Take This Message (A Message For You)

peter-prkers:

Pairing: Peter Parker x female! reader

Summary: Where you and Peter sneak each other notes through your windows and you get the shock of your life

Warnings: It’s just really cliché and another one of those ‘wounded on the fire escape’ things

Word count: 1248

A/N: Wow, another crappy, half-assed story? The answer is yes. 

(I’m working on the requests, do not fret my lovelies) 

~o0o~

The first time Peter wrote you a note, you were nine and he was ten.

He’d slipped it under the door to your bedroom after you ran from the living room crying over some stupid comment or other and you’d picked it up only to see the words I’m sorry written in a messy green scrawl. You couldn’t stay mad at him then- he knew your favorite color was green.

You were thirteen when you wrote him one in return.

It was late, nearly midnight but you heard the cops in the hall, heard the mumbles and the quiet sobs; you heard everything, but you didn’t hear him. So you grabbed a blue pen from the messy heap on your desk and wrote him one in return, scribbling a quick message on a ripped and crumpled piece of paper before climbing onto your fire escape and sliding it through his window. The lights were off, but you knew he’d read it, knew he’d remember.

Since then, it had become a sort of tradition- to scribble words on a paper rather than speak them face-to-face. Words the both of you were too afraid to speak out loud.

From Are you okay, to I’ve never been kissed, to Uncle Ben died– the letters held everything. They held everything and more.

So when you hear your window slide open on Sunday night, when you hear the rustling of a paper and the clanging of footsteps on metal, you shoot up and rub your eyes- hands searching in the dark for a light switch.

The darkness shies away and you let your eyes adjust for a moment before they zone in on the little crumpled paper wedged between your window and the sill. It’s yellow and ripped and filled with math equations on one side but you take it anyways, unfolding the thing and scanning over the red words that litter the surface.

We need to talk, it reads. You furrow your brows.

You and Peter aren’t good friends by any means- you’re neighbors who confide in each other when they have no one else. You’re not even sure if you’re friends at all, but you swing your feet over the side of your bed nonetheless, pulling on your leggings- still crumpled in a heap on the floor- and an oversized sweater accompanied by some mitch matched socks before sliding your window open fully and climbing through it, the note still crumpled in your fist.

The light in Peter’s room is on, his window wide open and you inch towards it, peering around the edge as not to walk in on something you maybe shouldn’t; but the room is empty on sight, and you’re left standing on front of it with furrowed brows and sleep deprivation.

That’s when a hand clamps over your mouth, softly but you startle at the strange feeling of it covering your face anyways. ‘Don’t scream,’

Peter’s voice is soft and panicky and your heartbeat immediately slows at the familiar sound, a feeling of relief washing over you. His palm drops and you go to spin around, but his hands  clamp over your arms instead, keeping you in place.

‘What the hell, Peter?’ You try pulling away, but he’s stronger than you and you can barely budge.

‘I’m sorry,’ He whispers. ‘I’m really sorry, but I need you to just not freak out and trust me.’

‘What did you do?’ A million thoughts race through your head, ranging from fistfight to horrifying rumors and you tense.

‘Y/N, just- please?’ He squeezes your arm, and you sigh deeply.

‘Fine, I won’t freak out,’ Peter doesn’t say anything and you shake your head. ‘I trust you,’

‘Okay,’ He breathes, clearing his throat before releasing you. You rub your hand across your sweater, turning around quickly.

The first thing that registers is the bright red suit covering the boy’s body, the second being the equally red bruises across his face. ‘What the-’

‘Please don’t freak out!’ He holds his hands up in front of him, fingers splayed revealing the detail of the gloves in the lantern light but you ignore him, sputtering for a moment longer before racing to his side and gently placing a hand on his cheek to inspect the gashes across it.

‘Idiot,’ You hiss as he winces against your palm. ‘You’re seriously the stupidest person I’ve ever met,’ He furrows his brows staring at you with an emotion you can’t place and you shake your head before turning to move back to your own window.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Freaking out,’ You mumble, pressing a hand against your forehead. ‘I’m freaking out.’

‘You said you wouldn’t freak out.’ You whirl on your heel, looking at him incredulously.

‘Yeah, I thought you’d just gotten a black eye or something,’ You point at his face, shaking your head. ‘This is so much worse- I don’t know the first thing about cleaning wounds, Peter.’

‘You seem to be completely bypassing the fact that I just revealed my alter-ego to you,’ He sounds confused, almost like this is the last way he expected you to react; and maybe you should be more freaked out about the superhero thing, but all you can do is stare at Peter’s bloody and bruised face and grimace.

‘Just- I have some disinfectant in the bathroom,’ You turn to your window again, stepping one foot in. ‘Stay here.’

Peter nods before you disappear into your room and when you return five minutes later, the cool liquid and some butterfly bandages in your hand, he’s sitting on his window sill, head bowed and hands clasped together.

You quickly get to work, lifting his face and cleaning the wounds as best you can, all the while trying not to wince at the muffled groans coming from your neighbor. After you finish, you begin to gently press the little bandages against his cuts.

‘You seem more freaked out about the blood than the suit,’ Peter mumbles, just as you’re sticking the last one on. The bandaging is crooked and clumsy but it’s the best you can do, and you pull away from him slightly, peering at his face.

‘It was the most important matter at hand,’ You look down at your feet, still clad in pink and blue socks and wiggle your toes. Peter chuckles.

‘So you’re Spider-Man,’ It’s a statement, of course it is, and Peter only nods while looking rather sheepish. ‘Okay,’ You stand up, turning your back to him and you hear the fire escape creak as he follows in suit.

‘You’re not surprised?’

You turn back to him and laugh, running a hand through your hair. ‘Rusty metal creaks, Peter.’ You point to the very platform you’re standing on and he blushes a deep red.

‘Right,’

‘Maybe be a little quieter next time you’re sneaking around in a red and blue suit.’

He shakes his head, hair falling in his face and you try to ignore how your heart skips a beat. ‘Thanks, Y/N,’

You nod, sucking on your teeth. ‘No problem, Peter,’

It’s quiet for a moment before, ‘I- the reason I showed you-’

‘It’s a lot,’ You cut him off and he glances up at you. ‘Being a superhero, it’s a lot of pressure, I get it.’

He furrows his brows then, a smile playing on his lips and you smile back. ‘What?’

‘Nothin,’ He shrugs and you narrow your eyes playfully.

‘Okay,’ You shake your head. ‘Goodnight, Spider-Man,’

‘Goodnight.’

~o0o~

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