The rooftop gravel crunched under my sneakers as I stepped out from the stairwell door. The city was a glittering wound below us. The wind whipped cold enough to cut straight through my hoodie. Gwen was already there. Crouched on the ledge of the old billboard like she owned the night. One knee up, the other leg dangling over a forty-story drop. The violet-and-white suit hugged every line of her body. The spider emblem caught the neon glow from the street far below.
That Ass tho
(Check comments for what Peter saw)
My pulse hammered in my throat. Calm down, Parker. Virgin both in your past life and this life remember? Seventeen, super-soldier serum or not, still a virgin.
I cleared my throat.
Peter: Yo.
Gwen spun so fast she almost slipped. Her web-shooter snapped up on pure reflex. A thick strand shot straight at my face. I tilted my head a fraction. The web slapped the brick wall behind me and stuck there like a silver exclamation mark.
Gwen: Peter?
Her voice cracked through the modulator. Half panic, half disbelief.
Gwen: I, uh… citizen! What are you doing up here?
I couldn't help it. I laughed. Loud and helpless, hands on my knees.
Peter: Pfft. Come on, Gwen. I literally helped you refine the tensile strength on that web fluid you called a 'science project.' You think I wouldn't recognize my own polymer signature from a mile away?
She stared for a heartbeat. Then reached up and peeled the mask off in one smooth motion. Blonde hair tumbled free. It caught the wind and the city light, framing her face in messy gold. Even from ten feet away I could see the flush climbing her cheeks. The way her lips parted like she couldn't decide whether to yell or bolt.
Peter: Beautiful.
I said it before my brain caught up with my mouth.
The blush went nuclear.
Gwen: Peter—
Gwen: You need to leave. It's dangerous up here. We'll talk tomorrow, I promise, just—
I let the Vector suit unfold.
The shift was instantaneous. Matte-black hex panels rippled over my hoodie like liquid armor. White hair spilled down my back. The lower-face mask sealed with a soft hiss. The kinetic boots added two inches to my height. The collapsible shield snapped open on my left forearm with a metallic sigh. The whole transformation took less than two seconds. The look on her face made it feel like slow motion.(I decided to go with The full aesthetic to make this scene better)
Peter: Yeah. I'm Vector. Surprise?
Gwen's mouth actually fell open.
Gwen: Peter, you're Vector?
The words came out a shout that echoed off the water tower.
Peter: You know I'm literally right here, right? No need to scream.
She closed the distance in two quick strides. Her hands reached like she wanted to shake me or hug me or maybe both.
Gwen: How? When? Why?
I caught her wrists gently. My thumbs brushed the inside of her gloves where her pulse was hammering like a trapped bird.
Peter: Okay, short version because we're on a clock. I'm… kind of a mutant. My power is weird. It's like… checkpoints. Every so often reality hands me a new ability, or blueprint, or piece of gear. Totally random, totally overpowered. I've been rolling the dice since the day I woke up a few months ago I didn't choose the name Vector because I wanted to become one.The city did. I just… stopped fighting it.
Her eyes searched mine through the glowing slits of my mask. Wide and scared and furious all at once.
Gwen: You've been doing this alone? All those warehouses, the explosions, the—
Peter: I wasn't going to let you carry it by yourself. Not after what happened with your dad. Not after I realized what made you become this could have been the same for me
The wind chose that moment to gust hard. It whipped her hair across her face. She didn't move to fix it.
Peter: Gwen.
I let go of one wrist and brushed the strands away with my gloved fingers. Careful, careful, like she might break or I might.
Peter: I know what you're thinking. You're supposed to protect me. Keep the nice, normal boy out of the crossfire. But my life stopped being normal a long time ago. And I'm done watching you bleed for a city that doesn't even know your name.
Her breath hitched. She stepped into me without warning. Her arms slid around my waist. Her face pressed into the armored plates over my chest. The suit registered impact, then warmth, then the frantic beat of her heart against mine. She was shaking.
