Hi guys! This is a collection of oneshots (and possibly drabbles) about Peter and my OC, Roseanne. I like Mary Jane and Gwen and all, but Spidey's always been my favorite and I wanted someone who would stick by him no matter what. Rosie's mainly for the Spider-Man trilogy verse, since I created her before I saw The Amazing Spider-Man and I haven't read any of the comics (yet), but there will be versions of her for those verses too. Unless otherwise specified all the oneshots that are in a specific verse do happen or have happened, but are not technically related (related as in a continuation of one another).
So this takes place about a year after Spider-Man 2. It should be basically canon, except that Mary Jane decided not to give Peter a second chance – but to still be friends. Peter was actually sort of relieved, if disappointed. They were talking about it, and agreed that friends was what they were best as. However Mary Jane is still taken by Doc Ock and everything else (except for the romance and the fact that she left that poor guy at the altar) is canon.
Two guns, pointed directly at two terrified faces. Two shaking hands, shoving piles of cash from the register into a sack held open by another pair of hands. Two sneering mouths, one open in a shout to hurry up. Sadly, it was a familiar scene to the red- and blue-clad figure that happened upon it. Not only familiar, but repetitive; it was something he'd seen twice already tonight.
Spider-Man swooped down and kicked the gun away from the silent thief, causing the other one to turn frantically and ultimately making it easier to take him down. "Seriously guys, couldn't this have waited until tomorrow? I'm late for my date." It only took him two minutes (what was with tonight and twos?) to tie up the robbers in his webbing and make sure the two clerks were okay and that they would call the police. Then he was swinging away.
Screams echoed from an alley on his left, where some poor soul was getting mugged. Immediately Spider-Man angled his body in that direction and took care of the muggers. This took a little longer, because there were more of them, and they were a lot bigger. Seems this had been intended as more than just a mugging, he realized as a wave of white-hot rage washed over him, glancing at the terrified woman leaning against the wall.
Eventually, though, just as before, he stuck the group to the wall (all now sporting a considerable amount of bruises and bleeding noses) with his webs and escorted the woman back onto the street, making sure she was well enough to call the police and get back home. She babbled her thanks as she fumbled for her phone, but all he said was "No need to thank me, I'm just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!"
And again he was swinging away. Thankfully there were no more sirens or gunshots or anything on the way back to his crummy apartment. He threw his nice suit on over the Spidey suit, tucked the gloves and mask into his pocket, and ran out of the building. "Rent?" his landlord yelped out the door as he passed.
It took him all of twenty minutes to arrive at his destination, panting from his run. He stood in front of a small diner on the corner of the street, classy but cheap. There weren't enough places like this around anymore, his aunt often told him, but he could only be glad that it was. His watch indicated that it was ten minutes to nine. He was almost two hours late.
Hastily righting himself, Peter Parker strode into the diner and looked around for his girlfriend of six months. It wasn't long, of course, because the shock of blue in the corner—which was becoming a tell-tale sign of her, as she seemed to be growing fond of the bright color in her hair—was very hard not to notice.
A funny feeling bubbled up in his stomach as he grew closer, nervousness clouding his head. Roseanne King's pale blonde- and blue-haired head was cradled in her arms, and soft snores snuck through her open mouth. She'd been waiting so long she fell asleep; Peter despaired of finding an excuse that wouldn't get him dumped. (Honestly, he was sort of surprised that he lasted this long.)
Hesitantly, he reached out and gently shook the woman's shoulders – Roseanne was a naturally deep sleeper, but snoozing in such a public place must have heightened her sleep-dulled senses. She started, head snapping up so fast that if Peter hadn't been bitten by a radioactive spider a number of years ago they would've crashed heads heard enough to give him a nosebleed. "Peter!" she exclaimed, clutching her heaving chest.
"Roseanne," he smile nervously. "I'm so sorry I'm late – I can – I can explain, honest—"
"Peter, she interrupted, her small smile soothing him the tiniest bit, "right now I'm more concerned about the heart attack you just gave me!"
"Oh," he said, flustered. "Sorry."
"Oh, honestly." She gave an exasperated sigh. "Joking," she reassured him. "C'mon, I think we're about to get kicked out." Sure enough, an irate waitress was headed their way. Being in the restaurant for so long without ordering wasn't such a good idea, Peter thought. Once again, his fault. But Roseanne laughed and grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the diner.
"If we stop at the grocer's, we can have dinner at my place," she offered after a few moments of walking in content silence. The familiar New York air, permeated with coffee and gasoline, left a bit of a chill that settled on their shoulders, driving them closer together. Peter agreed enthusiastically: it had been a while since he'd had anything but cheap takeout.
The two bickered light-heartedly about what to have, finally agreeing when Roseanne spotted a nice package of steak on sale for a good price. They also picked up fresh ingredients for a salad, and Roseanne insisted on cherries and whipped cream for desert (two cans – she was addicted to the stuff). Then they bickered over who would pay – Roseanne, who insisted she might as well use the money her parents gave her to spoil her boyfriend – and who would carry the groceries – Peter insisted, still embarrassed that he hadn't been able to pay. Even if it wasn't exactly his fault, being a college student who could hardly pay rent and having Spider-Man on the side (or the forefront, as it were), he couldn't help but feel awful that he couldn't even treat his girlfriend to dinner.
Roseanne lived in a somewhat better apartment building than he did. It was an old, dark red brick structure with white wooden trim; Roseanne called it elegant, and many agreed, though they usually thought of 'crumbly' as the key adjective. The plumbing sometimes leaked and the power went out on stormy nights, but it was actually a nice place to live. Most of the tenants were polite, and even had a sort of 'family night' twice a year. That was rare for people outside of New York City, let alone in Manhattan.
