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Winters in the city always felt too long for (Y/N)’s liking. The days were shorter, the air grew bitterly cold and the nights dragged on for hours on end. What (Y/N) now hated most about the winter was the wait by the window. The wait never grew easier, but at least she had the smells of spring or summer breeze to calm her nerves. Now all she had to greet her anxious state was the winter wind and the occasional snowfall to greet her bedside. Could she just simply close the window? Of course she could, but knowing that he was out there and needed to come home, having one less obstacle in the way of his path to warmth and love was worth her own discomfort.
She never signed up for this, living each night with the fear of losing the one person that made her life even worth living. Her person. She’d continue on, of course, it’s what he would want. She knew that and would just try to live day by day until the grief became smaller and smaller. Thankfully, each night she was relieved to know that she didn’t have to plan for such a day. He would finally slip into their shared apartment, as quietly as he could, littered with the injuries that the city they both loved so dear had given him.
“Peter,” (Y/N) breathed out, eyeing the bleeding man climbing in from their window. He had a sizable gash decorating his chest, tore right through the spider emblem on the front. She’d have to repair his suit, but that could wait. “Let me grab the kit.”
“S’okay,” Peter mumbled as he fumbled into their bedroom. He tripped over his tennis shoes and steadied himself as best he could. Peter Parker wasn’t the most graceful being on the planet, if anyone didn’t know any better, they’d say he had two left feet. “You really don’t need to, I can do it myself…”
“Nope,” (Y/N) replied, popping the ‘p’. She sat back down on their bed, med-kit in hand. Peter tore his mask off, flinging it onto their dresser. “Get your suit off, you know the drill.”
“Trynna get me naked, huh?” Peter mused. “Naughty, naughty.”
“You make the same joke every night, Parker,” (Y/N) said, fighting back the smile she so desperately wanted to make. “Seriously, get it off, I need to get to that—Jesus, Pete, what’s it even from?”
“Oh, this?” Peter asked, motioning to the gash on his chest, he had successfully pulled the suit off the top half of his body. The injuries on the lower half would heal up on their own overnight—thank you super healing. The slash was about six inches across, the bleeding mostly under control, he made a point to try his best to get it stopped before crawling in. His webbing usually did the trick. “Ah, honestly, it’s from the bear man. He got a few good licks in.”
“Bear man?”
“I dunno,” Peter shrugged, wincing at the antiseptic (Y/N) gingerly dabbed on the wound. “We never really got around to swapping business cards, maybe his name’s Paul?”
“Paul seems fitting for a bear,” (Y/N) said as she finally broke a smile. Peter’s mood lit up ever so slightly, he tried to make her smile, tried to make this living hell she endured just that much better with all the jokes or humor he could provide. “Is this the same guy that you tried to take down on Monday?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Peter nodded, leaning back onto the clean pillows on their bed. He’d have to do a load of laundry after this, if (Y/N) even let him out of her sight. It’s the least he could do. “He matches the description of what the witnesses saw—tall man wearing a fur costume, it checks out.”
“You fight a lot of animal-related villains,” (Y/N) noted, finishing up her initial cleaning of his chest. Now she could finally see what she was working with. “Lizard, Scorpion, Bear Man—”
“I think he actually goes by Grizzly—”
“And here you said you didn’t swap business cards,” (Y/N) quirked an eyebrow up at her boyfriend. He sheepishly smiled, a signature look from Peter Parker. “You’re gonna need stitches,” she said plainly, digging through her kit again.
“Man…” Peter groaned, a hand flying to his face in contest. “I hate stitches.”
“It’ll only be a few,” (Y/N) assured him. It was a lie, they both knew it, it always was. She threaded the needle carefully and prepped the skin. The first time she stitched him up, the stitches were shaky and sloppily done. Now, unfortunately, she’s stitched him up enough times that this has become routine. (Y/N) was close to calling herself a pro at it. “Stop fighting bears and maybe you wouldn’t need any.”
“You and I both know I won’t do that,” Peter said, taking a deep breath as (Y/N) placed the needle on the outside of his wound. A small grunt of pain escaped his lips as she began to carefully close the gash up.
“I would never ask that of you,” (Y/N) said, tying the first stitch up. “Not anymore, at least.” Her words held some truth to them, when she had first found out about Peter’s double life, she wanted him desperately to stop, to stay safe. It took the better part of a year to come to terms with the fact that Spider-Man would be the third wheel in their relationship, whether she liked it or not. “I’ve come to terms with all this.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Peter sighed, tilting his head closer to his shoulder. He stared at (Y/N)’s profile as she expertly started on the next stitch, tongue sticking slightly out in concentration. “This isn’t something a girlfriend should have to do.”
