Black Light

You fidgeted in the elevator slightly, the polished steel walls showing your slightly blurred reflection in nearly every surface. You tidied yourself up, touching up your lipstick, tucking the small tube back into your clutch, carefully hiding the contents from the security camera in the corner. There was a soft ding as the elevator stopped and the doors opened with a quiet whoosh, and you were met with the loud music of the after party.

You looked around, finding Harry on a couch talking to a pair of models, and Peter at the bar, looking around. He saw you as you re-entered the party, and his face lit up.

“Y/n, I was looking for you,” he was grinning as he approached you.

“I need another drink, there's nothing quite like a trip to the bathroom to sober you up,” you smiled at him, clutch gripped tightly in your hand.

“Sure, lemme grab one for you.”

You followed Peter back to the bar, where he ordered you a drink of your choice.

The rest of the night was a blur after your third drink, but at a certain point Harry and Peter and yourself had all agreed it was time to leave. You leaned your head on Peter's shoulder the whole way to your apartment while he played with your hand in his. You were still a bit drunk, body a peculiar mix of heaviness and weightlessness. You felt the limo slow and stop.

“Hey, Y/n,” Peter was whispering rubbing your arm gently. “We're at your place, do you want me to walk you in?”

You nodded, scooting clumsily out of the car, waving goodnight to Harry.

Peter walked you up to the front door of your building, as you unlocked the door, you turned to him. “D'you wanna stay over? Just t' sleep,” you added, looking at him.

Peter paused, clearly also still as drunk as yourself, and nodded. “Yeah, lemme tell Harry,” he said, jogging down the steps and to the limo. He tapped on a window and it rolled down to reveal Harry's face. They exchanged a few words before Harry grinned, and the limo drove off. Peter jogged back, slipped a hand into yours and then followed you inside and up to your apartment, making a few jokes about specific party guests you'd seen earlier that night. Peter was still holding your hand, and you were staring at him with a wide smile when the elevator dropped you off at your floor, and you both quietly walked to your apartment.

You let him in, giggling, while he kept making jokes. “Oh my god, Peter, shh! I don't know if Stacy's asleep!”

He grinned, leaning down behind you and nipped your ear suddenly, a hand on your waist as you kicked off your heels, one of your hands on the wall for support.

Stumbling, and now a good deal shorter, you turned your head back to try and look at him. His mouth slipped down further, brushing soft kisses on your neck. You made a small involuntary sound, and felt him smile against your neck as he stepped closer behind you, both hands on your waist and chest touching your back.

You leaned back against him, putting a hand over one of his, and slipping it into yours, you led him to your room. He stepped inside and you closed the door, leaning back against it. He turned back and looked at you as you raised your eyebrow.

“Well?”

He approached slowly, cupping your face in his hands, and kissed you softly. You put your arms around his shoulders, both of you clumsy but gentle. A hand started to creep down from your face, over the side of your neck, and his thumb brushed over your pulse. He pulled his hand away from you before you felt an arm wrap around your waist, and he pulled your body against his. He hummed when you pulled his hair gently and stepped forward, pushing him towards your bed. He took the hint and walked backwards until the back of his legs hit the mattress, and sat with a thump and let go of you and looked up at you to see what you would do.

You climbed up, surprisingly graceful considering how many drinks were in you, and straddled his lap, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck to play with his hair, both of his hands still on the mattress by his sides.

You stared at each other for a long, drawn out moment. His hands found themselves on your knees, then sliding up your thighs under the hem of your dress, stopping several inches away from your hips, eyes still locked on yours the entire time. He finally looked away as he leaned in to kiss your neck again, and you closed your eyes. His hands stayed where they were, gently gripping.

You started to loosen his tie, clumsily undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, and turned your attention to his own neck. His hands slid farther up your thighs and rested on your hips, sighing. You popped open a few more buttons on his shirt, and pushed him back onto your bed, his mouth in a surprised “o” as he looked back up at you. You shifted your hips slightly, and reached back to unzip your dress, before realizing there was no way you could do it on your own.

“My zipper,” you whispered, and he immediately sat back up, taking both hands off your hips to reach behind you and carefully unzip the back of your dress. You pulled your arms free of the sleeves and the top fell forward, revealing your bare skin and thankfully nice bra. Peter immediately started kissing down your collar bone, and down your chest, scooting back so you both weren't perched on the edge of your bed. You pushed him down again, and he pulled you with him, rolling you onto your back, one arm holding himself up off of you while the other slipped up your thigh again.