Gwen: I was so scared. Every time I saw the news, Vector this, Vector that, I kept thinking what if it's someone I know, what if they get hurt, what if—
Peter: I'm right here.
My voice was rough. I wrapped my arms around her, careful of the strength that could crush steel. I just held her like she was the only real thing in the world.
Peter: And I'm not going anywhere.
She pulled back just far enough to look up at me. Her eyes were shining. Her lips were trembling.
Gwen: You're an idiot.
Peter: Yeah. But I'm your idiot.
The joke landed soft. Something fragile and warm bloomed between us. She laughed once, watery, then rested her forehead against my collarbone. I could feel her breath through the suit. Warm and shaky.
Gwen: But Peter, we're in real danger. Like, end-of-the-world-if-we-screw-up danger. I don't know I've been getting this feeling
I tightened my arms.
Peter: I know. Hammerhead called in the Red Room. Black Widow protocol went live four days ago. They're here. In the city. Hunting us.
She went rigid.
Gwen: How many?
Peter: Four confirmed. Maybe five. Trained from childhood to kill people like us before breakfast.
Gwen pulled back, eyes wide, but there was steel in them now.
Gwen: We can't fight that alone.
Peter: We're not. Not anymore.
She studied my face or what she could see of it through the mask for a long moment. Then she reached up. Her fingers brushed the edge where mask met skin, hesitant.
Gwen: Take it off.
She whispered it.
I did. The lower-face plate retracted with a soft click. Cool air hit my mouth and jaw. Her thumb traced the line of my cheekbone like she was memorizing it.
Gwen: You're really here.
She said it with wonder and fear braided together.
Peter: Always.
I answered.
Timeskip to a few minutes later
The U9 eased up the private drive like it was sliding on silk. Headlights swept across manicured boxwoods. The motion sensors bathed everything in soft amber. I let the motors die with that low, satisfied hum. For a long second the only sound was the faint city traffic far below and Gwen's breathing. Quick and shallow, like she still couldn't believe any of this was real.
She sat in the passenger seat with her mask crushed in one fist. Her hair was a wild golden halo from the rooftop wind. Her eyes were wide as she took in the dashboard that looked more spaceship than car. The violet accent lighting. The Alcantara everywhere. The faint scent of new leather and money.
Gwen: You have a car? When the hell did this happen, Peter?
I killed the interior lights. The only glow came from the city beyond the windshield and the soft blue glow of the gauges painting her face in shifting waves. I turned toward her. Elbow on the steering wheel, trying to look casual even though my pulse was doing Olympic gymnastics.
Peter: I'm Batman.
I deadpanned.
She punched my arm. Soft, playful. The kind of hit that was ninety-nine percent affection and one percent warning. The serum registered it like a love letter written in Morse code.
Gwen: Don't you dare start with me.
Peter: Okay, okay, fine.
I lifted both hands in surrender. A grin took over my face whether I wanted it to or not.
Peter: I'm the single owner, CEO, janitor, and entire board of directors of Candy Blast. Obsidian Works is the boring legal name on the paperwork nobody ever reads. Surprise, I guess?
Gwen's mouth actually fell open. Not the cute little O of surprise. This was full-on jaw-drop, cartoon shock. She stared at me for three full heartbeats. Then leaned back against the headrest and laughed. Bright, disbelieving, perfect. The sound bounced around the cockpit and made the whole car feel suddenly warmer.
Gwen: You absolute nerd. You built a literal empire out of matching colors and didn't tell a soul?
Peter: I was waiting for the right moment.
I said, rubbing the back of my neck because apparently that was my new nervous tic around her. Heat crawled up my ears.
Peter: Turns out the right moment is when Russian murder-nuns are trying to collect our heads for sport.
The laughter faded into something quieter, softer. She bit her lip. Her eyes flicked to the dark house waiting for us. I reached over without thinking. I tucked a loose strand of wind-tangled hair behind her ear. My thumb brushed her cheek because I could now. Because twenty minutes ago she'd kissed me on a rooftop. Her skin was warm, a little wind-chilled, perfect.
