we all wear masks [ p.p ]

→ i. red and blue hero

It's been three weeks, five days and eighteen hours since the first time you kissed Spiderman. You never thought you would meet an actual avenger, let alone find one who liked you and yet, here you were–waiting for him on the spot he claimed was yours, ready for another late night rendezvous with the masked hero. Masked, because he has yet to reveal his face to you and you respected that.

Captain America didn't wear a mask. Tony Stark didn't. Even the Hulk, a shapeshifter of sorts, was known as the groundbreaking Dr. Bruce Banner. But Spiderman was different, he never revealed his face–and although he told you you were different, you were special, that wasn't reason enough for you to justify unmasking his identity. Not yet, anyway.

He promised you every night that one day, when he was ready, he'd tell you. And you believed him.

So here you were, The night air blowing in your hair, biting at the anxious blush warming your cheeks–eyes scanning the dark sky in search of red and blue colours. Your fingers played with the loop of your jeans, waiting and waiting and your heart beat rapidly in between the seconds it took him to finally land in front of you with ease.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, and although you couldn't see it–you knew he had a smirk on his lips.

"Hey, babe," you smirked back, and a small groan left him as his gloved hands reached your hips.

"I love it when you call me that," he confessed, pulling you closer to him.

"I know you do," you pulled his mask up, parked it above his nose before you brushed yours against it, "that's why I say it."

"How was your day?" He asked, swaying the pair of you slightly as your arms locked behind his neck.

"Had a history test, aced it for sure," you smiled slightly and he sent you a proud smile in return. "Did you catch any bad guys tonight?"

"Nope," he said, lips popping around the letters, causing your eyes to glue at his thin upper lip–the one that always called your name. "It's been kinda boring, but at least I get to spend more time with you."

"Yeah, until your AI cockblocks us again," you rolled your eyes jokingly. Or rather, only half-jokingly, as you did despise the silent voice in his mask that always dragged him away from you and off towards a new terror.

"Well, then let's stop wasting time, yeah?" He let out in a low rasp, the one he knew drove you crazy, and leaned in. Lips crashing against each other, it was already too familiar the way he tasted and the way his lips folded into yours and the way the fabric of his gloves felt against your bare neck.

As Spiderman pecked your lips three times in a row, a tick you learned to mean he needed to tell you something but wasn't prepared to pull away just yet, you finally felt the heat from his cheeks leave your face–eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you struggled to regain your cool after finally kissing him again. After a torturous seventeen hours of being without him.

"I need to tell you something," he whispered into the air, and you finally opened your eyes just so you could roll them at him.

"I know, you did the thing," you mumbled, pecking his lips one more time before you let him go on.

"Remember the girl I told you about?" He asked before his lips pursed together. It vaguely reminded you of something, but you couldn't put your finger on it. Besides, it was far too difficult to string your thoughts together around the masked hero, let alone try and remember anything.

"Yeah," you let out, the slightest pinch of jealousy tugging at your heart.

When it first began, whatever it was that you and Spiderman had, he told you there was another girl in his life. A girl he was seeing and liked him and she had to be beautiful to catch his eyes. Spiderman told you about her because it wasn't fair to you not to know the whole truth before you went forward with you feelings. And yes, it hurt to know that someone else had his heart but then yo decided it was better to have half of him then nothing at all–and so you said you didn't mind. Although you did, and sometimes you killed yourself with the thought that he was with someone else, or he was married, or he had a house and five spider kids waiting for him to come home–yet somehow, all that didn't really matter. Not when his hands were around your waist and you could hear the steady beat of his heart under the red lycra hugging his chest. So you told him you didn't care, and he should take time to figure out what he wanted.