wxntersoldiers

[wxntersoldiers]

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Right Person, Wrong Time (P.P)

summary: peter has the right person but can't seem to find the right time.

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, odd curse word, general angst!

word count: 3.3k

A/N: well its been a hot minute since I posted a fic but I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! big shoutout to my bestest @talk-geek-to-me for editing and commenting on this as I wrote it!

as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, tell me what you thought of this fic!

“I think I could fall in love with you.”

Your eyebrow twitched underneath the harsh material of your mask, the blistering pang of guilt spreading through your chest. It wrapped itself around your ribs and tightened with each thought of the masked hero who shared the rooftop with you each evening. The cold of the concrete beneath you sinking into your skin and chilling each bone one by one. You knew him, you knew his heart and his morals, the ethical code he followed and swore by - you knew Spider-Man well and you knew Peter Parker even better, but he didn’t know you.

At least not this version of you.

You had grown up next door to the Parker family, Peter had moved in with May and Ben when you were both six years old, the pair of you had been attached at the hip ever since. Birthdays, Christmas’ and Halloweens were all spent together, he helped you with your science projects and you helped him with his English papers. He held your hand and told you everything would be okay when your Grandmother passed, you wiped his tears and refused to let him go when Uncle Ben was taken away from him.

You were the first person he told when he realised he could stick to the ceiling, you stitched the tears in his suit and gently cleaned up his bloodied nose after each battle with whoever was tormenting New York that evening but you just couldn’t allow him do the same for you.

Peter had too much to deal with in his own heroic lifestyle, you couldn’t burden him with yours too. He balanced studying at Empire State University, working his ass off at Oscorp in the afternoons and guarding New York with his life each night, knowing your other identity would just be another piece thrown upon his plate and he didn’t need that -  that’s how you justified not telling him about your double life.

Meeting Peter on the rooftop each night became routine one evening after he accidentally webbed your hand to a wall, mistaking you for another bad guy that roamed the streets. You feared he would know it was you but after some tweaking here and there, you mastered the art of altering your voice within your mask, pushing your identity further and further away from Peter.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Webs.” A bitter wind pushed between you both, seemingly carrying your words into the hustle and bustle of Queens, the gentle tremble in your words buried beneath the howl of the wind and the quiet laughter of Peter. “Neither of us have time for love.”

Peter laughed once again, a fog of breath emitting from his mask. “Alright, I’ll put emphasis on the ‘could’ part of that sentence. Have you ever heard the story of Romeo and Juliet?” It was your turn to laugh, nose scrunching beneath your mask as you turned to face him, legs still dangling from the ledge of the rooftop you sat upon.

“You mean the story where two teenagers supposedly fell in love -”

“Two star-crossed lovers.” Peter interrupted you, shuffling ever so slightly closer to you, his body mirroring the position of yours. “They were the right person for each other but it was the wrong time -”

“They were young, naive and also fictional.” Peter laughed again, the sweetest bout of laughter that only he could make. “Don’t tell me you see yourself as a Romeo, right?” Peter shook his head, the eyes of his mask catching the reflection of a street lamp as he looked to the street below you both.

“Right, let me rephrase my original point. Have you ever met someone who was right for you but it was just the wrong time?” You nodded. Your heart sank in your chest, the guilt replaced with the overwhelming feeling of drowning within your own body. “Outside of this,” Peter waved his hand around, a finger pointing to the red and blue suit that adorned him. “In my real life, I have the right person there but she’s just out of reach, I mean, she’s always right in front of me like in arms reach but it’s always the wrong time.”

The lump that situated itself within your throat was quickly swallowed. “Sounds tough.” Peter sighed and nodded, running a clothed hand over his mask. “I don’t know you outside of this -” You copied Peter’s motion of pointing to his suit and then yours. “But from what I know of you, she’s real lucky to have you there, even if it’s the wrong time.” Peter raised his head to look at you, as if he saw straight through your disguise and into you.

You pushed yourself up from the ledge before he had the chance to reply, your mind no longer being able to cope with the guilt and torment of lying through your teeth. “Listen, I’ve got to go but I’ll see you around Webs. Take care of yourself.”

Before Peter could even ask when he’d see you again, you were gone, disappearing into the night sky without another word.

“Great job Pete, freak out the only superhero friend you have.” Peter muttered to himself, yanking off his mask for the first time that evening and taking in a breath of the winter evening. Pulling his phone out, Peter scrolled through his contacts until your name came into view, thumb hesitating over the call button as his mind raced through each scenario of telling you exactly how he felt about you.

He gave in, clicking onto the call button and gently putting the phone to his ear, another sigh leaving him as he listened to the call ringing through.

“Sorry, can’t get to my phone right now but if you leave a message I probably won’t get back to you.” Your voicemail echoed into his ear, a pang of disappointment striking his chest. He hung up the call, locking his phone before looking down at the mask that sat next to him; it was always the right time with you but in Peter’s mind, being Spider-Man always made it the wrong time.

The following day, Peter came to your window but the curtains were drawn and the usual sound of the radio playing throughout the apartment couldn’t be heard. Later that morning, you didn’t show for class which was unusual for you. Peter found Gwen and asked if she had seen you, his mind beginning to race as she shook her head no. It wasn’t like you to not show up without any explanation, you were always punctual - rarely off sick.

Peter tried to call you but exactly like the previous evening, there was no answer. His fingers tapped against the cold metal of the lunch table as his leg involuntarily bounced, the uncertainty of not knowing if you were okay slowly eating at him. He attempted to push the panic to the back of his mind, pushing himself away from the table and grabbing his skateboard, he slipped on his headphones and headed to his two pm shift at Oscorp.

Day slowly seeped into night and Peter was sat on the rooftop once again, waiting for his fellow masked hero to appear. He sat for a few hours, shooting webs at empty cans on the rooftop to pass the time until he accidentally webbed a pigeon. After releasing the pigeon from the webs and apologising to it profusely as it flew away, he sat and watched traffic and life pass him by as he waited and waited.

But they never showed.

Eventually Peter gave in to the realisation that for the first night in months, he wouldn’t be joined by his new friend. He pushed himself up and leaped off the rooftop, swinging from lamppost to lamppost, building to building, looking for something to do for the rest of his evening.

After a few hours of patrolling, stopping some petty crimes and rescuing Mrs. Aziz's cat from being stolen, Peter called it a night, swinging his way back to the apartment block you both still resided in all these years later. He planned on doing what he did every night after patrolling, crawling his way to the edge of your window, carefully looking in to make sure you were tucked into bed and safe from the outside world before heading to his own window just next door.

But tonight, something was off. His Spider sense sent him into overdrive, hyper-aware of his surroundings as he landed onto the rooftop, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. He headed down the side of the building towards your window, his spider-sense still keeping him on high alert as he slowly approached your apartment.

Everything began to move in slow motion as Peter looked down at the fire escape outside your window, a handprint of blood slowly slipping from the railings as another seeped from the white windowsill, each falling drop echoing in Peter’s head like a hammer to the head of a nail. The beige curtains of your bedroom flapped out the window in the breeze, another set of bloody handprints slapped onto them.

Without a second thought, Peter jumped down to the fire escape, shouting your name as he dodged the various puddles of blood, his voice growing louder with each call of your name.

Landing into your room with a thud, you were nowhere to be seen. Blood smeared itself across the wooden flooring as if someone had been hauled through the room, the bloody handprints scattered upon the white walls heading out of the room. Peter continued to shout for you, the panic in his voice gaining velocity as he stumbled into the living room of the apartment.

The lights were off except for the small lamp that sat on the wooden table next to the sofa, Peters hurried breathing echoing throughout the room, harmonised with small cries of pain from the other side of the sofa.

Peter rushed across the room, skidding to a halt as he saw you sprawled out on the floor, your mask laying on the floorboards next to you. Your suit was torn in various places revealing gashes, grazes and deep cuts that angrily seeped. He stood frozen for what felt like a millennium, a bitter taste of betrayal filling his mouth for a brief moment as he looked at the mask that sat beside you, staring directly into his eyes. He knew you the entire time, all those nights spent with the masked stranger were nights spent with you.

“Pete?” His name left your mouth in a strangled cry, a strident cough following straight after, the dryness of your throat and mouth being moistened by the metallic taste of blood. “Peter?” You cried out once again, the second call of his name snapping him out of his state of shock. He rushed to your side, pulling off his mask and throwing it next to yours.

You looked to him, eyes flickering ever so slightly as salt tears rolled down the apples of your cheeks, across the blooming purple bruises that littered your once clear skin. Peter felt a bile rise in his throat, the sight of you so beaten and bloody was one he never wanted to see, he fought hard to protect you from everything but he never thought he would ever have to protect you from your own enemies.

“Oh angel, what did you get yourself into?” Peter muttered under his breath, hands hovering over your wounded body as he inspected each wound quickly. “What hurts?” Peter asked in a hurry, his brain five steps behind his mouth. “That’s a really stupid question it probably all hurts. We need to get this suit off of you.” You shook your head furiously, despite being horrifically injured, the thought of being so exposed in front of Peter seemed a thousand times more mortifying.

Peter ignored your silent protest, briefly standing up to look over to the small kitchen, shooting a web out to the draw next to the oven and yanking towards him. He dropped the wooden box to the floor, digging through the contents until he found the pair of scissors he was after.

“I’m going to have to cut you out of the suit.” He stated, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your breathing began to grow shallow, eyes fluttering as each wound continued to bleed. He knelt down beside you, placing the handle of the scissors in his mouth as he gently removed each of your boots, your entire body wincing as he took them off.

“Who did this to you?” He asked sternly as he removed the scissors from his mouth, slowly starting the task of cutting the suit away from your body. You groaned in agony as the material peeled away from your skin. Peter stopped for a moment, placing a gentle hand to your hairline, brushing his thumb over your forehead in an attempt to comfort you. “You need to tell me so I can fix this.”

“You don’t need to fix my broken things, Peter.”

“It’s exactly what I need to do, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” He removed his hand from your forehead, running it through his hair with a puff of frustration. “I’m supposed to keep you safe and protect you but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who hurt you.” He dropped his head. “I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who you really are. I can’t protect you if you lie to me for months. You sat on that rooftop with me, changed your voice and lied straight through your teeth to me.”

A broken sob broke through your lips, the cascade of tears unrelenting as Peter's words sunk into your skin like acid rain. You thought you were doing the right thing by keeping it from him, by keeping your evening escapades as a secret from the one person who trusted you the most in the world.

“I did it to protect you.” You cried, the oh so familiar feeling of guilt attaching itself to your chest like a leech. “You have so much going on and I didn’t want to add to it, I thought I could handle it.”

“You clearly couldn’t!” Peter howled, shocking the both of you. You closed your eyes as more tears threatened to break the barriers of your eyes. In all your years of friendship, Peter had never snapped like that. “You should’ve told me. We could’ve taken on whatever did this to you together, I could’ve prevented this from happening.” Peter carefully began to cut away the material of your suit, the fingertips of his suit brushing across your skin like a feather, goosebumps following in their wake.

Peter continued to cut the suit away from your skin, hushed apologies leaving his mouth as you cringed in discomfort.

“I’ll be right back, just need to get the antiseptic and some bandage, you don’t need any infections.” Peter mumbled, placing the scissors down onto the floor next to your sliced suit. He pushed himself up, not looking at you as he walked towards the bathroom. The realisation of everything began to sink into your mind, the extent of your injuries, the mess you had left behind, the betrayal to Peter. It was all too much.

Peter came back without a word, sitting himself down next to your legs. “I’ll clean your legs first, then your arms and face.” You nodded in acknowledgement, relaxing into Peter’s touch as he gently placed your right leg onto his lap.

“It’s going to sting like a bitch.” Peter gently tipped the bottle of antiseptic onto a cotton pad, bringing the cotton pad to the skin of your leg, the purple bruises growing bigger with each passing moment. You gasped in pain, your hand shooting out to grab Peter’s leg. He shushed you softly, “You’re okay angel, I’ve got you.”

Peter continued on with cleaning each wound with a delicate touch, reassuring you after he wrapped each one in a soft white bandage. He shuffled to where your head was placed, motioning his hand at you for you to lift your head up.

You laid your head onto his lap, the warmth of his skin radiating through his suit like a heater on a cold December morning. “These will probably hurt the most. Prepare yourself.” Peter warned, tipping another small amount of antiseptic onto a clean pad, bringing the material to the cut that sat just above your left eyebrow.

A cry of discomfort and agony left you as Peter cleaned the wound, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. Peter bit back tears of his own, the sheer sight of you in agony sent his heart straight through to his stomach without any pit stops.

“I’m so sorry, you’re doing great, I promise.” He reassured you, placing his free hand onto your unbruised cheek, thumb caressing the skin. “Please stop crying,” He pleaded quietly, he was unsure on whether he was talking to himself or you as he gave in to his emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I’m sorry Peter, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” Peter shook his head, setting down the antiseptic pad, placing his now free hand onto your other cheek. “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay, It’ll all be okay.” Peter leant forward, pressing gentle reassuring kisses to the bruises that decorated your skin, his tears falling onto your cheeks. “I’ll fix it, I’ll make it better.” You both cried quietly as he continued to press delicate kisses across your face. He held your face in his hands and it felt as if he had the entire universe within his palms, every cosmic entity and earthly creature all wrapped into one person - wrapped into his person.

“You are everything, y’know that?” He muttered, the tip of his nose brushing against yours tenderly. “Absolutely everything.”

Peter gave into years of holding back, he put out the fires in his mind that kept him away from you and burst through every locked door that shut him out. His lips were soft but his kiss was firm, every moment of love and longing he had for you melted into the kiss.

You pulled back slowly, panic slowly setting into Peter as he realised what he had done, hurried apologies tumbling out of his mouth as you both stared at each other. He shuffled backwards as you pushed yourself up, a groan of pain echoing as you turned to face Peter. “Come back.” You whispered, reaching a hand out to him. He nodded carefully, scooting himself closer to you, gently taking your legs and looping them over his, your chests pressed together as if you were going to meld into one.

“I think I could fall in love with you, Peter Parker.”

“I’m already in love with you, angel.”

New York was slowly bursting into spring, months had passed and with each passing one, your wounds slowly healed. Scars were left behind but you could live with them. Things had changed, you had changed, Peter had changed.

