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A winter stroll| Peter Parker

By: jerod-writes

“Central Park always looks so beautiful covered in snow,” Peter marvels, spinning around to fully take in the white-coated world around him. You smile fondly, chuckling to yourself at his child-like fascination with it all. He suddenly stops, twirling to lock his gaze on you. Your arms folded across your chest, leaning against the bridge railing as you look across the frozen lake with only mild interest. “You could at least try to act amused, ya know?”

“With the snow or with you?” you question, raising an eyebrow in a challenging manner.

“Both!” He shakes his head a little. “You’re so much like your dad.”

“Oh? Is that supposed to be a compliment? Cause’ last time I checked, you’re like, in love with my dad.” Peter makes a ‘pfft’ noise, waving his hand dismissively.

“You’re the only Stark for me. I can be nerdy and talk hero stuff with your dad, but with you…well, it’s the same actually. But!” He stalks closer, wrapping his arms around your neck and lifting his head to look into your eyes. “I would never wanna do this with him.” He surges forward; cold, chapped lips meeting your own equally frigid and dry ones. Just as you’re beginning to get into the kiss, however, he breaks away.

“Besides…your dad is much too old for me.” A laugh bubbles up from your throat, spilling out into the frosty air. Peter beams wide back at you, happy that he can always produce the effect in you. His eyes become captured by your face, chocolate brown irises taking in every feature. He’s staring, and he doesn’t even notice until you point it out moments later.

A deep red blush creeps into his cheeks and he drops his head into your chest. “I can’t help it,” he mumbles, “You’re just so beautiful.” You scoff, taking his chin in your thumb and forefinger and lifting it to meet your gaze.

“The mantle of ‘most beautiful in this relationship’ definitely doesn’t go to me, Petey.” You wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his blush only intensifies. You lean forward, rubbing your nose against his in an eskimo kiss.

You slip out of his embrace, holding out your hand. “Come on,” you say, nodding your head in the direction of the nearest park exit, “How about we go back to the tower, make some hot cocoa, and spend the afternoon cuddling in front of the fireplace?” Peter’s eyes light up again, his gloved hand flying to yours and lacing your fingers together.

“I still can’t believe that you slipped on ice!” you exclaim dumbfounded, “You literally have superhuman agility and stamina!”

“I was distracted!” he counters.

“By what!?” He averts his gaze, suddenly finding the elevator floor more interesting than it ever has been.

“By you…” he mumbles under his breath. You’re about to ask what he said when a soft ‘ding’ signals that you’ve reached your destination. The doors slide open and the two of you step into the penthouse, quickly shedding your winter gear and placing it in the closet.

“Hello boys,” Pepper greets as both of you enter the kitchen, shifting through a pile of papers on the counter, “How was the walk?”

“Peter slipped on ice and fell on his butt!” you exclaim, pulling out the ingredients to make a homemade hot cocoa.

“Hey!” he interjects, “It still kind of hurts.” He rubs his butt, making both you and your adoptive mother laugh out loud.

“Anyway, I figured we’d make some hot chocolate. You know, that old homemade recipe great grandma made?” you continue.

“That sounds like a great idea!” she agrees, moving over to help you with your task.

Your father had gotten used to the idea of you and Peter dating. Enjoying it quite a bit, in fact. He always gushes how you two are his “favorite boys.” Keeping a promise he made to you and Pepper over a year ago, he has F.R.I.D.A.Y. remind him to get upstairs for dinner. He can’t help the fond smile that spreads across his face when he walks out of the elevator and sees you and Peter asleep on the couch; the latter boy cuddled into you and both of you snoozing peacefully underneath one of the many cozy blankets kept around. Mugs of hot cocoa long gone and forgotten on the coffee table while The Grinch quietly plays in the background.

“They’re gonna get married one day. You know that, right?” he asks as he enters the kitchen, where Pepper is cooking dinner. She cranes her head to look into the living room, the same fond smile that was on her husband’s face moments ago now appearing on hers.

“They’re still young. Just let them have now,” she counters. He wraps his arms around her from behind, placing a kiss to her neck.

“I know my boy,” he continues, “And Y/N is madly in love with Pete. … But maybe you’re right. We should let them be young and stupid while they still can.”