Peter: Come on.
I said, voice lower than I meant it to be.
Peter: Let me show you the rest. Gaia would help too
I climbed out and circled to her door. Old-school chivalry drilled into me by May and Ben. I offered my hand. She took it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fingers threading through mine, palm to palm. I led her up the flagstone path. The biometric lock chimed a low, welcoming note as we approached. The front lights came on in a slow, warm wave.
We stepped into the foyer. The motion sensors woke everything up properly. Recessed lighting bloomed golden. The faint scent of new paint and cedar drifted through the air. Gwen stopped dead on the marble. Her sneakers squeaked. She looked around like she'd walked into a magazine spread and forgotten how to blink.
Gwen: Gaia?
She asked the second the door sealed behind us. That tiny jealous edge creeping in.
The lights brightened a notch. Gaia's voice rolled through the hidden speakers like velvet soaked in honey and winter.
Gaia: Good evening, Gwen. I'm Gaia, Peter's personal artificial intelligence. It's a pleasure to finally meet the woman who's been keeping him up at night, in every possible sense of the phrase.
Gwen's hand tightened in mine so hard I felt it through the serum.
Gwen: Hold up. That voice is literally Esdeath from Akame ga Kill. You absolute weeb.
My face went nuclear. But I kept calm
Peter: I have zero idea what you're talking about.
Gwen: Liar.
She muttered, but her eyes were dancing now. Soft and fond and a little dangerous.
I snapped my fingers. Mostly for the drama. The air in front of us rippled like heat over asphalt in July. A perfect circle of violet-white light opened mid-air. Edges flickered with scrolling code. Through it, the workshop waited. Endless white walls. Floating holograms. Drones hanging in neat rows like metallic dragonflies asleep on the wing. Workbenches cluttered with half-built miracles and the occasional coffee mug.
Gwen's grip went slack.
Gwen: Wait. You can summon portals?
Peter: Not exactly summon. More like… doorway. Checkpoint thing again. It's a pocket dimension, totally separate from normal space. Safe. Private. Come on.
She stepped through like she was walking into a dream. Her boots echoed on the seamless floor. Her head swiveled. Taking in the armor racks with half-finished suits hanging like ghosts. The drone assembly arms frozen mid-motion. The massive holographic globe in the center spinning slowly. The air smelled like ozone and fresh solder.
Peter: This is basically my Batcave. Drones, gear maintenance, Gaia's core servers, everything happens here. No one can track it. No one can find it. It's ours.
Gwen spun in a slow circle. Her eyes were huge.
Gwen: Peter… this is insane. You built all this?
Peter: my super power did Gaia handled the parts that would've taken me ten PhDs and a government grant.
I walked to the nearest bench. I picked up the gift I'd been working on since the night she first showed me her janky homemade shooters in the chem lab. Two sleek wrist units. Matte violet with white accents. Smaller, lighter, sexier than anything on the market. Spinnerets recessed and seamless.
Peter: I have a surprise for you.
I said, turning back to her.
She drifted closer. Curiosity winning over awe. I held them out like an offering.
Peter: Custom shooters. New alloy, new fluid formula, three times the tensile strength, faster deployment, variable settings for sticky, impact, taser, even a new wide-dispersal net mode that'll wrap a city bus if you need it to. They'll never jam, never run dry as long as you've got cartridges, and they match your suit perfectly.
Gwen took them like they were made of spun glass. Turning them over in her hands. Tracing the tiny spider I'd etched into the underside of each cuff. Her eyes were shining when she looked up.
Gwen: You made these for me?
Peter: Been working on them since the night you got bit. Figured if we're doing this, we do it right.
She slipped them on without asking. The units locked with a soft magnetic click. Lights cycling violet as they synced to her biometrics. She flicked her fingers. A test line shot out, sticking to the far wall with a perfect thwip, then retracted smooth as silk.
Gwen: They're perfect.
She whispered it.
I stepped closer. Close enough to see the city reflected in her eyes even though we were in another dimension entirely. Close enough to smell the faint vanilla of her shampoo.