“Did you hear Spider-Man caught those guys who roughed up-”

“Yes I did hear because Spider-Man won’t let me forget it.” You teased Peter, gently nudging his shoulder with yours as you sat on the ledge. Peter shrugged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, gently pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can I ask you something?” Peter nodded.

“Always.”

You looked out to the view in front of you, the sun slowly setting over the Manhattan skyline. “Did you still have your right person at the wrong time?” Peter laughed to himself, shaking his head and pressing another kiss to your head.

“I’ve got the right person at the right time, it couldn’t get much better than this.”

[wxntersoldiers]

Right Person, Wrong Time (P.P)

summary: peter has the right person but can't seem to find the right time.

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, odd curse word, general angst!

word count: 3.3k

A/N: well its been a hot minute since I posted a fic but I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! big shoutout to my bestest @talk-geek-to-me for editing and commenting on this as I wrote it!

as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, tell me what you thought of this fic!

“I think I could fall in love with you.”

Your eyebrow twitched underneath the harsh material of your mask, the blistering pang of guilt spreading through your chest. It wrapped itself around your ribs and tightened with each thought of the masked hero who shared the rooftop with you each evening. The cold of the concrete beneath you sinking into your skin and chilling each bone one by one. You knew him, you knew his heart and his morals, the ethical code he followed and swore by - you knew Spider-Man well and you knew Peter Parker even better, but he didn’t know you.

At least not this version of you.

You had grown up next door to the Parker family, Peter had moved in with May and Ben when you were both six years old, the pair of you had been attached at the hip ever since. Birthdays, Christmas’ and Halloweens were all spent together, he helped you with your science projects and you helped him with his English papers. He held your hand and told you everything would be okay when your Grandmother passed, you wiped his tears and refused to let him go when Uncle Ben was taken away from him.

You were the first person he told when he realised he could stick to the ceiling, you stitched the tears in his suit and gently cleaned up his bloodied nose after each battle with whoever was tormenting New York that evening but you just couldn’t allow him do the same for you.

Peter had too much to deal with in his own heroic lifestyle, you couldn’t burden him with yours too. He balanced studying at Empire State University, working his ass off at Oscorp in the afternoons and guarding New York with his life each night, knowing your other identity would just be another piece thrown upon his plate and he didn’t need that -  that’s how you justified not telling him about your double life.

Meeting Peter on the rooftop each night became routine one evening after he accidentally webbed your hand to a wall, mistaking you for another bad guy that roamed the streets. You feared he would know it was you but after some tweaking here and there, you mastered the art of altering your voice within your mask, pushing your identity further and further away from Peter.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Webs.” A bitter wind pushed between you both, seemingly carrying your words into the hustle and bustle of Queens, the gentle tremble in your words buried beneath the howl of the wind and the quiet laughter of Peter. “Neither of us have time for love.”

Peter laughed once again, a fog of breath emitting from his mask. “Alright, I’ll put emphasis on the ‘could’ part of that sentence. Have you ever heard the story of Romeo and Juliet?” It was your turn to laugh, nose scrunching beneath your mask as you turned to face him, legs still dangling from the ledge of the rooftop you sat upon.

“You mean the story where two teenagers supposedly fell in love -”

“Two star-crossed lovers.” Peter interrupted you, shuffling ever so slightly closer to you, his body mirroring the position of yours. “They were the right person for each other but it was the wrong time -”

“They were young, naive and also fictional.” Peter laughed again, the sweetest bout of laughter that only he could make. “Don’t tell me you see yourself as a Romeo, right?” Peter shook his head, the eyes of his mask catching the reflection of a street lamp as he looked to the street below you both.

“Right, let me rephrase my original point. Have you ever met someone who was right for you but it was just the wrong time?” You nodded. Your heart sank in your chest, the guilt replaced with the overwhelming feeling of drowning within your own body. “Outside of this,” Peter waved his hand around, a finger pointing to the red and blue suit that adorned him. “In my real life, I have the right person there but she’s just out of reach, I mean, she’s always right in front of me like in arms reach but it’s always the wrong time.”

The lump that situated itself within your throat was quickly swallowed. “Sounds tough.” Peter sighed and nodded, running a clothed hand over his mask. “I don’t know you outside of this -” You copied Peter’s motion of pointing to his suit and then yours. “But from what I know of you, she’s real lucky to have you there, even if it’s the wrong time.” Peter raised his head to look at you, as if he saw straight through your disguise and into you.

You pushed yourself up from the ledge before he had the chance to reply, your mind no longer being able to cope with the guilt and torment of lying through your teeth. “Listen, I’ve got to go but I’ll see you around Webs. Take care of yourself.”

Before Peter could even ask when he’d see you again, you were gone, disappearing into the night sky without another word.

“Great job Pete, freak out the only superhero friend you have.” Peter muttered to himself, yanking off his mask for the first time that evening and taking in a breath of the winter evening. Pulling his phone out, Peter scrolled through his contacts until your name came into view, thumb hesitating over the call button as his mind raced through each scenario of telling you exactly how he felt about you.

He gave in, clicking onto the call button and gently putting the phone to his ear, another sigh leaving him as he listened to the call ringing through.

“Sorry, can’t get to my phone right now but if you leave a message I probably won’t get back to you.” Your voicemail echoed into his ear, a pang of disappointment striking his chest. He hung up the call, locking his phone before looking down at the mask that sat next to him; it was always the right time with you but in Peter’s mind, being Spider-Man always made it the wrong time.

The following day, Peter came to your window but the curtains were drawn and the usual sound of the radio playing throughout the apartment couldn’t be heard. Later that morning, you didn’t show for class which was unusual for you. Peter found Gwen and asked if she had seen you, his mind beginning to race as she shook her head no. It wasn’t like you to not show up without any explanation, you were always punctual - rarely off sick.

Peter tried to call you but exactly like the previous evening, there was no answer. His fingers tapped against the cold metal of the lunch table as his leg involuntarily bounced, the uncertainty of not knowing if you were okay slowly eating at him. He attempted to push the panic to the back of his mind, pushing himself away from the table and grabbing his skateboard, he slipped on his headphones and headed to his two pm shift at Oscorp.

Day slowly seeped into night and Peter was sat on the rooftop once again, waiting for his fellow masked hero to appear. He sat for a few hours, shooting webs at empty cans on the rooftop to pass the time until he accidentally webbed a pigeon. After releasing the pigeon from the webs and apologising to it profusely as it flew away, he sat and watched traffic and life pass him by as he waited and waited.

But they never showed.

Eventually Peter gave in to the realisation that for the first night in months, he wouldn’t be joined by his new friend. He pushed himself up and leaped off the rooftop, swinging from lamppost to lamppost, building to building, looking for something to do for the rest of his evening.

After a few hours of patrolling, stopping some petty crimes and rescuing Mrs. Aziz's cat from being stolen, Peter called it a night, swinging his way back to the apartment block you both still resided in all these years later. He planned on doing what he did every night after patrolling, crawling his way to the edge of your window, carefully looking in to make sure you were tucked into bed and safe from the outside world before heading to his own window just next door.

But tonight, something was off. His Spider sense sent him into overdrive, hyper-aware of his surroundings as he landed onto the rooftop, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. He headed down the side of the building towards your window, his spider-sense still keeping him on high alert as he slowly approached your apartment.

Everything began to move in slow motion as Peter looked down at the fire escape outside your window, a handprint of blood slowly slipping from the railings as another seeped from the white windowsill, each falling drop echoing in Peter’s head like a hammer to the head of a nail. The beige curtains of your bedroom flapped out the window in the breeze, another set of bloody handprints slapped onto them.

Without a second thought, Peter jumped down to the fire escape, shouting your name as he dodged the various puddles of blood, his voice growing louder with each call of your name.

Landing into your room with a thud, you were nowhere to be seen. Blood smeared itself across the wooden flooring as if someone had been hauled through the room, the bloody handprints scattered upon the white walls heading out of the room. Peter continued to shout for you, the panic in his voice gaining velocity as he stumbled into the living room of the apartment.

The lights were off except for the small lamp that sat on the wooden table next to the sofa, Peters hurried breathing echoing throughout the room, harmonised with small cries of pain from the other side of the sofa.

Peter rushed across the room, skidding to a halt as he saw you sprawled out on the floor, your mask laying on the floorboards next to you. Your suit was torn in various places revealing gashes, grazes and deep cuts that angrily seeped. He stood frozen for what felt like a millennium, a bitter taste of betrayal filling his mouth for a brief moment as he looked at the mask that sat beside you, staring directly into his eyes. He knew you the entire time, all those nights spent with the masked stranger were nights spent with you.

“Pete?” His name left your mouth in a strangled cry, a strident cough following straight after, the dryness of your throat and mouth being moistened by the metallic taste of blood. “Peter?” You cried out once again, the second call of his name snapping him out of his state of shock. He rushed to your side, pulling off his mask and throwing it next to yours.

You looked to him, eyes flickering ever so slightly as salt tears rolled down the apples of your cheeks, across the blooming purple bruises that littered your once clear skin. Peter felt a bile rise in his throat, the sight of you so beaten and bloody was one he never wanted to see, he fought hard to protect you from everything but he never thought he would ever have to protect you from your own enemies.

“Oh angel, what did you get yourself into?” Peter muttered under his breath, hands hovering over your wounded body as he inspected each wound quickly. “What hurts?” Peter asked in a hurry, his brain five steps behind his mouth. “That’s a really stupid question it probably all hurts. We need to get this suit off of you.” You shook your head furiously, despite being horrifically injured, the thought of being so exposed in front of Peter seemed a thousand times more mortifying.

Peter ignored your silent protest, briefly standing up to look over to the small kitchen, shooting a web out to the draw next to the oven and yanking towards him. He dropped the wooden box to the floor, digging through the contents until he found the pair of scissors he was after.

“I’m going to have to cut you out of the suit.” He stated, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your breathing began to grow shallow, eyes fluttering as each wound continued to bleed. He knelt down beside you, placing the handle of the scissors in his mouth as he gently removed each of your boots, your entire body wincing as he took them off.

“Who did this to you?” He asked sternly as he removed the scissors from his mouth, slowly starting the task of cutting the suit away from your body. You groaned in agony as the material peeled away from your skin. Peter stopped for a moment, placing a gentle hand to your hairline, brushing his thumb over your forehead in an attempt to comfort you. “You need to tell me so I can fix this.”

“You don’t need to fix my broken things, Peter.”

“It’s exactly what I need to do, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” He removed his hand from your forehead, running it through his hair with a puff of frustration. “I’m supposed to keep you safe and protect you but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who hurt you.” He dropped his head. “I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who you really are. I can’t protect you if you lie to me for months. You sat on that rooftop with me, changed your voice and lied straight through your teeth to me.”

A broken sob broke through your lips, the cascade of tears unrelenting as Peter's words sunk into your skin like acid rain. You thought you were doing the right thing by keeping it from him, by keeping your evening escapades as a secret from the one person who trusted you the most in the world.

“I did it to protect you.” You cried, the oh so familiar feeling of guilt attaching itself to your chest like a leech. “You have so much going on and I didn’t want to add to it, I thought I could handle it.”

“You clearly couldn’t!” Peter howled, shocking the both of you. You closed your eyes as more tears threatened to break the barriers of your eyes. In all your years of friendship, Peter had never snapped like that. “You should’ve told me. We could’ve taken on whatever did this to you together, I could’ve prevented this from happening.” Peter carefully began to cut away the material of your suit, the fingertips of his suit brushing across your skin like a feather, goosebumps following in their wake.

Peter continued to cut the suit away from your skin, hushed apologies leaving his mouth as you cringed in discomfort.

“I’ll be right back, just need to get the antiseptic and some bandage, you don’t need any infections.” Peter mumbled, placing the scissors down onto the floor next to your sliced suit. He pushed himself up, not looking at you as he walked towards the bathroom. The realisation of everything began to sink into your mind, the extent of your injuries, the mess you had left behind, the betrayal to Peter. It was all too much.

Peter came back without a word, sitting himself down next to your legs. “I’ll clean your legs first, then your arms and face.” You nodded in acknowledgement, relaxing into Peter’s touch as he gently placed your right leg onto his lap.

“It’s going to sting like a bitch.” Peter gently tipped the bottle of antiseptic onto a cotton pad, bringing the cotton pad to the skin of your leg, the purple bruises growing bigger with each passing moment. You gasped in pain, your hand shooting out to grab Peter’s leg. He shushed you softly, “You’re okay angel, I’ve got you.”

Peter continued on with cleaning each wound with a delicate touch, reassuring you after he wrapped each one in a soft white bandage. He shuffled to where your head was placed, motioning his hand at you for you to lift your head up.

You laid your head onto his lap, the warmth of his skin radiating through his suit like a heater on a cold December morning. “These will probably hurt the most. Prepare yourself.” Peter warned, tipping another small amount of antiseptic onto a clean pad, bringing the material to the cut that sat just above your left eyebrow.

A cry of discomfort and agony left you as Peter cleaned the wound, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. Peter bit back tears of his own, the sheer sight of you in agony sent his heart straight through to his stomach without any pit stops.

“I’m so sorry, you’re doing great, I promise.” He reassured you, placing his free hand onto your unbruised cheek, thumb caressing the skin. “Please stop crying,” He pleaded quietly, he was unsure on whether he was talking to himself or you as he gave in to his emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I’m sorry Peter, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” Peter shook his head, setting down the antiseptic pad, placing his now free hand onto your other cheek. “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay, It’ll all be okay.” Peter leant forward, pressing gentle reassuring kisses to the bruises that decorated your skin, his tears falling onto your cheeks. “I’ll fix it, I’ll make it better.” You both cried quietly as he continued to press delicate kisses across your face. He held your face in his hands and it felt as if he had the entire universe within his palms, every cosmic entity and earthly creature all wrapped into one person - wrapped into his person.

“You are everything, y’know that?” He muttered, the tip of his nose brushing against yours tenderly. “Absolutely everything.”

Peter gave into years of holding back, he put out the fires in his mind that kept him away from you and burst through every locked door that shut him out. His lips were soft but his kiss was firm, every moment of love and longing he had for you melted into the kiss.