Her apartment was almost a reflection of her, and it never ceased to amaze him. Each of the four walls of the main room had been wallpapered top to bottom with pictures of friends and family, movie posters and abstract photos, rough sketches and finished paintings. There was no visible wall underneath, but the old wooden floors were dotted with paint whose colors matched the seemingly permanent stains on Roseanne's fingertips. In the middle of the wall to the right of the door was a large framed sepia picture of the two of them rubbing noses.
Peter always blushed when he saw that picture. It had been taken at a Christmas party before they became a couple. The pair had been discussing photography, a hobby of Roseanne's and Peter's hobby-turned-livelihood, and they had been caught under the mistletoe. Their friends laughed and refused to let them be unless the two red-faced photographers kissed. Roseanne, not one to back down from a challenge, leaned in (causing Peter to flush even more) and whispered something to him. He grinned shyly and nodded.
Roseanne had grasped the back of his neck tenderly and pulled him down – only to rub noses with him. An Eskimo kiss is a kiss, after all, she had said. That's good enough for mistletoe.
They hadn't noticed the flash until it was too late, but accepted the photos anyway, laughing to hide their still blushing faces. A week later Peter walked up to Roseanne and stuttered out an invitation for a date. She'd accepted almost before the question was out of his mouth.
Now, Roseanne shooed away his attempts at entering her kitchen, leaving him to wander about the apartment and inspect her various works of art. She was honest-to-god the most artistic person he knew. She painted and photographed, sculpted and paper mache 'd, anything you could name she was at least willing to try.
Opposite the door into her apartment was a balcony, just big enough to fit two people and the small potted flower garden she often had to be reminded to tend. Peter leaned against the white wooden railing and watched the cars pass by on the streets below, the buildings around lighting up the dark night. Roseanne often lamented the absence of stars in the city skyline, but was more or less appeased by the wondrous lights and architecture and people that New York City, Manhattan in particular, had to offer.
How many times had Peter thought of landing on this very balcony in his costume, of revealing himself to his girlfriend? Dreamt of it, been tempted by the very notion of it? He sighed. It had already been so long; maybe it was time to tell her anyway. He just didn't want to hurt her.
Dinner was a pleasant affair, filled with soft laughter and idle chatter. The two smiled at each other while clearing the table, content with how their date was going. A giggle interrupted the silence as Peter loaded the dishwasher, causing him to turn—
-and catch a dollop of whipped cream on his nose. Peter blinked once, twice, and promptly grabbed the other can of the sugary topping, ready to fire at will.
Roseanne smirked, dashing forward to draw a beard of cream on his chin before dancing away, only snagging a strip of white across her left shoulder. Peter brandished his can like a sword, zigzagging a stream down her arm, just missing the material of her pale yellow dress. Grimacing in mock-anger, Roseanne reached out to paint a bulls-eye on Peter's forehead, but didn't get to, as Peter caught her wrist and held it away from his head.
In turn, she caught his other wrist and pushed forward, managing again to douse his nose in the cold, creamy stuff. They both were overcome with laughter, and when Roseanne's fingertips brushed against the bowl of cherries on the counter, she grinned wickedly and grabbed a handful. She thrust the hand forward, making Peter duck instinctively, and sprinkled the cherries over his head.
From there, the Great Cherry-Whipped-Cream Fight, as Roseanne declared it, lasted around four miutes thirteen seconds, and managed to make a sugary mess of the small kitchen. Peter and Roseanna collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles, Roseanne kissing away the remaining whipped cream on his nose with a smile as he blushed.
"Rosie," Peter began hesitantly once he caught his breath, "about tonight . . . why I was late . . ."
"Oh, that," she waved her hand flippantly, still giggling hyperactively from their fight. "I understand, Peter."
"You – you do?" He furrowed his brows. She smiled softly at him.
"Yeah, I do," she replied. "I've known for a while, Peter."
"W-what? Known – what are you talking about?" he laughed nervously.
Roseanne answered with a nervous giggle of her own. "About Spider-Man. I've, ah – oh, you're going to hate me for this – but I knew before I even met you for real."
"Wha – how?"
"I was on that train last year, during the Doctor Octopus debacle. I saw you without the mask after you saved us. But – but I swear, that's not why I agreed to go out with you!" she was hasty to assure. "We knew each other for a few months before the Christmas party, you know. I was hoping you'd tell me yourself before now, though." A deep breath. "I really like you, Peter, and Spider-Man is as much a part of you as – as my name is a part of me."
The two stared at each other for a moment, a wave of emotions crashing over them, pulling them together. Peter buried his face in Roseanne's hair as she clutched at his chest. "Thank you," he murmured.
"Nothing to thank me for," she chuckled weakly, pecking him on the lips. "Let's go get cleaned up."
Later on, as they cuddled on the loveseat in their pajamas (they kept a spare set for Peter in the bottom drawer) and ate what was left of their bowl of cherries (Roseanne tried to feed one to Peter but ended up laughing too hard and dropping it on the floor), Roseanne spoke up once more.
"As the girlfriend of Spider-Man as well as Peter Parker, I have two requests. First and foremost: please try not to die?"
"Of course," he grinned, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"Also, take me for a swing around the city? Pretty please?"
Peter chuckled and kissed her, despite the flush it caused on his face. Roseanne smiled goofily up at him, and that was that.
All in all, it was a better night than he'd expected.