summary: and his lips find yours again, defused sunlight filling you until happiness is the only thing you can feel — happiness and peter parker. though, you suppose those two go hand and hand.
a/n: this was a request about making out in the spidey suit… i got off track. it’s also hella short im so sorry baby
Peter Parker is terrifyingly brave. He’s courageous and he’s self-sufficient and it’s just horrifying because there’s a large chance he won’t come home today, and if he does, will he come home tomorrow? It’s no secret his job is dangerous — but it’s also no secret that he loves it. That although it may be a God-given responsibility, there’s a kind of adrenaline rush in his veins and a warm feeling in the heart when he saves someone — rewarding with a cost. He wonders what his last mission will be, for he’s had for too many slip-ups and close shots where Death must have barely skimmed him for Peter to make it out alive every time. He isn’t naive — he knows that. He knows Death is sitting, waiting, near Peter every step he takes. So he sits, wondering if his last battle will take place on Titan or Mars or maybe even the alleyway behind his and Aunt May’s apartment. Maybe it’ll be in the street, or on the roof. Maybe — maybe it’ll come quicker than expected. Maybe Death will be tired of waiting for Peter to come to him, so he goes to Peter. Peter wonders how long it takes for Death’s patience to run out.
You wonder the same thing. You wonder if there’s a day where Peter won’t crawl through your window, days where maybe he won’t be at school, won’t be at Delmar’s, and the only place he’ll be is Queen’s Graveyard, lying next to two grey stones of Richard Parker and Mary Parker — a family finally tied together in the very same thing that tore them apart in the first place. You pray and pray and pray that maybe Peter will become a little bit selfish and maybe he’ll back down. Maybe he’ll leave it for Steve, or Tony, or perhaps even Bucky. Maybe he’ll lay down the sujt, shoving it away with gadgets and gismos never to be touched again. The possibility of that is dwindling and almost gone.
“What’s the damage?” Is the first question that comes out of your mouth every night.
Peter shakes his head. “Nothing today,” he smiles as he pulls one of your sweatshirts over his head. “Just wanted to see you.”
“Couldn’t wait till school? Also, sweatshirt over your suit? You look like a dumbass,” you add with a giggle. He takes it off within the minute.
“Are you opposed to seeing your dear boyfriend?” he puts his hand over his heart dramatically and gapes at you.
There’s a mischievous smile on your face and the happiness from your heart reaches your eyes.
“Never, Peter. Never.”
“Can’t stay too long, May wants me home soon.”
“How long is too long?” you whisper. Your voice is soft, coated with a honey-like affection — dripping on anything it possibly can, curating everything to be sweeter.
He’s sweet. Peter Parker doesn’t need the honey and he doesn’t need artificial sugar. He himself is filled with ever-growing kindness and love. For the spring bumble bees, for the summer breeze, and for you. For everything you dislike, he’s there, pouring honey and making it better. And for the first time in months, you have the lasting time to take him in. The patches of freckles that sit on and around his nose, the slope of his nose, and the curve of his lashes. The way his lips form a smile and — little bruise above his eyebrow, fresh and newly formed.
“Not sure. Just be with me now, okay?”
“ Yeah su — Where’s this from?” Your hand reaches up to touch it lightly as the worry takes over your features and creeps into your heart. Peter pretends its doesn’t hurt when you press it.
“Nothing,” he pulls your hand back down and holds it in his own. “It’s old, Y/N. It’ll be okay, it’s almost gone.”
“This is new.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“You flinched. You’re a horrid liar, Peter. You don’t fool me for a second.”
His eyes begin to soften and for a second everything is fine. Everything is normal and Peter is not a superhero and you’re not worried — content and normal. For a moment his lips are covering yours and your hands are in his hair and his are on your hips. The flowers are blooming and the grass is a vibrant green. The butterflies fly peacefully. No one is hurting and smiles are the only way your mouth turns. Everything is fine because Peter Parker is safe and he’s okay and that, that’s everything.
“I love you,” you whisper as you pull away. “It doesn’t really help that the suit is REALLY hot…”
“Yeah?” he mutters.
He watches as you bite your bottom lip softly. “Yeah, Pete.”
“I love you, Y/N.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh shut up.”
And his lips find yours again, defused sunlight filling you until happiness is the only thing you can feel — happiness and Peter Parker. Though, you suppose those two go hand in hand.
Toad's Cave 