You pulled back slowly, panic slowly setting into Peter as he realised what he had done, hurried apologies tumbling out of his mouth as you both stared at each other. He shuffled backwards as you pushed yourself up, a groan of pain echoing as you turned to face Peter. “Come back.” You whispered, reaching a hand out to him. He nodded carefully, scooting himself closer to you, gently taking your legs and looping them over his, your chests pressed together as if you were going to meld into one.

“I think I could fall in love with you, Peter Parker.”

“I’m already in love with you, angel.”

New York was slowly bursting into spring, months had passed and with each passing one, your wounds slowly healed. Scars were left behind but you could live with them. Things had changed, you had changed, Peter had changed.

“Did you hear Spider-Man caught those guys who roughed up-”

“Yes I did hear because Spider-Man won’t let me forget it.” You teased Peter, gently nudging his shoulder with yours as you sat on the ledge. Peter shrugged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, gently pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can I ask you something?” Peter nodded.

“Always.”

You looked out to the view in front of you, the sun slowly setting over the Manhattan skyline. “Did you still have your right person at the wrong time?” Peter laughed to himself, shaking his head and pressing another kiss to your head.

“I’ve got the right person at the right time, it couldn’t get much better than this.”

#timezones reblog

[wxntersoldiers]

this was E V E R Y T H I N G i cannot cope

No Words Needed

TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Peter’s love language is something of which he is very deprived. You’re his exception.

Peter Parker is incredibly touch starved.

Living without that typical parental warmth surrounding you can do that, he figures, especially after losing the uncle who so kindly took him in along the way. Of course, that’s not to downplay the generous sacrifices of his Aunt May, who he undeniably adores beyond words.

Yet, as much as Peter’s grateful for what he still has left in his life, he wishes affection could be a more constant presence.

In all honesty, he’s learned to want that sort of thing through his work as Spider-Man—most commonly because of the longing he feels when he can save someone and return them to their loved ones. He gets the opportunity to connect a family together again, to see friends embrace and cry and reach out for one another, to watch on as couples kiss each other’s cheeks and foreheads feverishly, as if they’ve just realized the fragility of existence in that very moment. He’s fortunate enough to have people he’s saved extend an arm to him in thanks, people who’ve hugged him just for the sake of needing it. He’s torn to bits in the circumstances where he can’t save everybody. But he takes the risk of personal heartache with a grain of salt, and he pushes on to prevent their frequency.

Peter Parker is touch starved, but he earns enough compensation for it by rescuing others from the same fate.

He figures that it’ll be another ten, fifteen years of waiting to get that sort of thing for himself—hell, maybe he’ll never get it. Some days, he thinks that he’ll eternally have nobody’s arms to wrap around him but his own.

But then there’s you.

You discovered that he was Spider-Man by complete accident. Peter has an awfully reckless tendency to pull off his mask whenever he thinks he’s alone, even if he’s not in the safety of his own room. On a night when he needed a moment to think, following a very lengthy and tiring few hours of chasing police radio calls all over the city, he just so happened to find himself sitting atop the roof of your apartment complex (and by just so happened, he was being completely intentional in choosing your building, although not yet realizing the weight of his decision).

It was a comforting spot to him—almost as good of a view as the Empire State Building, whilst also providing with him a dose of nostalgia that made him think of all the times you’d brought him up there after school; it was a tradition he’d passed on in the few weeks prior, given that his hero duties started taking up a considerable amount of his time. He found himself missing it.

What he also missed was you walking out onto the roof, right up until you tentatively gasped out his name into the frigid evening air. Peter nearly fell off the side of the building in shock, but you were quick to pull him back to you, very easily pulling an honest explanation out of him when he began to see the concern in your eyes.

He didn’t expect a lot of things that happened that night, but the one that stunned him to his core was the way you hugged him after everything was thrown out in the open.

It was so warm. You were so warm. Sure, he’d known you long enough where basic touch was next to normal. A bumping of shoulders, the ruffling of hair, the unintentional brushing of hands. He saw you so often, after all. Even so, something as standard as a hug was causing a flood of emotions to rise up in him, nearly drowning him in the process, yet letting him breathe so effortlessly that his chest ached. He could feel the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat against his, could map out the grooves in your fingertips as they curled into the hair at his nape. He couldn’t help the onslaught of heat that bloomed on his face at the realization that you weren’t letting go anytime soon.

That night, you stayed up there with him for hours in the cold (although you made a few trips to your room and back with a handful of hot drinks and much warmer clothing at the ready, praying that Peter wouldn’t dart from your rooftop without warning), convincing him to open up sides of him that nobody had ever seen before. You offered him a wool blanket to drape over his suit and a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and it was like a light-switch got flipped in his head.

Peter realized that he had finally found it, not a day or a decade too late, and that he never wanted to live without it again.

He became much more affectionate from then on, keeping a gentle hand on the small of your back whilst navigating the school halls, brushing stray wisps of hair away from your face, and letting you fall asleep against his shoulder on the subway. No matter how many times he’d initiated contact before, it always sent your mind into a frenzy—especially when he would lean down and murmur, “is this okay?” beside your ear whenever his proximity bordered on near-romanticism.

Of course, you wouldn’t mind if it was romantic, but Peter didn’t need to know that.

You’ve discovered that it gets even more pronounced when he’s Spider-Man, because apparently a mask enhances a person’s confidence tenfold. Seeing videos of his cheeky commentary and caring acts of heroism paled in comparison to watching him work in person. You got the opportunity to learn that firsthand when—soon after his accidental reveal to you on the rooftop—some deadbeat decided to rob the convenience store on 14th by Midtown, and you were left to hide in the back corner, ducking beside a wall of energy drinks that you were damn near prepared to start throwing at the criminal if you had to crouch down any longer. Luckily, Peter caught wind of the situation before you could resort to such irrational aggressions, and he took care of it with practiced ease.

“You alright there?” he had inquired once he discovered your “hiding” spot, reaching out a hand as if you were the only person in the place—which you most definitely weren’t. “What’s a sweetheart like you doing caught up in a situation like this, huh?”

You could only stare back at him with an unimpressed look etched on your face—although the way he murmured sweetheart echoed in your head the whole time, like a church bell going off on a Sunday morning. “I just wanted to grab some snacks before my friend came over later.”

“Yeah?” he hums, amusement ringing clear, “Tell your friend that he owes you.”

He was the friend, of course. You had agreed to meet up after his daily patrol for a traditional session of studying and watching TV, but apparently the world had slightly modified intentions before that.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assured him, sarcasm layered into your voice. “He’s already paid me back.”

Peter then insisted on carrying you out of the store (because there was some shattered glass on the floor, he reasoned—but it was more sincerely because he’s an asshole), and as a result, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had held you so effortlessly for the rest of the afternoon; an arm secured snuggly around your waist, the other supporting your legs up; it was as if you’d just said your vows on the way down the chip aisle.

God, his proximity was overwhelming. How in the world could one person’s touch be so intoxicating?

Unbeknownst to you, Peter was asking himself the exact same question. He was always this close to telling you how he felt, always acknowledging the urge to confess to you as the words sat on the tip of his tongue, but nothing had ever actually come out before. He remembered the night that his identity was revealed to you, and he longed for that sort of moment again—even if just to convey the sheer amount of affection he held for you.

But the back of his mind itched with doubt, and that doubt morphed its way into a sort of selfishness that made his stomach churn. He couldn’t stand the thought of having you distance yourself from him if his feelings weren’t returned. After all, you were his best friend above everything else.

So he stuck to the warmth of you like a moth to a flame, getting just enough before the absolute blaze that was you could singe his wings. It was a game of give and take that fueled you more than he understood, and it only kept rising in stakes as the days trudged on.

Your hand on his face here, his hands on your waist there.

The smudging of whipped cream against a nose, the bringing of a fork to parted lips to steal a bite of pastry.

Breaths of a shared closeness mingling on a winter’s day, a quick peck on the cheek in parting—

“Hey,” he finally can’t stop himself from saying, sitting up straight on the cushioned stool that he’s pulled up to your family’s kitchen counter. He’s watching you intently as you scour for drinks in the fridge, your face illuminated by the fluorescent glow of the open door. Even hunched over and with your body partially engulfed by the stainless steel appliance, Peter finds himself thinking you haven’t looked more lovely a day in your life.

Maybe it’s because of the kiss he can still feel lingering on his skin—on the place just above the right hand side of his jaw, right where you’d left it before dashing off to third period that morning—but even without that, he’s almost positive you’d still look just as beautiful.

You eventually maneuver out from the door, triumphantly grasping two cans of soda in your hands with a grin before kicking your heel back to shut it. “Hey,” you mimic. “What’s up?”

You know what’s up, seeing as you almost banged your head on your desk in Physics earlier out of pure frustration. The awkward atmosphere was most definitely due to the impulse you hadn’t gained the strength to fight, and you’re sure enough that you’re about to pay for it with the way Peter shifts in his spot.

He offers a slanted grin when you slide a cola over to him, snagging it before it can topple over and get shaken up. “I was going to ask you that.”

“Were you now?”

You’re avoiding his gaze, putting all your focus into pulling the tab of your drink open with a satisfying hiss, downing a gulp of it before he can say another word. Something like hope (and a hint of bemusement) flutters in Peter’s chest.

“Do you really not want to talk about kissing me all that much? I’m hurt.”

“On the cheek, Pete. I kissed you on the cheek. But anyways, do you want to order delivery tonight?”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You finally glance up at him, shooting a pointed glare his way. “There’s not much to discuss. It was an accident, and I’m embarrassed about it. There. Now—delivery or something else?”

Peter frowns, the brightness in his pretty brown eyes dimming, and you find your heart seizing in your chest at his change in demeanor. He seems almost…disappointed. But as soon as you see it, he shakes it off just as quick.

“Why do you need to be embarrassed about something like that?” He mutters softly. “We’re best friends. I’ve seen you do more outrageous shit than something as simple as a kiss, you know.”

Simple. Your heart twinges at the term. “Doubtful.”

“How about that one time you bought a pound of gumdrops on Christmas Eve and threw up trying to finish the bag before midnight?”

“Okay, except for that.”

“I had to hold your hair up for ten minutes straight,” he persists. “I still don’t think I’ve ever seen such colorful—”

You’re smiling now. “Alright, alright, I get it! Hush, before I lose my appetite for the day, Parker.”

Peter just laughs, reaching a hand out across the kitchen countertop and placing it over your own. You let him.

“See? Nothing you could ever do would make me not want to be around you. So talk to me.”

He squeezes your fingers in reassurance, and against your better judgement, your heart palpitates. Damn him and his unrealized talent for flirting. You take a deep breath, mulling over whether to dodge his curiosity, to pin your butterflies to a corkscrew board and keep them there, or to let them fly out into the world without restraint.

“I don’t know, Peter,” you eventually sigh. “It just happened. To be honest, I didn’t really think about it before I did it.“

He’s rubbing soothing circles against your knuckles now. You’re hyper-aware of how sweaty your palms must be. “Why is that?”

“If you mean why I didn’t think about it, then…” Choose. Now or never. “I kind of just wanted to.”

Bye bye, butterflies.

A beat of silence. You don’t realize it, but Peter’s breathing has turned almost dangerously shallow.

“Oh.”

Of course, how could you possibly realize such a little thing, at least with the way the corner of his lip is quirking into the faintest of smiles?

You can’t bring yourself to comment on it aloud, but seeing how you can feel his eyes watching your own—tracing the subtlety with which you’re just barely outrunning the interlocking of his gaze with yours, like a game of cat and mouse—you’re sure he knows well enough. Peter’s never needed many words to read your body language just fine, and you with his in turn.

He’s enjoying this.

It’s a wordless communication, but timid hope radiates off that stupid little grin of his in droves. One that he knows you can see.

“I should’ve asked you if it was okay,” you manage. “I’m sorry.”

Peter’s out of his seat now, hand slipping out of yours as he makes his way in front of you. He makes up for the lack of his touch quickly, though, as a hand reaches up to tilt your chin—gently coaxing you to look him directly in the eyes for the first time since the conversation started. The sodas are growing lukewarm on the counter, all but forgotten.

“I already told you,” he says, breathy and low and so very pretty, “you don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s okay.”

You nod, feeling the hairs on your arms stand. The irony of it almost makes you laugh aloud, but the rate at which Peter is closing distance is enough to captivate you into silence. You wonder if he can hear the sound of your thoughts from this far—a difference of inches; an unknown territory that teeters on the verge of something completely relationship-altering.

A proposition.

“And what about now?” He ventures. “Do you still want to? Because I really do.”

You could sense it coming—could recall the memory of lingering touches that lasted far longer than needed, could feel the electricity that shot through you every time—and yet, it still made your heart stutter with unbridled elation.

“Yes, Peter,” you affirm, grinning. “Please do.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, bridging the gap and pressing his mouth to yours like his life depends on it. It tastes like cola, sweet and syrupy and surreal, and you’re blown away by the gentleness with which Peter kisses you, letting the pads of his fingers trace the outline of your face with the delicacy of handling porcelain. The colors of monarch, morpho, and swallowtail wings erupt behind your eyelids like fireworks.

You have to convince yourself to take a breath of air, but Peter doesn’t stray from you for long, eliciting a fit of laughter from you when he plants a flurry of pecks to your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“Peter!” You groan, halfheartedly pushing him by the shoulders.

“What?” He teases. “This is payback for this morning!”

You surge forward to press one last kiss to his lips, backing away from the kitchen with a bounce in your step. “Shut up and get your coat, you ass. We’re going out for dinner now.”

Peter easily catches up to you, a goofy smile stretching across his face. “Like a date?”

“Yes, like a date.”

You blink owlishly when you turn to find Peter offering his arm to you, but you happily loop your arm with his after the second of surprise passes.

“This is much better than ordering delivery.”

“I swear, Parker…”

Peter was touch starved. As in, he used to be. And if you had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t face that issue ever again.

#fics and recreation #my GOD

[wxntersoldiers]

how did you learn to write well?

well first you have to be a very sad child

[wxntersoldiers]

ANDREW GARFIELD AS PETER PARKER THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2 (2014) Dir. Marc Webb

#<33333 #the amazing spider man 2 #andrew garfield

[wxntersoldiers]

Commenting fanfiction is the easiest thing in the world once you start doing it. 