“No, probably not,” (Y/N) nodded, eyes glued to the now slightly smaller gash—not even halfway done. “But this is something your girlfriend has to do.” Peter looked down, almost in disappointment, his face tinted with anguish. It was his ‘martyr look’, as (Y/N) had called it, knowing this look all too well. “This is something your girlfriend wants to do,” she quickly corrected herself.
“You shouldn’t want to stitch up your bruised and bleeding boyfriend, babe,” Peter said, his voice low. His thumbs brushed against the edge of his pillowcase, focusing on the silky texture beneath it.
“Oh, trust that I don’t really want to be doing this,” (Y/N) motioned to the array of medical supplies she laid out beside her. They’d acquired quite the collection over the span of Spider-Man taking on the city. “You know how I feel about blood,” she shuddered, “but I want to take care of you, and if this is how I have to do it? So be it.”
Silence overcame the two, the sounds of the city drowning out their thoughts. (Y/N) continued to stitch Peter up, it was taking an increasingly large amount of stitches to close the slash up, much to Peter’s disapproval. He sat through it like a champ, barely flinching as the needle continuously pierced his skin. “I know,” Peter finally admitted, eyes falling back onto (Y/N). “Just felt like throwing a pity party, I guess.”
“You’re more than welcome to throw pity parties, Pete,” (Y/N) said as she finished up her last stitch. It took a total of thirty-odd sutures to close up the wound, a new record for the pair. She placed butterfly bandages on the smaller cuts near the big one, they’d heal without any stitches. “Seeing as they’re the only parties you’re invited to…”
“Hey!” Peter quipped, poking (Y/N) in the side. She let out a strained giggle, fighting to get away from his touch. “You just lost your invite, ma’am.”
“Oh no, what ever will I do?”
“Cry,” Peter nodded and crossed his arms. He winced at the burning pain coming from the movement—wounds still too fresh. “Maybe scream?”
“I’m sure I’ll find a way in to the party somehow,” (Y/N) mused as she packed up the medical supplies. The bottle of antiseptic spilled onto their comforter, the strong smell bleeding into the room. “I always find a way.”
“It helps that you’re cute,” Peter agreed as his lips curled into a smile while watched his girlfriend place the med-kit on their nightstand. She had to move some empty cups out of the way, but she made do. “Cute girls always find their way into parties.”
“So you’re letting any cute girl into your party?” (Y/N) teased, crawling next to Peter, his arm expertly lifting to accommodate her by his side. She fit perfectly next to him, as if she were made to lay there.
“No, just you,” he looked down at the girl, watching her play with the edge of his suit.
“Thought you said I wasn’t invited?”
“I changed my mind.”
“It was my tits, wasn’t it?” (Y/N) said. Her face was serious as stone.
“Your tits played a part in it, yeah,” Peter nodded, fighting back a grin. “They’re pretty perfect. Everything about you is pretty perfect.”
“Nice save,” (Y/N) poked Peter’s side gently, avoiding a nasty splotch of bruising. “Seriously though, Pete, you need to know that I’m in it for the long-haul, yeah?”
“Of course I know that,” Peter replied. “It’s just—you know how I am. I’m a textbook over thinker.”
“You? Peter Parker? An over thinker?” (Y/N) pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m shocked.”
“I know, I know,” Peter chuckled, rubbing his hand up and down her arm lovingly. She was wearing one of his sweaters, he noticed, it was her favorite thing to steal from his closet. “Weren’t you cold?”
“Hmm?”
“Weren’t you cold?” Peter pointed his thumb towards the window. “Sitting by the window? That you left wide open? It’s like, twenty degrees outside.”
“I’m wearing a sweater, it’s fine.”
“My sweater—”
“Our sweater.”
“You could get sick,” Peter pressed. “I’d hate for you to get sick over waiting for me. You know I’ll come back, right? I always do.”
“I wait by the window regardless of the weather,” (Y/N) said, taking a glance up at Peter. He had the beginnings of a black eye forming under his right eye, the purpling just faint enough to mistake for dark circles. “Rain or shine, I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Your health aside, you’re gonna let snow into our apartment because you’re stubborn?”
“It’ll melt,” she shrugged.
“You could shut the window?”
“But what if it froze shut? You’d have no way in.”
Peter sighed, admitting he had no fight in this battle. She’d win regardless of what he said. He was okay with that, more than okay. “At least wear your parka, please?”