You stayed like this for a while, just kissing and gently touching the others' arms, legs, chests, necks, etc. Still mostly clothed, Peter eventually shifted off of you, laying down beside you on the pillow, and pulled you into his chest. You wrapped an arm around him as well, smiling softly.

“Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he whispered back, kissing your cheek under your eye, and you both fell asleep to the sound of quiet breathing.

The next morning you woke just before ten. It was cloudy out again, and you shivered, cold, having never made it under your blankets and your dress still half on and half off. You looked at the other side of the bed, where Peter was sleeping on his back, mouth slightly open, shirt slightly unbuttoned, very ruffled, and his tie missing. Grinning, you scooted closer to him, just barely touching his side, and took a deep breath. You both smelled vaguely of alcohol, but it was a background smell to the smell of your room and the smell of Peter, something that was becoming more and more comforting to you every time you were with him.

You heard a yawn and felt him shift next to you. You cracked an eye open as a hand brushed over your shoulder.

“G'morning,” you tried to suppress your smile.

He smiled back. “Good morning. Are you cold?”

You nodded.

“C'mere,” he said softly, and wrapped an arm around you pulling you close and rubbing his hand across your bare back to warm you up. “I don't know how you managed to fall asleep with your clothes like that, it can't have been comfortable.”

“Drunk,” you replied. “Drunk makes everything comfortable.”

“Did you want to change?”

“Mm. Yeah, but I don't wanna get up.”

Peter laughed. “Change. I'll be right here.”

You groaned unhappily, rolling away from Peter and getting pajamas out of your dresser. A tank top and some pajama pants. Cozy, but still cute. Peter wasn't ready to see your ratty tie-dyed pajama t-shirt yet. You found your largest shirt—a plain gray shirt you'd kept from a one night stand who was just a little bigger than Peter as payment for ripping your tights that night—and tossed it over to him after changing. It hit his back, he'd looked away while you changed.

“Here, if you're gonna stay for a while you might as well be comfortable too.” You went back over and crawled under your blanket. “If you wanna take off your dress-pants that's okay too.”

Peter smiled at you gratefully, and changed his shirt with his back to you. You weren't as polite, and found yourself staring—he had two rather large scars running diagonally across his back from his right shoulder-blade towards his left hip, ending near his elbow. After putting on the shirt, he pulled off his pants and crawled under the blankets with you.

“What are those scars from?” You asked, whispering.

“On my back?” He paused. “Accident.”

You didn't press the issue. It started to rain, the two of you staying in bed for another hour and a half before Peter had to go home to get ready for work, dressing back into his suit from the night before, and kissing you goodbye at your front door.

As soon as you closed the door behind him, gently shutting it with a soft click, Stacy let out a whistle.

“He cleans up pretty nice, don't he?”

You turned around, embarrassed and flushed. “How long have you been out here?”

“I just came out as you were mackin' on each other in the doorway,” Stacy was seated on the couch, looking at you over the back of it with a sly pleased smile. “So he stayed the night?”

“Yeah. We just slept though,” you added quickly.

She responded with a raised perfect eyebrow. “Just slept?”

“We made out a little bit. But we were drunk so we just went to sleep,” you squirmed under her questioning gaze.

“Well I like him. He seems like a good guy, and I have very accurate first impressions of people.”

You laughed. “I know you do, Stace.”

“Except for you, actually. When I first met you, I thought 'this girl is smart, but it's gonna get her into trouble. She's going to be trouble.'” She laughed. “I was pretty wrong about the trouble part, unless you count fighting pervs at bars as trouble.”

You smiled at her, and turned away towards the stove to make some hot water for some hot chocolate.

The rest of your weekend was spent doing homework and rushing in and out of Noble's lab, doing experiments on the small glowing item you'd stolen from Stark and helping her finish work on The Heart—which you still didn't know the purpose of. You didn't see Peter until just before your class together at the beginning of next week, when you both went to get a late breakfast before class. The week was uneventful, just back to the usual schedule of classes, homework, Noble's Super Duper Secret Laboratory of Doom, and of course, Peter, who you found yourself seeing during every second of free time you both had.

Towards the end of the week, you were entering Noble's lab, a new bounce in your step. Noble pointed it out.

“Whoever you're seeing must be good for you. I've never seen you so bright and cheerful before, you're almost a new person!”

You grinned, turning around from closing the door, and stopped. “Where did it go?”

The room was empty, The Heart was gone, the only sign it had been there was a hook hanging from the ceiling where it had been for the last few months.