[wxntersoldiers]

#shoutout to yelena belova #gotta be one of my favorite genders

FLORENCE PUGH as YELENA BELOVA HAWKEYE - Season 1 (2021)

#yelena belova

[wxntersoldiers]

Right Person, Wrong Time (P.P)

summary: peter has the right person but can't seem to find the right time.

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, odd curse word, general angst!

word count: 3.3k

A/N: well its been a hot minute since I posted a fic but I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! big shoutout to my bestest @talk-geek-to-me for editing and commenting on this as I wrote it!

as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, tell me what you thought of this fic!

“I think I could fall in love with you.”

Your eyebrow twitched underneath the harsh material of your mask, the blistering pang of guilt spreading through your chest. It wrapped itself around your ribs and tightened with each thought of the masked hero who shared the rooftop with you each evening. The cold of the concrete beneath you sinking into your skin and chilling each bone one by one. You knew him, you knew his heart and his morals, the ethical code he followed and swore by - you knew Spider-Man well and you knew Peter Parker even better, but he didn’t know you.

At least not this version of you.

You had grown up next door to the Parker family, Peter had moved in with May and Ben when you were both six years old, the pair of you had been attached at the hip ever since. Birthdays, Christmas’ and Halloweens were all spent together, he helped you with your science projects and you helped him with his English papers. He held your hand and told you everything would be okay when your Grandmother passed, you wiped his tears and refused to let him go when Uncle Ben was taken away from him.

You were the first person he told when he realised he could stick to the ceiling, you stitched the tears in his suit and gently cleaned up his bloodied nose after each battle with whoever was tormenting New York that evening but you just couldn’t allow him do the same for you.

Peter had too much to deal with in his own heroic lifestyle, you couldn’t burden him with yours too. He balanced studying at Empire State University, working his ass off at Oscorp in the afternoons and guarding New York with his life each night, knowing your other identity would just be another piece thrown upon his plate and he didn’t need that -  that’s how you justified not telling him about your double life.

Meeting Peter on the rooftop each night became routine one evening after he accidentally webbed your hand to a wall, mistaking you for another bad guy that roamed the streets. You feared he would know it was you but after some tweaking here and there, you mastered the art of altering your voice within your mask, pushing your identity further and further away from Peter.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Webs.” A bitter wind pushed between you both, seemingly carrying your words into the hustle and bustle of Queens, the gentle tremble in your words buried beneath the howl of the wind and the quiet laughter of Peter. “Neither of us have time for love.”

Peter laughed once again, a fog of breath emitting from his mask. “Alright, I’ll put emphasis on the ‘could’ part of that sentence. Have you ever heard the story of Romeo and Juliet?” It was your turn to laugh, nose scrunching beneath your mask as you turned to face him, legs still dangling from the ledge of the rooftop you sat upon.

“You mean the story where two teenagers supposedly fell in love -”

“Two star-crossed lovers.” Peter interrupted you, shuffling ever so slightly closer to you, his body mirroring the position of yours. “They were the right person for each other but it was the wrong time -”

“They were young, naive and also fictional.” Peter laughed again, the sweetest bout of laughter that only he could make. “Don’t tell me you see yourself as a Romeo, right?” Peter shook his head, the eyes of his mask catching the reflection of a street lamp as he looked to the street below you both.

“Right, let me rephrase my original point. Have you ever met someone who was right for you but it was just the wrong time?” You nodded. Your heart sank in your chest, the guilt replaced with the overwhelming feeling of drowning within your own body. “Outside of this,” Peter waved his hand around, a finger pointing to the red and blue suit that adorned him. “In my real life, I have the right person there but she’s just out of reach, I mean, she’s always right in front of me like in arms reach but it’s always the wrong time.”

The lump that situated itself within your throat was quickly swallowed. “Sounds tough.” Peter sighed and nodded, running a clothed hand over his mask. “I don’t know you outside of this -” You copied Peter’s motion of pointing to his suit and then yours. “But from what I know of you, she’s real lucky to have you there, even if it’s the wrong time.” Peter raised his head to look at you, as if he saw straight through your disguise and into you.

You pushed yourself up from the ledge before he had the chance to reply, your mind no longer being able to cope with the guilt and torment of lying through your teeth. “Listen, I’ve got to go but I’ll see you around Webs. Take care of yourself.”

Before Peter could even ask when he’d see you again, you were gone, disappearing into the night sky without another word.

“Great job Pete, freak out the only superhero friend you have.” Peter muttered to himself, yanking off his mask for the first time that evening and taking in a breath of the winter evening. Pulling his phone out, Peter scrolled through his contacts until your name came into view, thumb hesitating over the call button as his mind raced through each scenario of telling you exactly how he felt about you.

He gave in, clicking onto the call button and gently putting the phone to his ear, another sigh leaving him as he listened to the call ringing through.

“Sorry, can’t get to my phone right now but if you leave a message I probably won’t get back to you.” Your voicemail echoed into his ear, a pang of disappointment striking his chest. He hung up the call, locking his phone before looking down at the mask that sat next to him; it was always the right time with you but in Peter’s mind, being Spider-Man always made it the wrong time.

The following day, Peter came to your window but the curtains were drawn and the usual sound of the radio playing throughout the apartment couldn’t be heard. Later that morning, you didn’t show for class which was unusual for you. Peter found Gwen and asked if she had seen you, his mind beginning to race as she shook her head no. It wasn’t like you to not show up without any explanation, you were always punctual - rarely off sick.

Peter tried to call you but exactly like the previous evening, there was no answer. His fingers tapped against the cold metal of the lunch table as his leg involuntarily bounced, the uncertainty of not knowing if you were okay slowly eating at him. He attempted to push the panic to the back of his mind, pushing himself away from the table and grabbing his skateboard, he slipped on his headphones and headed to his two pm shift at Oscorp.

Day slowly seeped into night and Peter was sat on the rooftop once again, waiting for his fellow masked hero to appear. He sat for a few hours, shooting webs at empty cans on the rooftop to pass the time until he accidentally webbed a pigeon. After releasing the pigeon from the webs and apologising to it profusely as it flew away, he sat and watched traffic and life pass him by as he waited and waited.

But they never showed.

Eventually Peter gave in to the realisation that for the first night in months, he wouldn’t be joined by his new friend. He pushed himself up and leaped off the rooftop, swinging from lamppost to lamppost, building to building, looking for something to do for the rest of his evening.

After a few hours of patrolling, stopping some petty crimes and rescuing Mrs. Aziz's cat from being stolen, Peter called it a night, swinging his way back to the apartment block you both still resided in all these years later. He planned on doing what he did every night after patrolling, crawling his way to the edge of your window, carefully looking in to make sure you were tucked into bed and safe from the outside world before heading to his own window just next door.

But tonight, something was off. His Spider sense sent him into overdrive, hyper-aware of his surroundings as he landed onto the rooftop, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. He headed down the side of the building towards your window, his spider-sense still keeping him on high alert as he slowly approached your apartment.

Everything began to move in slow motion as Peter looked down at the fire escape outside your window, a handprint of blood slowly slipping from the railings as another seeped from the white windowsill, each falling drop echoing in Peter’s head like a hammer to the head of a nail. The beige curtains of your bedroom flapped out the window in the breeze, another set of bloody handprints slapped onto them.

Without a second thought, Peter jumped down to the fire escape, shouting your name as he dodged the various puddles of blood, his voice growing louder with each call of your name.

Landing into your room with a thud, you were nowhere to be seen. Blood smeared itself across the wooden flooring as if someone had been hauled through the room, the bloody handprints scattered upon the white walls heading out of the room. Peter continued to shout for you, the panic in his voice gaining velocity as he stumbled into the living room of the apartment.

The lights were off except for the small lamp that sat on the wooden table next to the sofa, Peters hurried breathing echoing throughout the room, harmonised with small cries of pain from the other side of the sofa.

Peter rushed across the room, skidding to a halt as he saw you sprawled out on the floor, your mask laying on the floorboards next to you. Your suit was torn in various places revealing gashes, grazes and deep cuts that angrily seeped. He stood frozen for what felt like a millennium, a bitter taste of betrayal filling his mouth for a brief moment as he looked at the mask that sat beside you, staring directly into his eyes. He knew you the entire time, all those nights spent with the masked stranger were nights spent with you.

“Pete?” His name left your mouth in a strangled cry, a strident cough following straight after, the dryness of your throat and mouth being moistened by the metallic taste of blood. “Peter?” You cried out once again, the second call of his name snapping him out of his state of shock. He rushed to your side, pulling off his mask and throwing it next to yours.

You looked to him, eyes flickering ever so slightly as salt tears rolled down the apples of your cheeks, across the blooming purple bruises that littered your once clear skin. Peter felt a bile rise in his throat, the sight of you so beaten and bloody was one he never wanted to see, he fought hard to protect you from everything but he never thought he would ever have to protect you from your own enemies.

“Oh angel, what did you get yourself into?” Peter muttered under his breath, hands hovering over your wounded body as he inspected each wound quickly. “What hurts?” Peter asked in a hurry, his brain five steps behind his mouth. “That’s a really stupid question it probably all hurts. We need to get this suit off of you.” You shook your head furiously, despite being horrifically injured, the thought of being so exposed in front of Peter seemed a thousand times more mortifying.

Peter ignored your silent protest, briefly standing up to look over to the small kitchen, shooting a web out to the draw next to the oven and yanking towards him. He dropped the wooden box to the floor, digging through the contents until he found the pair of scissors he was after.

“I’m going to have to cut you out of the suit.” He stated, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your breathing began to grow shallow, eyes fluttering as each wound continued to bleed. He knelt down beside you, placing the handle of the scissors in his mouth as he gently removed each of your boots, your entire body wincing as he took them off.

“Who did this to you?” He asked sternly as he removed the scissors from his mouth, slowly starting the task of cutting the suit away from your body. You groaned in agony as the material peeled away from your skin. Peter stopped for a moment, placing a gentle hand to your hairline, brushing his thumb over your forehead in an attempt to comfort you. “You need to tell me so I can fix this.”

“You don’t need to fix my broken things, Peter.”

“It’s exactly what I need to do, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” He removed his hand from your forehead, running it through his hair with a puff of frustration. “I’m supposed to keep you safe and protect you but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who hurt you.” He dropped his head. “I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who you really are. I can’t protect you if you lie to me for months. You sat on that rooftop with me, changed your voice and lied straight through your teeth to me.”

A broken sob broke through your lips, the cascade of tears unrelenting as Peter's words sunk into your skin like acid rain. You thought you were doing the right thing by keeping it from him, by keeping your evening escapades as a secret from the one person who trusted you the most in the world.

“I did it to protect you.” You cried, the oh so familiar feeling of guilt attaching itself to your chest like a leech. “You have so much going on and I didn’t want to add to it, I thought I could handle it.”

“You clearly couldn’t!” Peter howled, shocking the both of you. You closed your eyes as more tears threatened to break the barriers of your eyes. In all your years of friendship, Peter had never snapped like that. “You should’ve told me. We could’ve taken on whatever did this to you together, I could’ve prevented this from happening.” Peter carefully began to cut away the material of your suit, the fingertips of his suit brushing across your skin like a feather, goosebumps following in their wake.

Peter continued to cut the suit away from your skin, hushed apologies leaving his mouth as you cringed in discomfort.

“I’ll be right back, just need to get the antiseptic and some bandage, you don’t need any infections.” Peter mumbled, placing the scissors down onto the floor next to your sliced suit. He pushed himself up, not looking at you as he walked towards the bathroom. The realisation of everything began to sink into your mind, the extent of your injuries, the mess you had left behind, the betrayal to Peter. It was all too much.

Peter came back without a word, sitting himself down next to your legs. “I’ll clean your legs first, then your arms and face.” You nodded in acknowledgement, relaxing into Peter’s touch as he gently placed your right leg onto his lap.

“It’s going to sting like a bitch.” Peter gently tipped the bottle of antiseptic onto a cotton pad, bringing the cotton pad to the skin of your leg, the purple bruises growing bigger with each passing moment. You gasped in pain, your hand shooting out to grab Peter’s leg. He shushed you softly, “You’re okay angel, I’ve got you.”

Peter continued on with cleaning each wound with a delicate touch, reassuring you after he wrapped each one in a soft white bandage. He shuffled to where your head was placed, motioning his hand at you for you to lift your head up.

You laid your head onto his lap, the warmth of his skin radiating through his suit like a heater on a cold December morning. “These will probably hurt the most. Prepare yourself.” Peter warned, tipping another small amount of antiseptic onto a clean pad, bringing the material to the cut that sat just above your left eyebrow.

A cry of discomfort and agony left you as Peter cleaned the wound, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. Peter bit back tears of his own, the sheer sight of you in agony sent his heart straight through to his stomach without any pit stops.

“I’m so sorry, you’re doing great, I promise.” He reassured you, placing his free hand onto your unbruised cheek, thumb caressing the skin. “Please stop crying,” He pleaded quietly, he was unsure on whether he was talking to himself or you as he gave in to his emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I’m sorry Peter, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” Peter shook his head, setting down the antiseptic pad, placing his now free hand onto your other cheek. “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay, It’ll all be okay.” Peter leant forward, pressing gentle reassuring kisses to the bruises that decorated your skin, his tears falling onto your cheeks. “I’ll fix it, I’ll make it better.” You both cried quietly as he continued to press delicate kisses across your face. He held your face in his hands and it felt as if he had the entire universe within his palms, every cosmic entity and earthly creature all wrapped into one person - wrapped into his person.

“You are everything, y’know that?” He muttered, the tip of his nose brushing against yours tenderly. “Absolutely everything.”

Peter gave into years of holding back, he put out the fires in his mind that kept him away from you and burst through every locked door that shut him out. His lips were soft but his kiss was firm, every moment of love and longing he had for you melted into the kiss.

You pulled back slowly, panic slowly setting into Peter as he realised what he had done, hurried apologies tumbling out of his mouth as you both stared at each other. He shuffled backwards as you pushed yourself up, a groan of pain echoing as you turned to face Peter. “Come back.” You whispered, reaching a hand out to him. He nodded carefully, scooting himself closer to you, gently taking your legs and looping them over his, your chests pressed together as if you were going to meld into one.