Peter: You're perfect.
The words hung between us. Heavier than the armor. Heavier than the house. Heavier than the war waiting outside. She reached up and tugged my lower-face mask down again. Slow, deliberate. Until it was just us. Peter and Gwen. Breathing the same recycled workshop air that suddenly felt too warm.
Gwen: You're really a millionaire.
She said, almost laughing.
Peter: Multi.
I corrected, grinning like an absolute idiot.
Gwen: And you built me web-shooters.
Peter: And a Batcave.
Gwen: And you kissed me on a rooftop like some kind of romance-novel cliché.
Peter: That too.
She rose on her toes and kissed me again. Softer this time. Lingering. Tasting like cherry lip balm and adrenaline and the kind of hope I hadn't let myself feel in months. Her hands came up to cradle my jaw. Her thumbs stroked the line of my jaw, sending shivers down my spine. I slid my hands to her waist, careful of her clothes, and kissed her back. It was a slow, deep exploration. A silent conversation. Her lips were incredibly soft, moving against mine with a tenderness that made my chest ache. I could feel the frantic beat of her heart, or maybe it was my own. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless, our foreheads resting together.
Gwen: So.
Her voice was husky.
Gwen: What now, Mr. Millionaire Mutant CEO?
I smiled against her lips.
Peter: Now we figure out how to keep each other alive
She laughed. The sound was bright and real and mine. For the first time since the spider bit the wrong person, the future didn't feel quite so heavy.
The kitchen smelled like garlic, tomatoes, and the kind of comfort that only comes when someone's trying to pretend the world isn't on fire. I'd kicked everyone out while I cooked. Old habit from helping May since I was tall enough to reach the stove. So the only sounds for a while had been the sizzle of olive oil. The low hum of the exhaust fan. The occasional clatter of a wooden spoon against cast iron. Now the sauce was simmering. The pasta water was bubbling. And the living room had turned into mission control without anyone officially declaring it.
Gwen padded in barefoot. Wearing one of my old Midtown High hoodies that hung to mid-thigh on her. And a pair of my sweatpants cinched tight at the waist with the drawstring pulled as far as it would go. Her hair was still damp from the shower. Falling in loose waves that caught the pendant lights and turned gold every time she moved. She looked soft and dangerous at the same time. Like someone had taken a thunderstorm and wrapped it in cotton.
She dropped onto the oversized sectional, knees-first. Curled into the corner. And hugged a throw pillow to her chest like armor.
Gwen: So. What's the plan, chef?
Her voice was a little hoarse from the rooftop wind earlier.
I leaned in the doorway between kitchen and living room. Drying my hands on a dish towel. Trying not to stare at how the hoodie slipped off one shoulder when she shifted.
Peter: First rule. We are absolutely, one-hundred-percent not splitting up. Ever. That's horror-movie stupidity and I refuse.
Gwen huffed a laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Gwen: Noted. No wandering off to check the creepy noise in the basement.
Peter: Second.
I continued, walking over and dropping beside her. Close enough that our thighs touched.
Peter: We stop playing fair. They're professional killers. Red Room graduates. They don't send warning shots. They don't monologue. They don't care if we're seventeen or seventy. So we stop acting like we owe them a clean fight.
She turned to face me fully, pillow forgotten.
Gwen: Define 'not playing fair.'
I glanced up at the ceiling where Gaia's subtle holo-emitters were hidden.
Peter: Gaia, hypothetical. Can we load the drone swarm with non-lethal payloads? Sleeping gas canisters, flash-bang variants, maybe some high-intensity holograms of us running in six different directions? Pepper-spray mist on a timer? Electrified netting?
Gaia materialized at the coffee table. Arms folded, expression unreadable.
Gaia: All feasible. I have twelve variants of aerosolized sedative that induce unconsciousness in four to seven seconds with no long-term damage. Holographic decoys are already in the queue. I can project up to eight simultaneous phantoms with heat signatures and micro-drones for sound. Pepper payload is childishly simple. Netting can carry fifty thousand volts, non-lethal, of course.
