Hi Dear Reader,

When I was little, Dad introduced me to Spider-Man, and he has been in my life since. The thing that I always admired about Spidey, is his great compassion to all, even his enemies.

He always strove to do what's right and does what he can to never kill. That's why I call him the greatest out of all the Marvel and DC heroes.

I must admit, even if Tobey Maguire will always be Spider-Man, Andrew Garfield grew on me as Tom is now. I hate it that they just dropped his story as Mr. Web-head. So, here I am, attempting to pick up the pieces of another story. Even if I might not finish my fanfiction stories, at least I sheared a fraction of them.

Warning; I make mistakes. I will only have a beta reader for Sapphire Princess. I'm a college student. And I have plenty of other story projects. If I put a hiatus in the description, like my other stories, relax, the story doesn't die till I do. I'll do my best, and I hope I serve you and Peter Parker/Spidey well.

I don't own Spider-Man or Marvel, but I need to say it, or I'll get in trouble.

Thank you and enjoy!


I've wondered why I'm Spider-Man. God knows nothing good comes to those around me because of the mask. People like Iron-Man, Daredevil, heck even Deadpool fights crime. So why do I? Maybe it's because they've bigger meaner fish to fry. While the ones living near the shadows have next to nothing to protect them. Besides, I learned the hard way of what happens when I look the other away.


Web slinging always clears my head. Seeing the city from above with nothing holding me up beside a web, still gives me a rush. That and it just feels good to pull and swing around in the air. A shop alarm reaches my ears, and I swing to a brick building to survey the streets.

Taxies and trucks stampede down the streets. People duck and ran from a small pawnshop with a faded sign. Leaping across the street, I swung down to the ground, and stroll inside. Old trinkets and items from bikes to watches coat nearly every inch of the place. And by the broken display case pillaged two men with black masks.

"I know you thieves fid it heard to resist shiny things," I taunted, getting their attention. Then fire web cords to their masks. "But no means no. Didn't your parents tell you that?"

I pull away their masks, to see gruff faces. One reaches into his pocket, as the other tries to run for it. I shut a wed for the man's legs, and another to his friend's chest. Yanking hard, they come tumbling down, and I web them together on the floor.

A groan carries over the counter. I leap over the assailants and display case, I find an elderly woman.

"Here Ma'am, are you okay?" I ask, crouching down. Her eyes open, then go wide once landing on me. My Spidey-sense sends a chill down my spine.

"Spider!" she yelled and held up her cane. I leap way before being hit in the head.

"Spider!" her shouts chase me as I dart out of the shop. Shooting a web to the nearest building, I take back to the safety of the air. Police sirens grow below, then fad as I swing away.

Never had a 'thank you' like that one yet. I thought, climbing to the ledge of the building. Turning westward, the sun just sat above buildings. Swinging southward, every shot and swing tugged my heart lower. Then I finally swing over the ebony fence of the cemetery.

I trudge to the tree that I hid my webbed-up bundle of cloths. Yanking it free, I pull my cloths over the suit. Stuffing my boots, gloves, and mask into my backpack, I march to a lilac bush. Bees drift about the blooms and avoid a solitary web. I pluck a clump of the lavender blooms, then march down the line between the graves. Not too far down the lane sits Gwen's grave. I slow to kneel over her grave, and dust away bits of twigs and leaves. Then I plant the fresh flowers into the holder. Satisfied of the state of her headstone, I crawl back to sit cross-legged. Birds and crickets play against the tones of the car horns and engines. Though I pay them no mind.

"Hi again," I mummer to her grave. "I know I should try harder to not visit. I can just imagine you siting and glaring at me. Ready to scold me; to tell me to stop being a wimp and dragging my feet…I miss you."

My voice cracked at the end. Clearing my throat, I rise to my feet. Then kiss my fingers before resting them on the headstone. I linger for a long moment before marching away.


I trudge down the stairs that I've only known for a day but is tiresome to look at now. George huffs in exaggeration when he sees me from the front doors.