“I think I could fall in love with you, Peter Parker.”

“I’m already in love with you, angel.”

New York was slowly bursting into spring, months had passed and with each passing one, your wounds slowly healed. Scars were left behind but you could live with them. Things had changed, you had changed, Peter had changed.

“Did you hear Spider-Man caught those guys who roughed up-”

“Yes I did hear because Spider-Man won’t let me forget it.” You teased Peter, gently nudging his shoulder with yours as you sat on the ledge. Peter shrugged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, gently pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can I ask you something?” Peter nodded.

“Always.”

You looked out to the view in front of you, the sun slowly setting over the Manhattan skyline. “Did you still have your right person at the wrong time?” Peter laughed to himself, shaking his head and pressing another kiss to your head.

“I’ve got the right person at the right time, it couldn’t get much better than this.”

#timezones reblog

[wxntersoldiers]

NOT THE LITTLE WILSON BABIES I AM IN BITS!!!!!! I actually felt yn’s disappointment in my chest when he said he wouldn’t be home until MAY 😩 Rae you’ve once again stolen my heart w your writing!!!

I'll Be Home For Christmas: One-Shot

Pairing: Modern!Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary: Sam promises to be home for Christmas, what happens when he can't meet him family's expectations?

Warning(s): angst at first, ends with fluff

Word Count: 1,384

Authors Note: this is so bad i did not edit it im so sorry I just needed to get the idea out of my head. I also realized I haven't written for Sammy in a while :)

(not my picture)

“Good night, Mommy, I love you.” Your daughter whispers as you tuck her under her boat comforter. “Merry Christmas,” she says, her voice slightly muffled by the thick material.

“Merry Christmas, Corinne, I love you.” You whisper back, lips pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, when you pull back, there’s a sad smile on her lips, her chocolate brown eyes glossy with tears, the sight breaks your heart. The blanket you had tucked her into seconds before, is discarded in a matter of seconds, as she climbs into your lap, arms wrap around your stomach. 

“I miss daddy.” She sobs into your chest, tears wetting your shirt. With a soft hand, you cup her cheek, urging her to look at you. You want nothing more than to tell her it’ll be okay, that daddy will be home soon. But you can’t do that to her, you can’t feed her false hope. Not when you don’t have any hope. The truth is you have no idea when you will see him next, even if you did know, you aren’t sure if you would tell them, in fear of disappointing them again. 

It was a few days ago that Sam had called, with a promise to be home on December 23rd, two days before Christmas. You and Corinne were ecstatic, Cooper, on the other hand, had no idea what had his mom and older sister excited, he was just happy to be a part of it. His next call was late on the 21t, three days after the last, which surprised you. Sam is always on a tight schedule, running from one thing to the next. 

He makes an effort to call once a month and on the off chance he has a second to himself, he’ll call twice, but he hasn’t done that in over two months. Anxiety surged through your body, tightening in your chest. As soon as you answered the phone, you knew, by his tone and the stiffness of his words, he had no good news to share, his sentences were kept short, to the point, as if he were speaking to a superior. 

“I’m going to miss Christmas this year, babe.” The words shot through your heart, your ears left ringing, mouth dry. When you didn’t reply, he said, “I’ll try for Cori’s birthday.” frozen in place, his words barely registered, Cori’s birthday is in May, the next time he can come home is in May. Though he doesn’t directly say it, that’s what he’s implying, there’s no hope of him coming home anytime soon. Despite his news, you had held out hope he might show up at the last minute on Christmas day, that hope was crushed when he didn’t walk through the front door this morning.

Black, curly hair tickles your chin as Corinne buries her face deeper into you. Arms wrapped protectively around her, you lay down on her boat-themed bed, allowing your body to relax into the cotton sheets. A second later, the sound of tiny feet came padding across the hallway, into Corinne’s room. Sitting up, you find Cooper standing in the doorway, shark blanket clutched in his tiny hand, dragging along behind him. As hard as you have tried to stop him, Cooper keeps escaping his crib, even after you bought a mesh crib cover, he got out three nights later.

“Daddy,” he calls out, walking towards the bed on unsteady feet. Over the last few weeks, Cooper has taken to calling everyone and everything he sees Daddy, which you find endearing, however, you would be a liar if you said it didn’t pinch your heart knowing he might not remember his Daddy all that well. Which isn’t his fault, nor is it Sam’s. As hard as it is to be away, Sam is proud of what he does, he enjoys helping and serving and protecting people, fighting for what’s right, it’s a part of who he is, always has been, and who are you to stop him from doing that? 

Picking Cooper up, you climb into bed on the side farther from the wall. Coop lays between you and his big sister, and Corinne clings to the stuffed falcon Sam got her for her fourth birthday last year. You are unsure of where her obsessions with Falcons came from, but they were quick to become her favorite animal. 

You lay down, covering the three of you with the comforter. Eyelids slide shut, breathing evens, you fall asleep, your kids safe between your arms.

Morning light peaks through blinds, illuminating ocean blue walls, you groan as you wake from your sleep, arms instinctively tighten around nothing, a surge of fear runs through you. You panic, sitting up from the twin-sized bed. “Daddy,” you hear your one-year-old say. He’s on the floor, eating one of his socks. Corinne is sitting next to him, her favorite coloring book in hand, you watch as she scribbles a yellow crayon over a picture of a seagull. 

A smile pulls at your lips, taking out your phone, you snap a quick photo of your kids, you make a mental note to print it and mail it to Sam. “Daddy,” Cooper calls out again, his arms waving up and down.

“Coop, can you say mommy?” You ask, climbing out of bed and sitting next to them on the beige carpet, your back facing the bedroom door.  “Daddy,” he says again, you pout at him when you begin to fake cry, he stares at you, big, brown eyes are soon distracted by his sock, which finds its way back into his mouth, which you pull out and replace with his teether.

“Is okay Mommy, I still loves you,” Corinne says sweetly, despite implying that not saying mommy means he doesn’t love you. You laugh, covering her face with kisses, she giggles too. 

“Daddy,” 

“Please say, Mommy,” you pout, hands clasped together as you plead to your one-year-old,  

Daddy!” Much to your surprise, the word doesn’t come from Coop this time around, instead, it comes from his sister who is jumping to her feet.  

“Traitors,” You grumble, resting your chin in your hand. Her brother follows after her, arms raised high, as if he is asking to be picked up, which is strange, he never asks his sister to pick him up, unless…

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t also trade it all for me,” A familiar voice says over the squealing of your kids. Something thumps against the floor, something heavy, like a bag. Tears burn in your eyes, you sit there, frozen, too scared to turn around because if you do you might wake up.

Heavy footsteps enter the room, stopping to your right, brownie batter eyes find yours, Sam stands there, Cooper and Corinne in either of his arms, he’s still in uniform. 

His hair, though it’s still short, is longer than you remembered it being, his eyes darker, and his smile softer. Has it really been a year since you last saw him? Coop was a month the last time Sam had been home, now he’s a year and three months, and he doesn’t even question Sam, or hide behind you. He’s being held by his dad as if he wasn’t overseas for the majority of his life.

Without thinking and before he can get another word out, you are jumping from the floor, running over to him as fast as you possibly can. Corinne in his left arm, he holds Cooper in his right, leaving space for you to squeeze in the middle. 

Face buried into his chest, you breathe him in, he smells of aftershave and cheap cologne. His heart beats against your cheek, reminding you that he's here, he's alive, and that he's home. 

"I thought you couldn't make it." you say, wiping away tears from your damp cheeks. 

"I couldn't. Yesterday I got the news from Rogers that things had changed. They didn't need me and shipped me home for two weeks. I wasn't about to stop them." 

A watery smile pulls at his lips as he tries his best to hug his family. "I missed you so much." His words are barely above a whisper, muffled by the sound of Cooper's babbling. 

"We missed you too." you tell him, hugging him a little tighter. 

#fics and recreation

[wxntersoldiers]

perhaps i’m crying into my pasta on my lunch break bc this is the softest thing to ever exist and it’s so perfectly peter parker 🥺🥺

you and me, forevermore

a/n: my small contribution to the andrew garfield renaissance. directly inspired by the line ‘squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi’ in the song new year’s day by taylor swift. special thank you to my other favorite taylor (aka @secretschuylersister​ ) for beta-reading and also bullying me into posting this. please be kind, I am rusty. let me know what you think!   warnings: lots of fluff, a little angst, mentions of uncle ben’s death, mutual pining, two idiots in love summary: peter is in love, you are oblivious, what could go wrong word count: 3.1 k

read on ao3

It started in middle school, when you were partners for the science fair. Peter was bouncing off the walls, so eager to present your project that you had been working on for what felt like ages, but in reality was only a few weeks to the judges. You, on the other hand, were two degrees away from shaking in your boots at the thought of standing up in front of all these people and talking about the mathematical patterns that can be found in Bach compositions. He was so tongue tied when he noticed what was quickly approaching panic attack territory, that he was unable to find the right words to calm you down.

All the time that he had spent staring at the back of your head in class had presented him with the picture of confidence, and you had been so sure of your topic and all of the work that you had put into it mere hours ago, sitting around the kitchen table with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. So, instead of a rambly and ultimately unhelpful pep talk, he settled for grabbing your hand and squeezing three times. It brought you back to Earth, you presented your project and snagged a first place ribbon. He liked to joke it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and you were not one to argue.

You were attached at the hip after that, where one of you went, the other followed. Peter dragged you kicking and screaming through advanced chemistry Sophomore year, he pretended to be interested in your russian politics of the 20th century course. If you were in a club, Peter signed up to take the photographs for the yearbook. You were together all of the time, and had never thought to question when he would grab your hand, squeeze three times before running out of the door to get home before curfew.

Peter was the one that made you watch Star Wars for the first time, disgusted you had been friends for years, “literal years” he said, and that you didn’t understand the references he had been making the entire time. Christmas break rolled around and you were cuddled up on the couch, nestled between the crook of his arm, popcorn bowl in your lap when Aunt May poked her head in from the kitchen. “I’m making your guys’ favorite, sprinkle cookies. Any interest in helping your favorite Aunt?” It didn’t matter that it was several days after Christmas, with the tree glowing softly in the corner and the stockings hung up beside it, the holiday spirit was lingering in the Parker household. They were your favorite cookies, and they were Peter’s favorite because he loved watching you agonize over picking the cookie with the best dough to sprinkle ratio.

“You’re my only Aunt.” Peter called back, eyes not budging from the screen.

“I will!” you called, preparing to swing your legs off of the couch, when you felt Peter’s arm tighten around your waist.

“We haven’t even seen the best part,” he whined.

“You think that every part is the best part.” You rolled your eyes, attempting once more to ditch your movie day in favor of quality time with May. Peter’s arm refused to budge, and you saw May smile to herself before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“I’m right” he whispers, before you feel his hand squeeze your waist three times before wrapping further around your middle to hold you against his chest more firmly, resolute in his silent promise to keep you planted on the couch.

That was new, but you didn’t think much of it, as the movie swept up your attention.

Keep reading

#fics and recreation #oh my GOODNESS

[wxntersoldiers]

Rae my love!!! you always leave the loveliest comments on my fics🥺 thank you for reading and being so supportive💚

Right Person, Wrong Time (P.P)

summary: peter has the right person but can't seem to find the right time.

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, odd curse word, general angst!

word count: 3.3k

A/N: well its been a hot minute since I posted a fic but I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! big shoutout to my bestest @talk-geek-to-me for editing and commenting on this as I wrote it!

as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, tell me what you thought of this fic!

“I think I could fall in love with you.”

Your eyebrow twitched underneath the harsh material of your mask, the blistering pang of guilt spreading through your chest. It wrapped itself around your ribs and tightened with each thought of the masked hero who shared the rooftop with you each evening. The cold of the concrete beneath you sinking into your skin and chilling each bone one by one. You knew him, you knew his heart and his morals, the ethical code he followed and swore by - you knew Spider-Man well and you knew Peter Parker even better, but he didn’t know you.

At least not this version of you.

You had grown up next door to the Parker family, Peter had moved in with May and Ben when you were both six years old, the pair of you had been attached at the hip ever since. Birthdays, Christmas’ and Halloweens were all spent together, he helped you with your science projects and you helped him with his English papers. He held your hand and told you everything would be okay when your Grandmother passed, you wiped his tears and refused to let him go when Uncle Ben was taken away from him.

You were the first person he told when he realised he could stick to the ceiling, you stitched the tears in his suit and gently cleaned up his bloodied nose after each battle with whoever was tormenting New York that evening but you just couldn’t allow him do the same for you.

Peter had too much to deal with in his own heroic lifestyle, you couldn’t burden him with yours too. He balanced studying at Empire State University, working his ass off at Oscorp in the afternoons and guarding New York with his life each night, knowing your other identity would just be another piece thrown upon his plate and he didn’t need that -  that’s how you justified not telling him about your double life.

Meeting Peter on the rooftop each night became routine one evening after he accidentally webbed your hand to a wall, mistaking you for another bad guy that roamed the streets. You feared he would know it was you but after some tweaking here and there, you mastered the art of altering your voice within your mask, pushing your identity further and further away from Peter.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Webs.” A bitter wind pushed between you both, seemingly carrying your words into the hustle and bustle of Queens, the gentle tremble in your words buried beneath the howl of the wind and the quiet laughter of Peter. “Neither of us have time for love.”

Peter laughed once again, a fog of breath emitting from his mask. “Alright, I’ll put emphasis on the ‘could’ part of that sentence. Have you ever heard the story of Romeo and Juliet?” It was your turn to laugh, nose scrunching beneath your mask as you turned to face him, legs still dangling from the ledge of the rooftop you sat upon.

“You mean the story where two teenagers supposedly fell in love -”

“Two star-crossed lovers.” Peter interrupted you, shuffling ever so slightly closer to you, his body mirroring the position of yours. “They were the right person for each other but it was the wrong time -”

“They were young, naive and also fictional.” Peter laughed again, the sweetest bout of laughter that only he could make. “Don’t tell me you see yourself as a Romeo, right?” Peter shook his head, the eyes of his mask catching the reflection of a street lamp as he looked to the street below you both.