Gwen's eyes went comically wide.
Gwen: You want to gas them?
Peter: They want to put bullets in our skulls.
I said, gentler than I felt.
Peter: I'm suggesting we make them take a very long nap and wake up zip-tied for SHIELD, or whoever gets there first. I'm done pulling punches when the other side brought flamethrowers.
She chewed her bottom lip, thinking. I could practically see the gears turning. The girl who'd spent months trying to talk down purse-snatchers wrestling with the reality that the people coming for us had been trained to murder since they could walk.
Gwen: I don't want to become what we're fighting.
She said finally, voice small.
Peter: You won't.
I told her.
Peter: We're not killing anyone. We're just making sure we're the ones who get to go home afterward.
She was quiet for a long minute. Staring at her hands. Then she looked up, and there was steel under the worry.
Gwen: Sleeping gas, holograms, nets, the works. But we set rules. No permanent damage. No kids in the crossfire. And if we can take them alive, we do.
Peter: Deal.
I bumped her shoulder with mine.
Peter: We'll even leave a little note that says 'Sorry about the headache, love Ghost-Spider and Vector.'
That earned me a real smile. Tired but genuine.
Gwen: You're enjoying this a little too much.
Peter: Only the part where I get to keep you breathing.
The timer dinged in the kitchen. I stood, offered her my hand. She took it without hesitation. I pulled her up, close enough that her damp hair brushed my jaw. She smelled like my shampoo and something that was just Gwen. Clean skin and rooftop air and cherry lip balm. My brain short-circuited for a second.
Peter: Dinner first.
I said, voice rougher than intended.
Peter: Then we plan how to ruin four highly-trained assassins' entire week.
She followed me into the kitchen. Hopping up to sit on the island while I drained pasta and tossed it with the sauce. Steam curled between us like lazy ghosts.
Gwen: So. Multi-millionaire, secret mutant, master chef. Anything else I should know before I officially lose the ability to be surprised?
I slid a bowl of spaghetti aglio e olio in front of her. Extra red-pepper flakes because I remembered she liked heat.
Peter: I make a mean tiramisu, but that's classified.
She twirled pasta around her fork, took a bite, and actually moaned.
Gwen: Marry me.
Peter: Buy me dinner first.
I shot back, cheeks burning.
We ate sitting on the island. Knees bumping. Trading bites and quiet laughs while the house lights dimmed to evening mode around us. For twenty whole minutes the only war we fought was over the last piece of garlic bread.
When the plates were empty and stacked in the sink, she leaned back on her palms and fixed me with that look. The one that said we were done pretending everything was fine.
Gwen: Real talk. They're going to come for me first, aren't they?
I dried my hands on the towel again, slower this time.
Peter: Probably. I've been louder. More property damage. You've been saving people. They'll assume you're the easier mark.
She nodded. Expression calm in a way that scared me more than tears would have.
Gwen: Then we give them exactly what they expect. Until we don't.
I felt the grin creep back. Sharp and a little feral.
Peter: I like the way you think, Stacy.
She hopped down. Walked over, prowled, really, until she was right in front of me. Close enough that I had to tilt my head down.
Gwen: So tomorrow night we stop running. We pick the ground. We set the trap. And we make sure the Red Room learns what happens when they send wolves after spiders and vectors.
Her eyes were steady now. Fierce and tired and beautiful.
Gwen: Together?
Peter: Together.
I said, and meant it down to my bones.
She rose on her toes and kissed me again. Slow, deliberate. Tasting like garlic and promise. When she pulled back her forehead rested against mine.
Gwen: Good. Because I'm not losing you now that I just found you.
I wrapped my arms around her. Felt her heartbeat against my ribs. Steady and strong and alive.
Peter: Same here. Now let's go break some very bad people's toys.
She laughed into my shoulder. The sound muffled, vibrating through both of us. And for the first time since Hammerhead made that phone call, the house didn't feel too big anymore.