“Oh, my project? I finished! A.I.M. came to collect and ship it off to it's new home yesterday.”

“Where?” You asked as you took off your coat and scarf and hung up your bag, slipping on some safety gloves and grabbing a pair of goggles.

“I can't tell you that, unfortunately.” A pause. “No need for the safety gear today Y/l/n, I'm heading to the main offices to visit Mr. Adams. I would have called you, but it was a last minute thing. You've got the day off.”

“Oh,” you paused awkwardly and retraced your steps in reverse, taking off the safety gloves and goggles and slipping on your coat and donning your scarf. “Alright then. Is everything okay?”

“I just have to go there to pick up the details for my next project. Our lab hours may change, I'll email you with any new details.”

With that she ushered you out, and the second you neared the main public subway system, your phone began to ring. Still recovering from the whiplash of your suddenly changed schedule, you flipped through your head for anything you could do while you were out, when your phone buzzed.

It was A.I.M. with an errand. Apparently a politician needed a little talking to.

No problem.

An hour later you found yourself slipping in through the top floor window of an office in an older brick building. They'd given you an address and a short set of instructions. What was so important that they needed you to go handle it?

I can damage his stuff but not him, you reminded yourself as you slid the window shut behind you and lowered the blinds. You turned around to scan over the office, eyes picking up small details. One picture frame with a photo of his wife beside the sleek monitor on his obviously expensive wooden desk, a filing cabinet, a shelf of thick books, a standing coat rack by the door, two wooden chairs facing the desk, and on one wall a painting of the Empire State Building. Everything obviously expensive.

You did a quick loop around the room, taking quick peeks into drawers and the two extra doors. One led to a private bathroom and the other was a small coat closet. The books were dry boring titles one would expect to see in an office of this type. The whole room was entirely unoriginal.

You heard footsteps approaching the office, and you took your spot on the far side of the room beside the window, standing with your arms crossed. The doorknob jiggled, turning, and the door swung open, a tall man in a clean dark suit entering. Was this guy actually whistling? He closed the door behind himself, and while his back was to you you cleared your throat.

“Hello, Mr. Smith.”

He spun around, pale blue eyes wide, pale skin drained of all color. He looked like a sickly skinned potato.

“Have a seat, Mr. Smith,” you said, sauntering around to the back of his desk and sitting down in his chair. All a deliberate move to unsettle him, make him feel less, show him you were the one in charge right now. “Please,” you insisted, gesturing at the two leather chairs he had for office visitors, face pointed towards him the entire time to show you were watching him since he couldn't see your eyes.

He swallowed visibly and audibly, nervously taking a seat. “What do you want?”

“Do you know who I am Mr. Smith?”

“I've seen you on the news. You're new.”

“New here, maybe,” you said, looking away from him and towards the framed photo of his wife. You brushed a finger over the top of the picture frame as if cleaning off dust. “You know what they call me?”

“Black Light.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“You glow?”

You looked at him again. “That's part of it.” You stood, walking around the desk to lean back against it in front of him, clearly intruding on his personal bubble. You made as if you were examining your glove, adjusting it, even though it was sitting perfectly on your hand already. Your hand began to glow indigo violet, a soft hum filling the air. He was staring at the glow, hypnotized. “Did you know they have electric bug zappers with black-light lightbulbs to attract bugs?”

Without warning you struck out, smashing the arm of his chair into splinters. He flinched, nearly falling out of the chair in his effort to get away from you.

Scare him, and remind him of the deal he made, you reminded yourself of your goal here before you got too carried away. You would be lying if you said you weren't enjoying this a little. You let the light fade from your hand, the humming in the air fading away with it.

“There a lot of people in this world that look like bugs to me, Mr. Smith. Men who back out of business arrangements included, and I have no qualms zapping them.”

Mr. Smith was shaking. “You wouldn't-”

Both of your arms were glowing again. You lunged forward, grabbing his chair. He flinched back, and you lifted the side of the chair, throwing him out of it sideways onto the ground. You threw the chair against the wall by the window where the wood shattered and then rained down with soft clunks like a large windchime onto the carpet.

“I would.”

He was shaking on the floor, wide eyed and fearful.

“Keep your promises, Mr. Smith, or next time that chair will be you, and your wife will never know what happened.”

He nodded frantically. “I understand, please-”

“If I have to visit you again I won't be happy.”

And with that, you exited back out through the windows. Since you were out and about and in costume, you might as well go pay a visit to Harry.