“Right, let me rephrase my original point. Have you ever met someone who was right for you but it was just the wrong time?” You nodded. Your heart sank in your chest, the guilt replaced with the overwhelming feeling of drowning within your own body. “Outside of this,” Peter waved his hand around, a finger pointing to the red and blue suit that adorned him. “In my real life, I have the right person there but she’s just out of reach, I mean, she’s always right in front of me like in arms reach but it’s always the wrong time.”

The lump that situated itself within your throat was quickly swallowed. “Sounds tough.” Peter sighed and nodded, running a clothed hand over his mask. “I don’t know you outside of this -” You copied Peter’s motion of pointing to his suit and then yours. “But from what I know of you, she’s real lucky to have you there, even if it’s the wrong time.” Peter raised his head to look at you, as if he saw straight through your disguise and into you.

You pushed yourself up from the ledge before he had the chance to reply, your mind no longer being able to cope with the guilt and torment of lying through your teeth. “Listen, I’ve got to go but I’ll see you around Webs. Take care of yourself.”

Before Peter could even ask when he’d see you again, you were gone, disappearing into the night sky without another word.

“Great job Pete, freak out the only superhero friend you have.” Peter muttered to himself, yanking off his mask for the first time that evening and taking in a breath of the winter evening. Pulling his phone out, Peter scrolled through his contacts until your name came into view, thumb hesitating over the call button as his mind raced through each scenario of telling you exactly how he felt about you.

He gave in, clicking onto the call button and gently putting the phone to his ear, another sigh leaving him as he listened to the call ringing through.

“Sorry, can’t get to my phone right now but if you leave a message I probably won’t get back to you.” Your voicemail echoed into his ear, a pang of disappointment striking his chest. He hung up the call, locking his phone before looking down at the mask that sat next to him; it was always the right time with you but in Peter’s mind, being Spider-Man always made it the wrong time.

The following day, Peter came to your window but the curtains were drawn and the usual sound of the radio playing throughout the apartment couldn’t be heard. Later that morning, you didn’t show for class which was unusual for you. Peter found Gwen and asked if she had seen you, his mind beginning to race as she shook her head no. It wasn’t like you to not show up without any explanation, you were always punctual - rarely off sick.

Peter tried to call you but exactly like the previous evening, there was no answer. His fingers tapped against the cold metal of the lunch table as his leg involuntarily bounced, the uncertainty of not knowing if you were okay slowly eating at him. He attempted to push the panic to the back of his mind, pushing himself away from the table and grabbing his skateboard, he slipped on his headphones and headed to his two pm shift at Oscorp.

Day slowly seeped into night and Peter was sat on the rooftop once again, waiting for his fellow masked hero to appear. He sat for a few hours, shooting webs at empty cans on the rooftop to pass the time until he accidentally webbed a pigeon. After releasing the pigeon from the webs and apologising to it profusely as it flew away, he sat and watched traffic and life pass him by as he waited and waited.

But they never showed.

Eventually Peter gave in to the realisation that for the first night in months, he wouldn’t be joined by his new friend. He pushed himself up and leaped off the rooftop, swinging from lamppost to lamppost, building to building, looking for something to do for the rest of his evening.

After a few hours of patrolling, stopping some petty crimes and rescuing Mrs. Aziz's cat from being stolen, Peter called it a night, swinging his way back to the apartment block you both still resided in all these years later. He planned on doing what he did every night after patrolling, crawling his way to the edge of your window, carefully looking in to make sure you were tucked into bed and safe from the outside world before heading to his own window just next door.

But tonight, something was off. His Spider sense sent him into overdrive, hyper-aware of his surroundings as he landed onto the rooftop, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. He headed down the side of the building towards your window, his spider-sense still keeping him on high alert as he slowly approached your apartment.

Everything began to move in slow motion as Peter looked down at the fire escape outside your window, a handprint of blood slowly slipping from the railings as another seeped from the white windowsill, each falling drop echoing in Peter’s head like a hammer to the head of a nail. The beige curtains of your bedroom flapped out the window in the breeze, another set of bloody handprints slapped onto them.

Without a second thought, Peter jumped down to the fire escape, shouting your name as he dodged the various puddles of blood, his voice growing louder with each call of your name.

Landing into your room with a thud, you were nowhere to be seen. Blood smeared itself across the wooden flooring as if someone had been hauled through the room, the bloody handprints scattered upon the white walls heading out of the room. Peter continued to shout for you, the panic in his voice gaining velocity as he stumbled into the living room of the apartment.

The lights were off except for the small lamp that sat on the wooden table next to the sofa, Peters hurried breathing echoing throughout the room, harmonised with small cries of pain from the other side of the sofa.

Peter rushed across the room, skidding to a halt as he saw you sprawled out on the floor, your mask laying on the floorboards next to you. Your suit was torn in various places revealing gashes, grazes and deep cuts that angrily seeped. He stood frozen for what felt like a millennium, a bitter taste of betrayal filling his mouth for a brief moment as he looked at the mask that sat beside you, staring directly into his eyes. He knew you the entire time, all those nights spent with the masked stranger were nights spent with you.

“Pete?” His name left your mouth in a strangled cry, a strident cough following straight after, the dryness of your throat and mouth being moistened by the metallic taste of blood. “Peter?” You cried out once again, the second call of his name snapping him out of his state of shock. He rushed to your side, pulling off his mask and throwing it next to yours.

You looked to him, eyes flickering ever so slightly as salt tears rolled down the apples of your cheeks, across the blooming purple bruises that littered your once clear skin. Peter felt a bile rise in his throat, the sight of you so beaten and bloody was one he never wanted to see, he fought hard to protect you from everything but he never thought he would ever have to protect you from your own enemies.

“Oh angel, what did you get yourself into?” Peter muttered under his breath, hands hovering over your wounded body as he inspected each wound quickly. “What hurts?” Peter asked in a hurry, his brain five steps behind his mouth. “That’s a really stupid question it probably all hurts. We need to get this suit off of you.” You shook your head furiously, despite being horrifically injured, the thought of being so exposed in front of Peter seemed a thousand times more mortifying.

Peter ignored your silent protest, briefly standing up to look over to the small kitchen, shooting a web out to the draw next to the oven and yanking towards him. He dropped the wooden box to the floor, digging through the contents until he found the pair of scissors he was after.

“I’m going to have to cut you out of the suit.” He stated, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your breathing began to grow shallow, eyes fluttering as each wound continued to bleed. He knelt down beside you, placing the handle of the scissors in his mouth as he gently removed each of your boots, your entire body wincing as he took them off.

“Who did this to you?” He asked sternly as he removed the scissors from his mouth, slowly starting the task of cutting the suit away from your body. You groaned in agony as the material peeled away from your skin. Peter stopped for a moment, placing a gentle hand to your hairline, brushing his thumb over your forehead in an attempt to comfort you. “You need to tell me so I can fix this.”

“You don’t need to fix my broken things, Peter.”

“It’s exactly what I need to do, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” He removed his hand from your forehead, running it through his hair with a puff of frustration. “I’m supposed to keep you safe and protect you but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who hurt you.” He dropped his head. “I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who you really are. I can’t protect you if you lie to me for months. You sat on that rooftop with me, changed your voice and lied straight through your teeth to me.”

A broken sob broke through your lips, the cascade of tears unrelenting as Peter's words sunk into your skin like acid rain. You thought you were doing the right thing by keeping it from him, by keeping your evening escapades as a secret from the one person who trusted you the most in the world.

“I did it to protect you.” You cried, the oh so familiar feeling of guilt attaching itself to your chest like a leech. “You have so much going on and I didn’t want to add to it, I thought I could handle it.”

“You clearly couldn’t!” Peter howled, shocking the both of you. You closed your eyes as more tears threatened to break the barriers of your eyes. In all your years of friendship, Peter had never snapped like that. “You should’ve told me. We could’ve taken on whatever did this to you together, I could’ve prevented this from happening.” Peter carefully began to cut away the material of your suit, the fingertips of his suit brushing across your skin like a feather, goosebumps following in their wake.

Peter continued to cut the suit away from your skin, hushed apologies leaving his mouth as you cringed in discomfort.

“I’ll be right back, just need to get the antiseptic and some bandage, you don’t need any infections.” Peter mumbled, placing the scissors down onto the floor next to your sliced suit. He pushed himself up, not looking at you as he walked towards the bathroom. The realisation of everything began to sink into your mind, the extent of your injuries, the mess you had left behind, the betrayal to Peter. It was all too much.

Peter came back without a word, sitting himself down next to your legs. “I’ll clean your legs first, then your arms and face.” You nodded in acknowledgement, relaxing into Peter’s touch as he gently placed your right leg onto his lap.

“It’s going to sting like a bitch.” Peter gently tipped the bottle of antiseptic onto a cotton pad, bringing the cotton pad to the skin of your leg, the purple bruises growing bigger with each passing moment. You gasped in pain, your hand shooting out to grab Peter’s leg. He shushed you softly, “You’re okay angel, I’ve got you.”

Peter continued on with cleaning each wound with a delicate touch, reassuring you after he wrapped each one in a soft white bandage. He shuffled to where your head was placed, motioning his hand at you for you to lift your head up.

You laid your head onto his lap, the warmth of his skin radiating through his suit like a heater on a cold December morning. “These will probably hurt the most. Prepare yourself.” Peter warned, tipping another small amount of antiseptic onto a clean pad, bringing the material to the cut that sat just above your left eyebrow.

A cry of discomfort and agony left you as Peter cleaned the wound, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. Peter bit back tears of his own, the sheer sight of you in agony sent his heart straight through to his stomach without any pit stops.

“I’m so sorry, you’re doing great, I promise.” He reassured you, placing his free hand onto your unbruised cheek, thumb caressing the skin. “Please stop crying,” He pleaded quietly, he was unsure on whether he was talking to himself or you as he gave in to his emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I’m sorry Peter, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” Peter shook his head, setting down the antiseptic pad, placing his now free hand onto your other cheek. “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay, It’ll all be okay.” Peter leant forward, pressing gentle reassuring kisses to the bruises that decorated your skin, his tears falling onto your cheeks. “I’ll fix it, I’ll make it better.” You both cried quietly as he continued to press delicate kisses across your face. He held your face in his hands and it felt as if he had the entire universe within his palms, every cosmic entity and earthly creature all wrapped into one person - wrapped into his person.

“You are everything, y’know that?” He muttered, the tip of his nose brushing against yours tenderly. “Absolutely everything.”

Peter gave into years of holding back, he put out the fires in his mind that kept him away from you and burst through every locked door that shut him out. His lips were soft but his kiss was firm, every moment of love and longing he had for you melted into the kiss.

You pulled back slowly, panic slowly setting into Peter as he realised what he had done, hurried apologies tumbling out of his mouth as you both stared at each other. He shuffled backwards as you pushed yourself up, a groan of pain echoing as you turned to face Peter. “Come back.” You whispered, reaching a hand out to him. He nodded carefully, scooting himself closer to you, gently taking your legs and looping them over his, your chests pressed together as if you were going to meld into one.

“I think I could fall in love with you, Peter Parker.”

“I’m already in love with you, angel.”

New York was slowly bursting into spring, months had passed and with each passing one, your wounds slowly healed. Scars were left behind but you could live with them. Things had changed, you had changed, Peter had changed.

“Did you hear Spider-Man caught those guys who roughed up-”

“Yes I did hear because Spider-Man won’t let me forget it.” You teased Peter, gently nudging his shoulder with yours as you sat on the ledge. Peter shrugged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, gently pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can I ask you something?” Peter nodded.

“Always.”

You looked out to the view in front of you, the sun slowly setting over the Manhattan skyline. “Did you still have your right person at the wrong time?” Peter laughed to himself, shaking his head and pressing another kiss to your head.

“I’ve got the right person at the right time, it couldn’t get much better than this.”

#layla reblogs #love you rae

[wxntersoldiers]

Right Person, Wrong Time (P.P)

summary: peter has the right person but can't seem to find the right time.

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, odd curse word, general angst!

word count: 3.3k

A/N: well its been a hot minute since I posted a fic but I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! big shoutout to my bestest @talk-geek-to-me for editing and commenting on this as I wrote it!

as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, tell me what you thought of this fic!

“I think I could fall in love with you.”

Your eyebrow twitched underneath the harsh material of your mask, the blistering pang of guilt spreading through your chest. It wrapped itself around your ribs and tightened with each thought of the masked hero who shared the rooftop with you each evening. The cold of the concrete beneath you sinking into your skin and chilling each bone one by one. You knew him, you knew his heart and his morals, the ethical code he followed and swore by - you knew Spider-Man well and you knew Peter Parker even better, but he didn’t know you.

At least not this version of you.

You had grown up next door to the Parker family, Peter had moved in with May and Ben when you were both six years old, the pair of you had been attached at the hip ever since. Birthdays, Christmas’ and Halloweens were all spent together, he helped you with your science projects and you helped him with his English papers. He held your hand and told you everything would be okay when your Grandmother passed, you wiped his tears and refused to let him go when Uncle Ben was taken away from him.

You were the first person he told when he realised he could stick to the ceiling, you stitched the tears in his suit and gently cleaned up his bloodied nose after each battle with whoever was tormenting New York that evening but you just couldn’t allow him do the same for you.

Peter had too much to deal with in his own heroic lifestyle, you couldn’t burden him with yours too. He balanced studying at Empire State University, working his ass off at Oscorp in the afternoons and guarding New York with his life each night, knowing your other identity would just be another piece thrown upon his plate and he didn’t need that -  that’s how you justified not telling him about your double life.

Meeting Peter on the rooftop each night became routine one evening after he accidentally webbed your hand to a wall, mistaking you for another bad guy that roamed the streets. You feared he would know it was you but after some tweaking here and there, you mastered the art of altering your voice within your mask, pushing your identity further and further away from Peter.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Webs.” A bitter wind pushed between you both, seemingly carrying your words into the hustle and bustle of Queens, the gentle tremble in your words buried beneath the howl of the wind and the quiet laughter of Peter. “Neither of us have time for love.”

Peter laughed once again, a fog of breath emitting from his mask. “Alright, I’ll put emphasis on the ‘could’ part of that sentence. Have you ever heard the story of Romeo and Juliet?” It was your turn to laugh, nose scrunching beneath your mask as you turned to face him, legs still dangling from the ledge of the rooftop you sat upon.