"Last one's yours." he states, and I sigh.

Marching down the concrete stairs to the moving truck, I sigh again when I see the lonely box deep in the truck's bowels. Climbing up, I march to it. Part of my easel pocks out, and I wondered what my new home looks like from the roof.

Tomorrow. I promise myself and hoist up the box. My taxed muscles burn and throb in protest. Yet I still carried it to the mouth of the truck and placed it down. Crawling down, I took in my arms again, and slowly marched back. As I reach the second step, someone darted out and shoved past me. I stumble back and feel my foot slip. Just as the chill of falling runs up my spine, an arm wraps around my back, and grips the box.

"Watch it girl!" barked the man as he stormed away.

"Are you okay?" asked the boy as he let me steady my feet.

"Yeah, thank you," I replied, taking in his warm gaze.

"Do you need help with this?"

"No, I got it now. Thanks."

"Here, let me get the doors for you." he insisted, and darted up to the doors, grocery bags dangling from his arms. A smile warmed my already hot body from working all-day. Slipping through each door, I turned to him and thanked him again.

"Happy to help, night." he smiled.

"Goodnight." I replied and watched him go.

Strolling over the old black and white tiles to the stairs, I climbed the three floors, and trudged down the hallway. Old yellow walls reach down to wood panels that barely pinned down the rundown carpeting. For a place that once had a cockroach issue it's not terrible. Reaching room fifty-five, I knock with my foot to get someone's attention. The door swings open, and dad holds it for me.

"That's it?" he asks.


"Good! I'll take care of the truck."

He slips out, and I carry my box into my new room. Boxes stand about like towers from wall to wall. And on the floor lays my mattresses with pillows and blankets.

"Winy," calls Wren, making my jaw clench. "Come and grab a slice before I eat it!"

I place my box down and join them around the small table big enough for only two.

"I know you girls what to be independent," states Aunt Sam. "But I can't let you two live with rubbish furniture from Thrift shops. You're New Yorkers now, and I won't let my girls live with flies."

"That's kind of you, but—" Wren started.

"She has a point," Mom states. "This city can get expensive."

"We except," I state. Wren turns to me and narrows her hazel eyes on me.

"We need to save every penny we have. And it'll give us a second look around in our new home."

Wren frowned but nodded all the same. Uncle Alejandro hugged her shoulders as Dad returned. Aunt Sam filled our cups with red wine and proposed a toast.

"To our girls' new home. And may the city embrace them and let them flourish."

We taped glasses, letting the small shoebox of an apartment ring. The wine warmed my cheeks and set a sore taste in my mouth. As my family caught up on current happenings, Dad tugged me to my room and examined my window.

"You're going to have to put a gate in this. Cast-iron," He stated, and opened the window to crawl out onto the fire escape. I crawled out after him and sat next to him. The rusty sun set through the glinting buildings. Setting the street ablaze.

"Your Mom will give you a lecture on safety before long," he stated, wrapping and arm around me. "But I need to talk to you about Spider-Man. I know you've saved his photos from the paper and want to see him. But if you do, run the oppose direction."

"Dad you know he protects people—" I started.

"I know but he is a magnet for dangerous and powerful wackos. Promise me you'll stay away from him."

"It's a big city, I don't—"

"Lacey!" he growled.

"I promise." I grumble, leaning against his warm solid side. He petted my head and long black hair that came loose from the tie.

"I hope you like it here." he stated with his rumbling voice.

"I already do." I murmured, wondering what tomorrow held.

P.S. feel free to comment on how I'm doing with First Person view, and the presentation of jumps. I thought this would suit the story. Though I'm a woman so writing Peter's prospective will be heard, but I need the practice. Also throw New York stories and tips my way, I've never been there so this is just off research and media.

If anyone knows any great Spidey stories on Fanfic, toss them my way. And this story was inspired by a asmr video from YouTube. Caught in a web, I thick it was.

Thank you for reading, and I know this was short, but I wanted an introduction.

Until next time, bye!