bumping into you from behind and dropping what seemed like thousands of pictures of Spider-Man. Pictures you recognized. Pictures that were going to go hand in hand with your expertly crafted exposé. Immediately guilty, you leaned down and helped the stranger retrieve them from the ground. Only, when you looked up and locked eyes with the owner you smiled in realization, warmth entering your face. “Pete! Oh I’m so sorry. Are you just getting in? I have so much to tell you.” Then looking down at the prints in your hands you started to look through them as you got up, “I could probably actually use one of these for the new story I’m working on. Jameson might hate it but-”

“Whoa, what’s got you in a rush?” Your colleague chuckled as he too stood up, pictures in hand, though he wasn’t looking at them as intently as you were with the ones in your own hands. From an outsider’s perspective, it would’ve been obvious he looked more intently at you then anything else; although you seldom noticed. You did notice, however, that his hair was more unusually disheveled and his jacket was inside out. But you, kindly, didn’t say anything.

You breathed in and let your friend guide you to your combined cubicle. His name flashed on the panel where you had to scan your ID. Peter Parker. When you sat down, you felt more relaxed. You and Peter had sat in similar seats for over a year and now you both sunk into them with a sense of normality. Before the Daily Bugle had moved to this building, you had become interns together while still in college and made a fast friendship, putting his pictures and your words together in an effort to make front page stories. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t really your first day at the Daily Bugle. But it was your first day in this building, and with a real job.

“Well,” You started. “I just had the craziest morning.” And then you eyed the clock, almost ready to bury your head in your hands and make a run back out the door, “And Jameson is so totally going to kill me for being late.”

Peter laughed again and lifted his camera from his bag, clicking through some pictures you couldn’t see from your seat, “I’m sure he’ll put me through the ringer too. We’ll go down together.”

You both waited a second, as if speaking of your boss would’ve caused him to appear out of thin air and strangle you both on counts of tardiness.

Then, because nothing happened, Peter leaned slightly on his desk after putting his camera down and looked at you, scanning your face for something. Even though you were a reporter, there were a lot of subtle clues you missed about Peter Parker. Really, it could all be chalked up to the fact that the both of you were so comfortable with each other that you hadn’t had any thought to question Pete’s little oddities. After another second of eyeing you, maybe for signs that you were going to break down, Pete spoke, “Maybe later we can talk about this new story of yours, and I can show you all the good ways to get here so you won’t be late. Shortcuts are my specialty.”

You smiled, peeking at the boy out of the corner of your eye while you got out your laptop. You had to submit the Fisk exposé to Jameson today, and it had to be perfect. Especially to make up for your recent tardiness. “How did you know I was late because I got lost?”

“Didn’t, till just now.” Pete chuckled, pushed his unkempt hair back from his face and continued. “Anyways, you have a terrible sense of direction. Is your phone even charged?”

Grumbling a soft, “No.” you dug around in your bag for your dead phone and handed it to your friend who had already gotten out his own charger. As you watched him carefully plug it into your phone, you thought for a second. Here, you had almost just died, and you were letting Peter Parker read you like a book without giving him anything but a friendly thought. Peter Parker who was cute and nerdy and liked you. “So, would this be like…a date?”

Peter, who was now leaning down and trying to plug in the device without removing himself from his chair, “Huh?” He almost hit his head on his desk.

When he reemerged, you asked again, “Peter, would this be a date? You showing me around the city?” You tried to keep your face from smiling too wide by typing away busily on your laptop.

Peter smiled sheepishly, and only by sitting so close as you were would you be able to notice the tint of blush coming out under his cheeks, “You live here, I don’t need to show you the whole-” But now you were looking at him with a, don’t act dumb look. He corrected himself and answered your question, “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“I want it to be.” This, you said with a sense of satisfaction. Then, “If I have you, I won’t need Spider-Man to save my life because I got lost.”

Peter, who you thankfully didn’t notice was faking, acted surprised and somewhat impressed, “Spider-Man had to save your life today?” He didn’t want to press too hard on your opinions of Spider-Man. Did you think he was cool? Sexy? Smart? All of the above? Did you think he felt strong when you held on to him? Of course, he (as in Peter) didn’t know that you held on to him so of course mentioning that was out of the question. What did you think of the upgraded suit? He (as in Spider-Man) definitely saw you blush, right? Did you like Spider-Man? You’d rewritten plenty of stories on him, that’s for sure.

Nonetheless, none of this came out of Peter’s mouth. Instead, he waited for you to speak again.

“It was crazy. He’s the reason I’m standing here now.” You got up and crossed the room, where the printer was now etching out a couple layouts you and Peter had worked on for your big story.

Peter just looked after you, watching you fiddle with the printer when it jammed and push little loose hairs from your face when they blocked your view. He couldn’t think about what a crime magnet you were turning out to be. Spider-Man had saved your life more than just that time that morning. He had practically prevented it, on multiple occasions (little to your knowledge). Fisk was starting to realize that you had more on him then what he thought, more than even you knew about. It was starting to get dangerous. Fisk sending that guy today was random. It shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t have gotten that close.

But Peter being overprotective that morning and deciding to go on Spidey patrol, just for the fact that he knew you might get lost, had paid off. He was checking up on you. That’s what friends did, right? And you were here and safe and talking to him like you were buzzing with the energy you knew you got before you had a big break. And now he just had to convince you not to run the Fisk story. It would be worth it in the end, he could still air out the evidence you had gathered. It just couldn’t be you. Peter couldn’t risk it.

Especially not now that you had agreed to go out with him.

You looked back at him as the printer jammed again and smiled. Why does it always have to be the ones that get into trouble?

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