“You mean the story where two teenagers supposedly fell in love -”

“Two star-crossed lovers.” Peter interrupted you, shuffling ever so slightly closer to you, his body mirroring the position of yours. “They were the right person for each other but it was the wrong time -”

“They were young, naive and also fictional.” Peter laughed again, the sweetest bout of laughter that only he could make. “Don’t tell me you see yourself as a Romeo, right?” Peter shook his head, the eyes of his mask catching the reflection of a street lamp as he looked to the street below you both.

“Right, let me rephrase my original point. Have you ever met someone who was right for you but it was just the wrong time?” You nodded. Your heart sank in your chest, the guilt replaced with the overwhelming feeling of drowning within your own body. “Outside of this,” Peter waved his hand around, a finger pointing to the red and blue suit that adorned him. “In my real life, I have the right person there but she’s just out of reach, I mean, she’s always right in front of me like in arms reach but it’s always the wrong time.”

The lump that situated itself within your throat was quickly swallowed. “Sounds tough.” Peter sighed and nodded, running a clothed hand over his mask. “I don’t know you outside of this -” You copied Peter’s motion of pointing to his suit and then yours. “But from what I know of you, she’s real lucky to have you there, even if it’s the wrong time.” Peter raised his head to look at you, as if he saw straight through your disguise and into you.

You pushed yourself up from the ledge before he had the chance to reply, your mind no longer being able to cope with the guilt and torment of lying through your teeth. “Listen, I’ve got to go but I’ll see you around Webs. Take care of yourself.”

Before Peter could even ask when he’d see you again, you were gone, disappearing into the night sky without another word.

“Great job Pete, freak out the only superhero friend you have.” Peter muttered to himself, yanking off his mask for the first time that evening and taking in a breath of the winter evening. Pulling his phone out, Peter scrolled through his contacts until your name came into view, thumb hesitating over the call button as his mind raced through each scenario of telling you exactly how he felt about you.

He gave in, clicking onto the call button and gently putting the phone to his ear, another sigh leaving him as he listened to the call ringing through.

“Sorry, can’t get to my phone right now but if you leave a message I probably won’t get back to you.” Your voicemail echoed into his ear, a pang of disappointment striking his chest. He hung up the call, locking his phone before looking down at the mask that sat next to him; it was always the right time with you but in Peter’s mind, being Spider-Man always made it the wrong time.

The following day, Peter came to your window but the curtains were drawn and the usual sound of the radio playing throughout the apartment couldn’t be heard. Later that morning, you didn’t show for class which was unusual for you. Peter found Gwen and asked if she had seen you, his mind beginning to race as she shook her head no. It wasn’t like you to not show up without any explanation, you were always punctual - rarely off sick.

Peter tried to call you but exactly like the previous evening, there was no answer. His fingers tapped against the cold metal of the lunch table as his leg involuntarily bounced, the uncertainty of not knowing if you were okay slowly eating at him. He attempted to push the panic to the back of his mind, pushing himself away from the table and grabbing his skateboard, he slipped on his headphones and headed to his two pm shift at Oscorp.

Day slowly seeped into night and Peter was sat on the rooftop once again, waiting for his fellow masked hero to appear. He sat for a few hours, shooting webs at empty cans on the rooftop to pass the time until he accidentally webbed a pigeon. After releasing the pigeon from the webs and apologising to it profusely as it flew away, he sat and watched traffic and life pass him by as he waited and waited.

But they never showed.

Eventually Peter gave in to the realisation that for the first night in months, he wouldn’t be joined by his new friend. He pushed himself up and leaped off the rooftop, swinging from lamppost to lamppost, building to building, looking for something to do for the rest of his evening.

After a few hours of patrolling, stopping some petty crimes and rescuing Mrs. Aziz's cat from being stolen, Peter called it a night, swinging his way back to the apartment block you both still resided in all these years later. He planned on doing what he did every night after patrolling, crawling his way to the edge of your window, carefully looking in to make sure you were tucked into bed and safe from the outside world before heading to his own window just next door.

But tonight, something was off. His Spider sense sent him into overdrive, hyper-aware of his surroundings as he landed onto the rooftop, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. He headed down the side of the building towards your window, his spider-sense still keeping him on high alert as he slowly approached your apartment.

Everything began to move in slow motion as Peter looked down at the fire escape outside your window, a handprint of blood slowly slipping from the railings as another seeped from the white windowsill, each falling drop echoing in Peter’s head like a hammer to the head of a nail. The beige curtains of your bedroom flapped out the window in the breeze, another set of bloody handprints slapped onto them.

Without a second thought, Peter jumped down to the fire escape, shouting your name as he dodged the various puddles of blood, his voice growing louder with each call of your name.

Landing into your room with a thud, you were nowhere to be seen. Blood smeared itself across the wooden flooring as if someone had been hauled through the room, the bloody handprints scattered upon the white walls heading out of the room. Peter continued to shout for you, the panic in his voice gaining velocity as he stumbled into the living room of the apartment.

The lights were off except for the small lamp that sat on the wooden table next to the sofa, Peters hurried breathing echoing throughout the room, harmonised with small cries of pain from the other side of the sofa.

Peter rushed across the room, skidding to a halt as he saw you sprawled out on the floor, your mask laying on the floorboards next to you. Your suit was torn in various places revealing gashes, grazes and deep cuts that angrily seeped. He stood frozen for what felt like a millennium, a bitter taste of betrayal filling his mouth for a brief moment as he looked at the mask that sat beside you, staring directly into his eyes. He knew you the entire time, all those nights spent with the masked stranger were nights spent with you.

“Pete?” His name left your mouth in a strangled cry, a strident cough following straight after, the dryness of your throat and mouth being moistened by the metallic taste of blood. “Peter?” You cried out once again, the second call of his name snapping him out of his state of shock. He rushed to your side, pulling off his mask and throwing it next to yours.

You looked to him, eyes flickering ever so slightly as salt tears rolled down the apples of your cheeks, across the blooming purple bruises that littered your once clear skin. Peter felt a bile rise in his throat, the sight of you so beaten and bloody was one he never wanted to see, he fought hard to protect you from everything but he never thought he would ever have to protect you from your own enemies.

“Oh angel, what did you get yourself into?” Peter muttered under his breath, hands hovering over your wounded body as he inspected each wound quickly. “What hurts?” Peter asked in a hurry, his brain five steps behind his mouth. “That’s a really stupid question it probably all hurts. We need to get this suit off of you.” You shook your head furiously, despite being horrifically injured, the thought of being so exposed in front of Peter seemed a thousand times more mortifying.

Peter ignored your silent protest, briefly standing up to look over to the small kitchen, shooting a web out to the draw next to the oven and yanking towards him. He dropped the wooden box to the floor, digging through the contents until he found the pair of scissors he was after.

“I’m going to have to cut you out of the suit.” He stated, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your breathing began to grow shallow, eyes fluttering as each wound continued to bleed. He knelt down beside you, placing the handle of the scissors in his mouth as he gently removed each of your boots, your entire body wincing as he took them off.

“Who did this to you?” He asked sternly as he removed the scissors from his mouth, slowly starting the task of cutting the suit away from your body. You groaned in agony as the material peeled away from your skin. Peter stopped for a moment, placing a gentle hand to your hairline, brushing his thumb over your forehead in an attempt to comfort you. “You need to tell me so I can fix this.”

“You don’t need to fix my broken things, Peter.”

“It’s exactly what I need to do, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” He removed his hand from your forehead, running it through his hair with a puff of frustration. “I’m supposed to keep you safe and protect you but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who hurt you.” He dropped his head. “I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who you really are. I can’t protect you if you lie to me for months. You sat on that rooftop with me, changed your voice and lied straight through your teeth to me.”

A broken sob broke through your lips, the cascade of tears unrelenting as Peter's words sunk into your skin like acid rain. You thought you were doing the right thing by keeping it from him, by keeping your evening escapades as a secret from the one person who trusted you the most in the world.

“I did it to protect you.” You cried, the oh so familiar feeling of guilt attaching itself to your chest like a leech. “You have so much going on and I didn’t want to add to it, I thought I could handle it.”

“You clearly couldn’t!” Peter howled, shocking the both of you. You closed your eyes as more tears threatened to break the barriers of your eyes. In all your years of friendship, Peter had never snapped like that. “You should’ve told me. We could’ve taken on whatever did this to you together, I could’ve prevented this from happening.” Peter carefully began to cut away the material of your suit, the fingertips of his suit brushing across your skin like a feather, goosebumps following in their wake.

Peter continued to cut the suit away from your skin, hushed apologies leaving his mouth as you cringed in discomfort.

“I’ll be right back, just need to get the antiseptic and some bandage, you don’t need any infections.” Peter mumbled, placing the scissors down onto the floor next to your sliced suit. He pushed himself up, not looking at you as he walked towards the bathroom. The realisation of everything began to sink into your mind, the extent of your injuries, the mess you had left behind, the betrayal to Peter. It was all too much.

Peter came back without a word, sitting himself down next to your legs. “I’ll clean your legs first, then your arms and face.” You nodded in acknowledgement, relaxing into Peter’s touch as he gently placed your right leg onto his lap.

“It’s going to sting like a bitch.” Peter gently tipped the bottle of antiseptic onto a cotton pad, bringing the cotton pad to the skin of your leg, the purple bruises growing bigger with each passing moment. You gasped in pain, your hand shooting out to grab Peter’s leg. He shushed you softly, “You’re okay angel, I’ve got you.”

Peter continued on with cleaning each wound with a delicate touch, reassuring you after he wrapped each one in a soft white bandage. He shuffled to where your head was placed, motioning his hand at you for you to lift your head up.

You laid your head onto his lap, the warmth of his skin radiating through his suit like a heater on a cold December morning. “These will probably hurt the most. Prepare yourself.” Peter warned, tipping another small amount of antiseptic onto a clean pad, bringing the material to the cut that sat just above your left eyebrow.

A cry of discomfort and agony left you as Peter cleaned the wound, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. Peter bit back tears of his own, the sheer sight of you in agony sent his heart straight through to his stomach without any pit stops.

“I’m so sorry, you’re doing great, I promise.” He reassured you, placing his free hand onto your unbruised cheek, thumb caressing the skin. “Please stop crying,” He pleaded quietly, he was unsure on whether he was talking to himself or you as he gave in to his emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I’m sorry Peter, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” Peter shook his head, setting down the antiseptic pad, placing his now free hand onto your other cheek. “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay, It’ll all be okay.” Peter leant forward, pressing gentle reassuring kisses to the bruises that decorated your skin, his tears falling onto your cheeks. “I’ll fix it, I’ll make it better.” You both cried quietly as he continued to press delicate kisses across your face. He held your face in his hands and it felt as if he had the entire universe within his palms, every cosmic entity and earthly creature all wrapped into one person - wrapped into his person.

“You are everything, y’know that?” He muttered, the tip of his nose brushing against yours tenderly. “Absolutely everything.”

Peter gave into years of holding back, he put out the fires in his mind that kept him away from you and burst through every locked door that shut him out. His lips were soft but his kiss was firm, every moment of love and longing he had for you melted into the kiss.

You pulled back slowly, panic slowly setting into Peter as he realised what he had done, hurried apologies tumbling out of his mouth as you both stared at each other. He shuffled backwards as you pushed yourself up, a groan of pain echoing as you turned to face Peter. “Come back.” You whispered, reaching a hand out to him. He nodded carefully, scooting himself closer to you, gently taking your legs and looping them over his, your chests pressed together as if you were going to meld into one.

“I think I could fall in love with you, Peter Parker.”

“I’m already in love with you, angel.”

New York was slowly bursting into spring, months had passed and with each passing one, your wounds slowly healed. Scars were left behind but you could live with them. Things had changed, you had changed, Peter had changed.

“Did you hear Spider-Man caught those guys who roughed up-”

“Yes I did hear because Spider-Man won’t let me forget it.” You teased Peter, gently nudging his shoulder with yours as you sat on the ledge. Peter shrugged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, gently pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can I ask you something?” Peter nodded.

“Always.”

You looked out to the view in front of you, the sun slowly setting over the Manhattan skyline. “Did you still have your right person at the wrong time?” Peter laughed to himself, shaking his head and pressing another kiss to your head.

“I’ve got the right person at the right time, it couldn’t get much better than this.”

[wxntersoldiers]

Right Person, Wrong Time (P.P)

summary: peter has the right person but can't seem to find the right time.

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, odd curse word, general angst!

word count: 3.3k

A/N: well its been a hot minute since I posted a fic but I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! big shoutout to my bestest @talk-geek-to-me for editing and commenting on this as I wrote it!

as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, tell me what you thought of this fic!

“I think I could fall in love with you.”

Your eyebrow twitched underneath the harsh material of your mask, the blistering pang of guilt spreading through your chest. It wrapped itself around your ribs and tightened with each thought of the masked hero who shared the rooftop with you each evening. The cold of the concrete beneath you sinking into your skin and chilling each bone one by one. You knew him, you knew his heart and his morals, the ethical code he followed and swore by - you knew Spider-Man well and you knew Peter Parker even better, but he didn’t know you.

At least not this version of you.

You had grown up next door to the Parker family, Peter had moved in with May and Ben when you were both six years old, the pair of you had been attached at the hip ever since. Birthdays, Christmas’ and Halloweens were all spent together, he helped you with your science projects and you helped him with his English papers. He held your hand and told you everything would be okay when your Grandmother passed, you wiped his tears and refused to let him go when Uncle Ben was taken away from him.

You were the first person he told when he realised he could stick to the ceiling, you stitched the tears in his suit and gently cleaned up his bloodied nose after each battle with whoever was tormenting New York that evening but you just couldn’t allow him do the same for you.

Peter had too much to deal with in his own heroic lifestyle, you couldn’t burden him with yours too. He balanced studying at Empire State University, working his ass off at Oscorp in the afternoons and guarding New York with his life each night, knowing your other identity would just be another piece thrown upon his plate and he didn’t need that -  that’s how you justified not telling him about your double life.

