How Can A Kiss Hurt So Much?
Peter lowered Y/N onto the couch, grateful that he no longer had to carry her. They were finally safe, hidden in one of the many safehouses riddled throughout the city. The mission had taken a turn for the worst, their cover as Mr. and Mrs. Peterson completely blown, and Y/N had taken the fall. And the fall was painful.
“Peter,” Y/N groaned, turning her head in order to look up at him. A dark bruise mottled the skin around her eye, and a gash on her forehead sluggishly spilled blood down her face. “Peter, take off my heels.”
Peter blinked confusedly, not moving.
“Peter, please.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said dumbly. Slipping off the shoes with shaking hands and tossing them across the room.
Y/N groaned in delight as she flexed her toes, “fucking finally.”
“You were literally shot, and that’s what you wanted me to do first?”
“You weren’t the one fighting in heels,” Y/N shot back, wincing as she aggravated the wound in her shoulder.
“Hey, just relax, let me help with that,” Peter said appeasingly, grabbing the med kit from the bathroom.
He squatted beside her with the open kit, gently moving aside the strap of her dress to access the wound. The bullet had hit her shoulder, embedding itself in the flesh.
“This is going to hurt,” Peter warned.
“Yeah, no shit,” Y/N snapped. Squeezing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth as Peter approached the cut, tweezers in hand.
“On three. One. Two. Three,” Peter plunged the tweezers into the wound, rooting around for the remains of the bullet.
“Got it!” he exclaimed, the metal clenched tightly in the tweezers. He gingerly pulled the foreign object out and dropped it onto the coffee table. Blood spurted out of the cut and dribbled down her front, staining her dress.
“Sorry,” he apologized, grabbing the gauze and medical tape in order to dress the wound.
“Don’t apologize, Peter,” Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes.
“But it’s my fault!” He shouted. Y/N started, flinching away from Peter as he applied pressure to her shoulder. “Sorry, just stay still.”
“I chose to take that bullet!” Y/N yelled back, “if you hadn’t blown our cover by refusing to kiss me, then–”
“Don’t change the subject. I could’ve handled it!” he retaliated, pressing with a little more force than necessary onto the bullet wound.
“The bullet was aimed at your head, and I intercepted it in the shoulder. Which is more fatal? Enlighten me.” Y/N argued.
“You could’ve pushed me out of the way! You didn’t need to endanger yourself.”
“In the moment, it was the quickest possible action.”
“Y/N–why do you–agh!” he screamed, “I don’t want you to die! You just…can’t,” he finished weakly.
“Peter,” Y/N whispered, reaching out towards him.
“Let me help you to the bed, I’ll take the couch. Don’t argue,” he said, noticing the look of indignation in Y/N’s eyes. He slung her arm over his shoulder and helped carry her to the bedroom, ignoring the glare Y/N directed right at him.
Why did that glare have to hurt so much?
* * *
Morning arrived, and their argument still hadn’t been resolved. It was especially clear that Y/N still harbored some resentment when she stormed into the kitchen and aggressively poured herself a bowl of cereal.
Peter leaned against the countertop, standing adjacent to the table where Y/N sat. He awkwardly sipped from his glass of orange juice, avoiding Y/N’s angry stare.
Finishing the bowl of cereal, Y/N slammed the dish into the sink, the loud clang echoing obnoxiously throughout the safehouse. Peter flinched, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor tiles.
“Are you going to say anything?” Y/N said suddenly, turning away from the sink in order to face him.
Peter shuffled uncomfortably, wilting beneath her judging glare.
“Peter. We need to talk,” Y/N whispered, her angry tone shifting into a more pleading one.
“What is there to talk about?” He said quietly.
“The mission, the argument, there’s a lot we need to discuss,” Y/N listed, walking over to Peter and pulling herself onto the countertop.
“Y/N, let’s just move past this,” Peter begged, looking up at her desperately.
Y/N took a deep breath, looking down at Peter from the countertop, “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t understand how upset you were yesterday. If our situations were reversed, I’d probably be just as mad.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Peter apologized, “I shouldn’t have been so rude, no matter how I felt about the situation.”
