Work Text:
"Peter Benjamin Parker!"
Wasn't a good thing to hear as a teen and it still isn't a good thing to hear as a 27 year old super-hero-but-also-photographer-by-trade. He had only just removed his mask and turned to the source of the alluring voice to see the love of his life.
Definitely angry and with a sharp glare in those beautiful eyes... and it's at that angry look that he remembers why he even left in the first place! Eggs... he forgot the eggs again. He only stepped out for a minute! He could go back out-
"Don't you even think of stepping out that window again Peter Edgar Benjamin Parker!" Oh, you're really mad this time.
"I ask you to do one! Thing! What is that?!" Before he even opens his mouth to respond you continue, "Get eggs! Why? For me to make cakes for YOUR office party that YOU signed me up for!" It was technically his boss, J Jonah Jameson, who signed you up for it but Peter didn't want to bring that up and earn more ire. Why the Daily Bugle is hosting a potluck, he doesn't know but it is a test of all the worker's ability to cook and everyone is pulling all stops.
He was specifically told "Parker, since it seems the only thing you're capable of doing is bringing half-shot photos of Spiderman, I don't trust you to bring in anything edible. You better leave it to that girlfriend of yours. Mary Jane or whatever."
"Ah, it's actually-"
"Don't correct me, Parker. Didn't I just say 'or whatever'? Whoever it is, I'm sure it's better than you! Have them bring it in or else!"
And with that, you were unwillingly listed in the catering field for the next week as you figure out what to bring, what you need and how you'll do it in the small apartment kitchen. With Peter hovering over your shoulder, you settle on bite sized portions of three types of cake, lemon pound cake, chocolate cake and strawberry cakes, each with little pads of icing or glaze on top. Peter called them cupcakes, you called him uncultured in the kitchen. "Petit Fours" you called them.
And all you asked of him was to bring you a 24 pack of eggs... which he didn't...
"Peter Edgar Johnson Parker! Are you listening to me?!"
"Yes, of course! I'm sorry! I promise I'm listening."
"Then why didn't you do what I asked! You decided to just fight random thugs on the street again." Your voice went from dry anger to wet anger. You sounded like you were going to cry. "It wasn't even any of your big bad enemies. The police could have taken care of these guys! Why don't you care about me?" You finished by dropping your head and hugged yourself.
Peter drops his mask and races to your side and attempts to both hug you and lift your face to look at him.
"I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry. Look at me, please?"
"No" You cry out, head still dropped and trying to hide yourself from him. You're immediately embarrassed because you're crying over such a little thing as a carton of eggs that you yourself could've gotten in the interim - remembering you had actually done so after he left.
You already knew that he was going to stop and fight some bad guys. It's his job. And he has to do this to keep you safe. You know this, you do. But just, over and over and over again. He forgets what you ask him to remember when he's fighting and it's to the point where it feels almost purposeful and that you're not worth remembering.
You wipe your eyes and sniff. You're mad. Stay mad. You remind yourself.
"Get out." You say. Trying to make it not obvious that you're crying and failing as he looks at your red shiny eyes.
"What? No wait -"
"Peter Charles Edgar Johnson - whatever the - PARKER!" You yell out. "Get out of the living room! Get out of the kitchen! Let me cook in peace!" You push away from him and watch his strong arms drop limply to his side, bumping off of his body as they fall.
Calling the expression on his face the "kicked puppy" look would make him seem less hurt than he actually was. But you were mad and you had to make yourself be strong.
"Go to the room, Peter. Now." You point for emphasis at the doorway a mere 3 feet away. The imposing hollow core door that hung crookedly on its hinges felt more like iron bars. And after a staring contest of 10 seconds, he slowly made his way into the room.
He didn't turn on the light and instead stood in the dark and stared at you until you ahem'd him to close the door with another flick of your finger. He complied...
With a stiffening of your shoulders, another wipe of your face and a full body shake you got started with cooking. You removed the eggs that YOU bought from the fridge and pulled up the recipes for the three cakes you intended to miniaturize and got started. Halfway through the second's batter beating, you heard the loud creak of the door opening and knew the eyes watching you belonged to your sulking boyfriend.
You didn't turn around, instead just let him watch. And as you cooked and moved and decorated, he slowly emerged from the room and sat in the doorway. You assume anyway, because you refused to turn back and look at him, still wanting to make him feel how upset you were despite not being so angry any more.
.
With you finally finishing up on the decorating portion, you felt that Peter had moved closer now and decided to finally glance at him. You see him propped against the corner of the kitchen's island and looking at you with his own set of tired and red rimmed eyes.
You look at him, the desserts, and the sink half full of dishes and breath out an exhale. You grab a pink iced mini cake and a lemon cake and walk over to him and drop down into a cross legged position in front of him. Without a word and without looking into his eyes you pass him the strawberry cake.
He's staring at your face and you can feel it while you watch him in your peripheral vision bite into the cake.
"Is it good?" You ask after a far too long moment.
"mhm" he says around the cake in his mouth.
You lean against his shoulder and look up at his face.
"... can you do the dishes?" you ask. I love you, I'm sorry.
"Mhm" he kisses your forehead and then leans his head onto yours.
"I love you" "I love you too"