Meeting Peter on the rooftop each night became routine one evening after he accidentally webbed your hand to a wall, mistaking you for another bad guy that roamed the streets. You feared he would know it was you but after some tweaking here and there, you mastered the art of altering your voice within your mask, pushing your identity further and further away from Peter.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Webs.” A bitter wind pushed between you both, seemingly carrying your words into the hustle and bustle of Queens, the gentle tremble in your words buried beneath the howl of the wind and the quiet laughter of Peter. “Neither of us have time for love.”

Peter laughed once again, a fog of breath emitting from his mask. “Alright, I’ll put emphasis on the ‘could’ part of that sentence. Have you ever heard the story of Romeo and Juliet?” It was your turn to laugh, nose scrunching beneath your mask as you turned to face him, legs still dangling from the ledge of the rooftop you sat upon.

“You mean the story where two teenagers supposedly fell in love -”

“Two star-crossed lovers.” Peter interrupted you, shuffling ever so slightly closer to you, his body mirroring the position of yours. “They were the right person for each other but it was the wrong time -”

“They were young, naive and also fictional.” Peter laughed again, the sweetest bout of laughter that only he could make. “Don’t tell me you see yourself as a Romeo, right?” Peter shook his head, the eyes of his mask catching the reflection of a street lamp as he looked to the street below you both.

“Right, let me rephrase my original point. Have you ever met someone who was right for you but it was just the wrong time?” You nodded. Your heart sank in your chest, the guilt replaced with the overwhelming feeling of drowning within your own body. “Outside of this,” Peter waved his hand around, a finger pointing to the red and blue suit that adorned him. “In my real life, I have the right person there but she’s just out of reach, I mean, she’s always right in front of me like in arms reach but it’s always the wrong time.”

The lump that situated itself within your throat was quickly swallowed. “Sounds tough.” Peter sighed and nodded, running a clothed hand over his mask. “I don’t know you outside of this -” You copied Peter’s motion of pointing to his suit and then yours. “But from what I know of you, she’s real lucky to have you there, even if it’s the wrong time.” Peter raised his head to look at you, as if he saw straight through your disguise and into you.

You pushed yourself up from the ledge before he had the chance to reply, your mind no longer being able to cope with the guilt and torment of lying through your teeth. “Listen, I’ve got to go but I’ll see you around Webs. Take care of yourself.”

Before Peter could even ask when he’d see you again, you were gone, disappearing into the night sky without another word.

“Great job Pete, freak out the only superhero friend you have.” Peter muttered to himself, yanking off his mask for the first time that evening and taking in a breath of the winter evening. Pulling his phone out, Peter scrolled through his contacts until your name came into view, thumb hesitating over the call button as his mind raced through each scenario of telling you exactly how he felt about you.

He gave in, clicking onto the call button and gently putting the phone to his ear, another sigh leaving him as he listened to the call ringing through.

“Sorry, can’t get to my phone right now but if you leave a message I probably won’t get back to you.” Your voicemail echoed into his ear, a pang of disappointment striking his chest. He hung up the call, locking his phone before looking down at the mask that sat next to him; it was always the right time with you but in Peter’s mind, being Spider-Man always made it the wrong time.

The following day, Peter came to your window but the curtains were drawn and the usual sound of the radio playing throughout the apartment couldn’t be heard. Later that morning, you didn’t show for class which was unusual for you. Peter found Gwen and asked if she had seen you, his mind beginning to race as she shook her head no. It wasn’t like you to not show up without any explanation, you were always punctual - rarely off sick.

Peter tried to call you but exactly like the previous evening, there was no answer. His fingers tapped against the cold metal of the lunch table as his leg involuntarily bounced, the uncertainty of not knowing if you were okay slowly eating at him. He attempted to push the panic to the back of his mind, pushing himself away from the table and grabbing his skateboard, he slipped on his headphones and headed to his two pm shift at Oscorp.

Day slowly seeped into night and Peter was sat on the rooftop once again, waiting for his fellow masked hero to appear. He sat for a few hours, shooting webs at empty cans on the rooftop to pass the time until he accidentally webbed a pigeon. After releasing the pigeon from the webs and apologising to it profusely as it flew away, he sat and watched traffic and life pass him by as he waited and waited.

But they never showed.

Eventually Peter gave in to the realisation that for the first night in months, he wouldn’t be joined by his new friend. He pushed himself up and leaped off the rooftop, swinging from lamppost to lamppost, building to building, looking for something to do for the rest of his evening.

After a few hours of patrolling, stopping some petty crimes and rescuing Mrs. Aziz's cat from being stolen, Peter called it a night, swinging his way back to the apartment block you both still resided in all these years later. He planned on doing what he did every night after patrolling, crawling his way to the edge of your window, carefully looking in to make sure you were tucked into bed and safe from the outside world before heading to his own window just next door.

But tonight, something was off. His Spider sense sent him into overdrive, hyper-aware of his surroundings as he landed onto the rooftop, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. He headed down the side of the building towards your window, his spider-sense still keeping him on high alert as he slowly approached your apartment.

Everything began to move in slow motion as Peter looked down at the fire escape outside your window, a handprint of blood slowly slipping from the railings as another seeped from the white windowsill, each falling drop echoing in Peter’s head like a hammer to the head of a nail. The beige curtains of your bedroom flapped out the window in the breeze, another set of bloody handprints slapped onto them.

Without a second thought, Peter jumped down to the fire escape, shouting your name as he dodged the various puddles of blood, his voice growing louder with each call of your name.

Landing into your room with a thud, you were nowhere to be seen. Blood smeared itself across the wooden flooring as if someone had been hauled through the room, the bloody handprints scattered upon the white walls heading out of the room. Peter continued to shout for you, the panic in his voice gaining velocity as he stumbled into the living room of the apartment.

The lights were off except for the small lamp that sat on the wooden table next to the sofa, Peters hurried breathing echoing throughout the room, harmonised with small cries of pain from the other side of the sofa.

Peter rushed across the room, skidding to a halt as he saw you sprawled out on the floor, your mask laying on the floorboards next to you. Your suit was torn in various places revealing gashes, grazes and deep cuts that angrily seeped. He stood frozen for what felt like a millennium, a bitter taste of betrayal filling his mouth for a brief moment as he looked at the mask that sat beside you, staring directly into his eyes. He knew you the entire time, all those nights spent with the masked stranger were nights spent with you.

“Pete?” His name left your mouth in a strangled cry, a strident cough following straight after, the dryness of your throat and mouth being moistened by the metallic taste of blood. “Peter?” You cried out once again, the second call of his name snapping him out of his state of shock. He rushed to your side, pulling off his mask and throwing it next to yours.

You looked to him, eyes flickering ever so slightly as salt tears rolled down the apples of your cheeks, across the blooming purple bruises that littered your once clear skin. Peter felt a bile rise in his throat, the sight of you so beaten and bloody was one he never wanted to see, he fought hard to protect you from everything but he never thought he would ever have to protect you from your own enemies.

“Oh angel, what did you get yourself into?” Peter muttered under his breath, hands hovering over your wounded body as he inspected each wound quickly. “What hurts?” Peter asked in a hurry, his brain five steps behind his mouth. “That’s a really stupid question it probably all hurts. We need to get this suit off of you.” You shook your head furiously, despite being horrifically injured, the thought of being so exposed in front of Peter seemed a thousand times more mortifying.

Peter ignored your silent protest, briefly standing up to look over to the small kitchen, shooting a web out to the draw next to the oven and yanking towards him. He dropped the wooden box to the floor, digging through the contents until he found the pair of scissors he was after.

“I’m going to have to cut you out of the suit.” He stated, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as your breathing began to grow shallow, eyes fluttering as each wound continued to bleed. He knelt down beside you, placing the handle of the scissors in his mouth as he gently removed each of your boots, your entire body wincing as he took them off.

“Who did this to you?” He asked sternly as he removed the scissors from his mouth, slowly starting the task of cutting the suit away from your body. You groaned in agony as the material peeled away from your skin. Peter stopped for a moment, placing a gentle hand to your hairline, brushing his thumb over your forehead in an attempt to comfort you. “You need to tell me so I can fix this.”

“You don’t need to fix my broken things, Peter.”

“It’s exactly what I need to do, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” He removed his hand from your forehead, running it through his hair with a puff of frustration. “I’m supposed to keep you safe and protect you but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who hurt you.” He dropped his head. “I can’t do that if you don’t tell me who you really are. I can’t protect you if you lie to me for months. You sat on that rooftop with me, changed your voice and lied straight through your teeth to me.”

A broken sob broke through your lips, the cascade of tears unrelenting as Peter's words sunk into your skin like acid rain. You thought you were doing the right thing by keeping it from him, by keeping your evening escapades as a secret from the one person who trusted you the most in the world.

“I did it to protect you.” You cried, the oh so familiar feeling of guilt attaching itself to your chest like a leech. “You have so much going on and I didn’t want to add to it, I thought I could handle it.”

“You clearly couldn’t!” Peter howled, shocking the both of you. You closed your eyes as more tears threatened to break the barriers of your eyes. In all your years of friendship, Peter had never snapped like that. “You should’ve told me. We could’ve taken on whatever did this to you together, I could’ve prevented this from happening.” Peter carefully began to cut away the material of your suit, the fingertips of his suit brushing across your skin like a feather, goosebumps following in their wake.

Peter continued to cut the suit away from your skin, hushed apologies leaving his mouth as you cringed in discomfort.

“I’ll be right back, just need to get the antiseptic and some bandage, you don’t need any infections.” Peter mumbled, placing the scissors down onto the floor next to your sliced suit. He pushed himself up, not looking at you as he walked towards the bathroom. The realisation of everything began to sink into your mind, the extent of your injuries, the mess you had left behind, the betrayal to Peter. It was all too much.

Peter came back without a word, sitting himself down next to your legs. “I’ll clean your legs first, then your arms and face.” You nodded in acknowledgement, relaxing into Peter’s touch as he gently placed your right leg onto his lap.

“It’s going to sting like a bitch.” Peter gently tipped the bottle of antiseptic onto a cotton pad, bringing the cotton pad to the skin of your leg, the purple bruises growing bigger with each passing moment. You gasped in pain, your hand shooting out to grab Peter’s leg. He shushed you softly, “You’re okay angel, I’ve got you.”

Peter continued on with cleaning each wound with a delicate touch, reassuring you after he wrapped each one in a soft white bandage. He shuffled to where your head was placed, motioning his hand at you for you to lift your head up.

You laid your head onto his lap, the warmth of his skin radiating through his suit like a heater on a cold December morning. “These will probably hurt the most. Prepare yourself.” Peter warned, tipping another small amount of antiseptic onto a clean pad, bringing the material to the cut that sat just above your left eyebrow.

A cry of discomfort and agony left you as Peter cleaned the wound, a fresh set of tears rolling down your cheeks. Peter bit back tears of his own, the sheer sight of you in agony sent his heart straight through to his stomach without any pit stops.

“I’m so sorry, you’re doing great, I promise.” He reassured you, placing his free hand onto your unbruised cheek, thumb caressing the skin. “Please stop crying,” He pleaded quietly, he was unsure on whether he was talking to himself or you as he gave in to his emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I’m sorry Peter, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” Peter shook his head, setting down the antiseptic pad, placing his now free hand onto your other cheek. “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay, It’ll all be okay.” Peter leant forward, pressing gentle reassuring kisses to the bruises that decorated your skin, his tears falling onto your cheeks. “I’ll fix it, I’ll make it better.” You both cried quietly as he continued to press delicate kisses across your face. He held your face in his hands and it felt as if he had the entire universe within his palms, every cosmic entity and earthly creature all wrapped into one person - wrapped into his person.

“You are everything, y’know that?” He muttered, the tip of his nose brushing against yours tenderly. “Absolutely everything.”

Peter gave into years of holding back, he put out the fires in his mind that kept him away from you and burst through every locked door that shut him out. His lips were soft but his kiss was firm, every moment of love and longing he had for you melted into the kiss.

You pulled back slowly, panic slowly setting into Peter as he realised what he had done, hurried apologies tumbling out of his mouth as you both stared at each other. He shuffled backwards as you pushed yourself up, a groan of pain echoing as you turned to face Peter. “Come back.” You whispered, reaching a hand out to him. He nodded carefully, scooting himself closer to you, gently taking your legs and looping them over his, your chests pressed together as if you were going to meld into one.

“I think I could fall in love with you, Peter Parker.”

“I’m already in love with you, angel.”

New York was slowly bursting into spring, months had passed and with each passing one, your wounds slowly healed. Scars were left behind but you could live with them. Things had changed, you had changed, Peter had changed.

“Did you hear Spider-Man caught those guys who roughed up-”

“Yes I did hear because Spider-Man won’t let me forget it.” You teased Peter, gently nudging his shoulder with yours as you sat on the ledge. Peter shrugged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, gently pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can I ask you something?” Peter nodded.

“Always.”

You looked out to the view in front of you, the sun slowly setting over the Manhattan skyline. “Did you still have your right person at the wrong time?” Peter laughed to himself, shaking his head and pressing another kiss to your head.

“I’ve got the right person at the right time, it couldn’t get much better than this.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #peter parker imagine #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker angst #spider man imagine #marvel imagine #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader

[wxntersoldiers]

Andrew Garfield as Peter Parker The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)

#the way i adore him #peter parker #the amazing spider man

[wxntersoldiers]

not to be dramatic but i’m writing a fic for the first time in nearly 18months and i’m so goddamn EXCITED

#layla talks #AAAAAAAAAAA #it’s an andrew garfield spidey fic!!!!!

[wxntersoldiers]

hi i just read between walls and teeth .. i loved them both so much. i just read that you dont have the drive to write anymore .. but i really hope that you do find your drive to write soon because your writing is so good.

hi love!! aw thank you for reading between walls and teeth! i hope i find it too but i think one of the main reasons it’s disappeared is bc i used to write about relationships and love that i didn’t have but i’m now fortunate enough to have it so i don’t feel like i need to write it if you get what i mean??? i really do miss writing tho :(

#layla answers #anon

[wxntersoldiers]

Are you going to update Between Walls anytime soon? It's so good, I just love it so much and I've read it a bunch of times <33

i’m not too sure tbh! i’m not going to say no but also not going to say yes either bc its been a little over a year since i last wrote / posted anything and i just don’t have the push to write anymore! i hope one day i can finish it tho!

#layla answers #anon