“I think I can manage that,” (Y/N) nodded, glancing at their closet, eyeing up the brilliant white coat sticking out like a sore thumb. Her eyes lit up like stars, jolting to life in sudden realization. “Oh! I made you something!” (Y/N) quickly jumped out of their bed, Peter whining at the lack of warmth. She quickly ran to their living room, her footsteps hurried and loud, stopping right before she reentered their bedroom. “Close your eyes, Pete.”
Peter obliged. “They’re closed.” He suddenly felt something drape across his lap, the noisy fabric almost giving the surprise away. “Can I open them?”
“Go for it.”
His eyes fluttered open to the sight of his blue winter coat—one of Uncle Ben’s old ones—now adorned with a stitched on red spider gracing the back. The cuffs of the sleeves were now accented with red as well, two red stripes above each cuff. “Sweetheart, this is…” He grew silent, the words to articulate his thoughts growing blank.
“I figured that even superheroes need to stay warm,” (Y/N) shrugged bashfully. “Your suit isn’t super insulated—you’ve complained about it enough for me to know that—so I added a bit of your branding to your old coat. I wouldn’t want you to be swinging around the city like a fashion disaster.”
Peter laughed freely, feeling his eyes prick with tears. “Thank you for this,” he looked back at her, “it’s incredible, you’re incredible.”
“I’ll wear mine if you wear yours,” (Y/N) said, holding her hand out in front of him, pinky extended. Peter laughed again, intertwining his pinky with hers as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
“Deal.”
“I did buy you a new coat though,” (Y/N) slid back into Peter’s side, coat now laying on both of their laps. “I didn’t think that wearing this one out in public was going to help you keep that double life, web-head.”
“No? I think it’s subtle,” Peter’s fingers traced over the stitching on the coat. It wasn’t perfect, but Peter swore he could practically feel the love emanating from every messy stitch across the spider’s outline. “What color’s the new one?”
“Red.”
He let out a laugh. “Of course it is.”
“I could go grab it if you want?” (Y/N) began to remove herself from the bed once more, only to be stopped by Peter’s vice-grip.
“I can imagine it,” he loosened his grip just a bit, realizing (Y/N) wasn’t going anywhere, “but if you think for even a second that you’re leaving this bed again, you’d be mistaken.”
“Even to get you painkillers?”
Peter winced at the mention, lifting his arm and aiming it towards their dresser. With a thwip of his wrist, the bottle of painkillers flew through the air and into his hand. “No need, got it handled.”
“Show off,” (Y/N) mumbled into his side.
Peter quickly swallowed a few of the pills, foregoing any drink with it. (Y/N) gagged slightly at the sight. “I appreciate you, you know? What you do for me?”
“You could manage to mention it more,” (Y/N) rolled fully on her side, her arm draping across Peter’s stomach. “I’m pretty amazing.”
“The Amazing Spider-Man and his Amazing Girlfriend,” Peter mused, his hand moving through the air. “I can picture it now, it’ll fly off the shelves in no time.”
“You think people want to write books about you?”
“Books are too long-winded for me,” Peter wriggled under the covers. So much for throwing them in the laundry. “But comics? I think the red and blue would look pretty cool in a comic.”
“I think your head’s gotten a bit big,” (Y/N) poked his temple playfully. “You save the city one time and think you’re some big hotshot—”
“I’ve saved the city at least five times by now,” Peter corrected, poking (Y/N) back. “They sell mugs with my face on it in Times Square!”
“I dunno, Pete,” (Y/N) sighed, “They’re pretty cheaply made…”
“Oh fuck off,” Peter laughed, “Everything they sell in Times Square is cheaply made.” (Y/N) laughed back, their chuckles filling the room. “Though, I think if there were a comic about me, you’d steal the show.”
“You think?”
“Fan-boys would fall in love with you so quickly, it’s not even funny,” Peter nodded. “Wait, on second thought—no comic.”
“Spidey doesn’t want to share?”
“Spidey doesn’t want to share,” he parroted back. He nuzzled his face into her hair—she’d just washed it earlier today so the faint smell of her shampoo lingered. With a small movement, he cautiously pressed his lips down to hers, kissing her lightly. It was sweet, chaste, entirely feeling like home. It was then he suddenly felt a chill breeze across his chest, the wind ice-cold. “I left the window open?”
“I guess you did,” (Y/N) repositioned herself to look at the window. Sure enough, the window was still as wide open as she left it. “How did you manage that?”
“I guess I was more worried about you,” Peter shrugged as he webbed the window and tried to pull it shut. No way was he about to get out of bed.
“Hey, that’s my line,” (Y/N) whispered. Peter was struggling for a moment, pulling his arm down harder. “Can you not get it?” Peter stayed silent, his movements stopping hesitantly. “It’s frozen, isn’t it?”
“…shut up.”