Y/N nodded in understanding, smiling warmly at Peter as they rested in comfortable silence.
Peter’s heart twisted painfully as he looked up at Y/N, her eyes crinkled adorably as she beamed at him. He had lost count of the times he had stared into her E/C eyes, lost count of the time he traced the shape of her lips with his eyes. He could probably sculpt her face from memory. Every perfect imperfection, every mark and scar. Her image was ingrained in his mind, appearing teasingly in his dreams and saving him from nightmares.
If he had any courage he would cup her face in his hands, bring his lips to hers and–
“Peter? You there?” Y/N unknowingly interrupted, waving her hand in front of his face jokingly.
“How’s your shoulder?” he asked, trying to distract Y/N from his recent daydreaming.
“Better. Thanks for treating it last night,” Y/N said, stretching her injured shoulder as she spoke.
Peter nodded, setting his unfinished drink on the counter.
“Do you know when the team’s coming to get us?” Y/N asked, stealing Peter’s glass of orange juice and downing the remaining liquid.
“Hey!” Peter whined, grabbing for the glass half-heartedly. Y/N chuckled and handed him the empty cup. “They’re coming tomorrow,” he answered the question.
“Let’s take advantage of the free food then!” She cheered, jumping down from the countertop and practically skipping over to the refrigerator.
Peter shook his head and smiled. God, he was fucked.
* * *
Hours later, Y/N and Peter were curled up on the couch. Buried beneath a blanket as they watched Y/N’s favorite film. The coffee table was littered with empty bags and crumbs, evidence of the two’s snack binge.
“‘m hungry,” Y/N slurred, leaning her head against Peter’s chest.
“Still?” Peter teased, praying that she couldn’t hear the fast beat of his heart.
“Yes,” Y/N pouted, closing their eyes as they nuzzled into his shirt, “also, I’m tired.”
“You’re hopeless,” Peter joked, ruffling Y/N’s hair.
“Y’know, I was wondering,” Y/N sat up, suddenly serious, “why didn’t you kiss me during the mission?”
“W-What?” Peter stuttered, “where did this come from?”
“I mean, I understand if you didn’t want to. But we were doing fine pretending to be a couple until–”
“I just…I couldn’t. I’m sorry,” Peter apologized, his heart aching at the poorly hidden look of hurt in Y/N’s eyes.
Uncomfortable silence settled between them. Sensing the discomfort, Y/N moved away, sitting on the far side of the couch.
“The thing is–” Peter began hesitantly “–it hurt.”
“It…hurt?” Y/N repeated, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“It hurt that it wasn’t real. That the kisses, and the looks, and the nicknames were just an act. That you would never say that normally. God, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? The achy feeling in my chest whenever you look at me? How my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my ribcage? I just want to scream from the rooftops ‘I love Y/N Y/L/N!’ but I can’t. And oh, God, I’m rambling. I’ll just stop now, I’m sorry. I ruined everything. I’m–”
Peter’s eyes widened as he felt Y/N’s soft lips against his own. One hand resting on his cheek and the other tangled in his hair.
It was better than he imagined. Soft, warm, the sweet tang of her chapstick and the scent of shampoo overwhelming his heightened senses.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging slightly as she deepened the kiss. A groan reverberated in his throat, and he could feel her lips upturn at the sound.
“Is this…okay?” Y/N asked pulling back from the kiss.
“Did you not hear what I just said?” Peter whispered jokingly.
Y/N smiled widely before she dove back in. Her lips catching his perfectly, like matching puzzle pieces. Her tongue swiped the seam of his lips and he parted them, allowing her tongue to slip inside, both of their tongues joining together in a languid dance.
After an eternity, they separated. Spit-slick and puffy lips moved in Peter’s vision as he blinked slowly, the fuzzy feeling in his head slowly subsiding.
“What?” he mumbled.
Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, “I love you, Peter Parker.”
“Really?” he said in disbelief.
“I would’ve thought the makeout session would be enough evidence, but yes.”
“I love you too, Y/N.”
“Hey, I listened to what you said,” Y/N teased before throwing herself into Peter’s arms once more.