It took nearly half an hour of rooftop jumping and swinging on your grappling hook to get to Harry's penthouse apartment. The lights were on—he was home this time. You let yourself in, venturing into the kitchen for a drink of water and whatever food he had available. If you were going to help him kill a guy, it was only fair you got some free food out of it.

You heard him enter the living room behind you.

“I wasn't sure when you were coming back.”

“Well, I'd give you my number but I don't exactly have a work phone and I don't like business partners calling me on my personal phone. Surprise visits will have to do.” You glanced back at him. “You have quite a bit of alcohol in here, Harry. Throwing a party soon?”

He didn't answer, just watching you.

You sighed and closed the fridge.

“Why are you here?”

“To help you kill Spider-Man, remember? We won't make an effective team if we don't get to know each others' fighting style. Start stretching and get out your gear, we're going to commit a robbery. Green Goblin and Black Light, the new fearsome duo.”

“Where are we going to-?”

“Not sure yet. But it has to be villainous or it won't get our leggy friend's attention. Any businesses you want to screw over?”

Harry paused. “I can think of one.”

“Let's go destroy their shit, then.”

It took Harry a while to get into the suit for the Goblin. It fit him, surprisingly well in fact. The plate over his abdomen had two large jagged holes—you realized with a lurch of your stomach that this was the suit his father had died in. The mask was different too, while the one Norman Osborn had worn was grotesque and twisted like a Halloween mask, this one was sleek, clearly an altered motorcycle helmet. You could tell from looking at it that it had some serious tech hidden inside. The top swept back into two pointed ears, arching straight back from the head. The visor was up, the bottom of the glass—shatter proof, you hoped—had white jagged teeth painted onto it, and the thick part across the chin had matching teeth, making it look as if his face was being swallowed by a mouth. Out on the terrace he mounted the hover glider.

“You know how to fly that thing, right?”

“Yeah. I actually helped develop it, believe it or not,” he looked at you, sliding the visor down over his face locking it shut with a snap, the painted teeth matching up to create a jack-o-lantern style snarl. “Let's go.” His voice came out distorted, crackly and high. Nobody would recognize him unless the voice distorter broke or he became unmasked. His own version of your false accent. Smart.

“Mind if I hang onto you?” You asked, lifting your grappling hook to show what you meant.

“Go for it. It's pretty sturdy.” And with that, the glider roared to life, lighting up with tiny orange lights all around the edge, and he took off.

You shot the grappling hook out, latching onto him, and with it attached to your belt you were carried along with him, hanging below like a spy from a rescue helicopter in an action movie. You whooped with excitement, and heard Harry's distorted goblin laugh above you swallowed by the wind and the rain that began to fall.

You never thought that mindlessly destroying things would be this much pure fun. You could tell from Harry's high cackling he was enjoying this as much as you, maybe even more. Legs and arms glowing, you smashed through every surface without a care, knocking down walls and smashing computers and metal doors. Harry was flying around on his glider, dropping pumpkin shaped mini grenades into various lab rooms and zooming through and out of the resulting explosions, cackling drowned out by the small booms.

You heard creaking, and felt the floor shift, and instantly you were snapped out of your destructive glee. How long had you been smashing everything in your path? How many floors had you destroyed? You knew at least two, but it was a blur.

“GOBLIN!” You yelled, turning towards Harry. “GOBLIN! THE BUILDING IS COMING DOWN!”

He stopped, a pumpkin bomb exploding somewhere, and you held eye contact as the creaking grew louder and the floor started to tilt.

The glider zoomed towards you, Harry grabbing you and sweeping you up in a tight not-quite-hug as he soared out of the side of the building, glass and plaster raining down around you. He zoomed up into the sky, out of the path of the falling building, and stopped so the two of you could marvel at your work. Sirens were going off, the building was on fire, falling in on itself, the top quarter falling sideways into the street.

You heard Harry laughing, still holding you, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck to keep yourself secure.

“Holy shit,” you laughed, releasing the nervous energy you'd held while fleeing the building.

“Holy shit is right,” he couldn't stop laughing as he flew away from the building. “That was fantastic!”

“Well I'm glad you enjoyed the work, Goblin,” you yelled over the wind.

A spotlight landed on the two of you from below, and another joined from above.

It was the news.

“Well, if the building didn't get Spidey's attention, seeing us on the news certainly will,” you grinned. “Let's get out of here.”

Harry zoomed away, back to his home, taking the long way and leaving the news crews in the figurative dust.