PETER PARKER IMAGINES

↬ I'll Come Back to You, I Promise

EVER SINCE THE day Peter told you about his abilities, you hadn't slept soundly. There was always an incessant, unrelenting thought looming over every crevice of your mind that one day, your boyfriend will go out there to keep the city safe from harm but instead, he'll end up being the one unsafe and harmed and unable to come home.

It was always there, taunting you ruthlessly and bringing the sting of threatening tears to your eyes as you over-thought every little thing: every bump on the rooftops, every thumps and thuds from outside your window, every ping that emitted from your phone.

You sit awake at night, eyeing your open window through blurry vision, just waiting for the day when Peter falls clumsily through the aperture - injuries too serious for your makeshift first aid kit and some Advil to fix. Or, waiting for the day when he doesn't fall through your window at all, and you never see him again.

You've voiced your worries to him many times. Usually, it was when he was clambering out your window and onto your fire exit clad in his tight, red and blue suit. And as you called for him to be safe, he'd glance over his shoulder and immediately perceive the apprehension and anxiety painted like an uneasy picture across your features.

"(Y/N)," He'd sigh, bringing the foot on the metal floor of the outside exit back in through the window and making his way over to where you stood, fearful and jittery.

"I-I know, I know," You'd nod your head. The two of you had already had this conversation numerous times that you knew you didn't need to have it again. It was simple; no amount of comforting and assuring words spilling from his lips would calm or reassure the worry and concern whisking through your being like a tormenting tornado.

Despite your distressed repetition of words, Peter would advance and gently take your cheeks between his two hands, tenderly tilting your face so you'd look into his dark chocolate eyes. "I'll be okay," He'd mutter out, conviction flooding his tone as you brought your hands up, lightly clasping his wrists in your hands.

A barely audible sigh would slip from your lips, but you'd nodded your head again nevertheless. The attentive, endearing eye contact spoke a million words and you'd know that there was nothing you could say or do that would stop him from leaving.

He didn't necessarily love what he did anymore, but it was his responsibility. It helped people. It kept people safe; especially you and Aunt May. It was his job to protect you and the woman who raised him, so putting himself in imminent danger was nothing compared to what he'd feel if he didn't put himself in imminent danger and therefore, put you in imminent danger by not removing threats. Like when his Uncle Ben died. That had been his fault, and he'd be damned if he ever let it happen again.

"When you can do the things that I can, but you don't... And then the bad things happen... They happen because of you." He'd always say, and you'd argue against that. It wasn't his job to protect the entire city. He was only sixteen. He shouldn't have to have the weight of that burden dragging him down. But, just like how nothing could aid the worry inside of you, nothing could prevent him from doing what he did. You'd support him and his decisions completely, nonetheless.

You'd tug his hands away from your face slightly, tipping your face to the side and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the delicate skin of his wrist. "Okay..." You'd whisper as he'd observe your pure action with soft eyes and a swelled heart adequate with adoration.

How'd he get so lucky? He'd think, then intertwine his fingers with yours, both hands engulfing yours. Then, he'd close the space between the two of you by pressing his lips to yours, sighing against your lips in utter content and bliss and letting his emotions flood through at the gentle touch.

The faint sound of sirens in the distance would indicate that Peter had to leave, and you'd gradually pull away. But not before soaking in the last few moments of his attention and affection - eyes closed, foreheads resting on one another's, the ghost of each other's breath passing in journey and tingling the other's lips.

"I'll come back to you," He'd murmur reassuringly, coaxing your weary eyes open, "I promise."

Drawing back, he'd head for the window once more as you wordlessly watched him go. Nothing else needed to be pronounced, the euphoric and enamoured aura glowing within your warm, cosy room saying it all. Balancing easily on the balcony rail, he'd give you one last affectionate smile and you'd return it before he'd shoot the web toward the nearest building to his left - letting it launch his body surprisingly coordinately to the flat rooftop adjacent to your home.

Trust is the firm belief in the reliability, truth, or ability of someone or something. And you believe that trusting someone is hard. Trusting someone so fully that even though you worry incessantly to the point where you make yourself sick and your mind constantly conjures up worst-case scenarios, a few reassuring words and ensuring actions could make all those worries dwindle away temporarily. You know that they'd always be in the back of your mind though, for you cared so much, too much, about Peter. But for a moment, you trust him so much that you're okay.

And as you lay in bed on another one of those nights, your bleary eyes focusing on the open window and your mind racing with negative thoughts - barely perceiving the curtains swaying unrhythmically in the gentle breeze or the lively noise of the city below your apartment building - you have to remind yourself of those words.

"I'll come back to you, I promise."

And despite your mind cruelly conjuring up all the ways that Peter would be putting himself in danger and all the things that could go horribly wrong, you find yourself reaching for that trust that you thought was near impossible to reach and putting it in him. Because if he promises that he'll come back to you, then you believe that he will. He's never let you down, has he?

With that, you take your tired eyes away from the window, turn around under the mass of warm covers and let yourself fall into a sweet sleep. You know that when you wake up, Peter will be there, and you have no doubt about it.