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my love for you (it's ridiculous)

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“I don’ feel so good,” Peter mumbles, stumbling into the kitchen, wearing his Spider-Man™ onesie, licensed by ForeverLazy (get yours today!) and wrapped in two blankets. May looks at him from where she sits on the counter as her hands expertly fly through her hair, braiding it efficiently. 

 

“Oh, hon,” she says sympathetically, tying the braid off and moving forward to wrap Peter in a hug. She feels his forehead and makes a noise of pity as he flinches away from her cold touch. “You’ve got a fever, baby. I’m gonna call Happy, get him to come pick you up.” 

 

“No,” Peter protests weakly, “Don’ need need a babysitter. You don’ have to sen’ me to the Tower, I can-” He coughs thickly. “I can take care of-of myself.” 

 

“Honey, you’ve got a fever. Since you’re a spider-baby, fevers are bad news, Peter. I have to go to that nursing conference today and I don’t want you to be by yourself.”

 

“’m fine, May,” he whines, and the effort produces a series of coughs that hurt his chest. “Ouch.”

 

May looks at him with concern. “Honey, I want you at the Tower. You know that Tony said that Dr. Banner said that since you can’t thermoregulate, fevers are dangerous.” Peter feels his knees buckle slightly, and May catches him, maneuvering him deftly to the couch. She meets his eyes as she tucks the blankets back around him tightly, and says sharply, “Honey. You just collapsed. You’re going to Tony’s.”

 

Peter whines, ducking his head under one of the blankets, and he feels the couch dip as May sits down by his feet, tucking another blanket around them. His senses hum slightly right before she pulls on his ankles, tugging his feet into her lap, and he shudders at the sensation. “I can s’ill take care of myself.” He coughs again, and it’s dry and rough and painful. May pats his shin.

 

“I know you can, hon. But not right now. Not like this.” Her tone pulls at his heart, and he sighs.

 

“Don’ like it,” he mutters. “Bu’ fine.”

 

He feels May grinning and huffs. It causes another coughing fit, and May waits till it subsides to say, while squeezing his ankle, “You know, Harley’s visiting. Apparently.” Peter bites his lip to hide his smile, and May tickles the bottom of his foot. 

 

“May!” he whines, and she laughs. 

 

“You gonna make a move?”

 

“No’ while ’m sick, May,” he mutters. 

 

“Okay, fair point. But you never know, maybe Harley’s got a thing for sick spider-babies,” she teases, and Peter frowns, nudging at her thigh with his foot.

 

“’m not a baby.”

 

“Okay, baby.”

 

“May,” Peter groans from underneath his three blankets. “Iss hot.”

 

“Oh, honey. You’re okay.” Her phone makes a noise and she says, “Happy’ll be here in a couple minutes.”


“Don’ wanna go,” he mutters, and May hums in response. “Don’ wanna ge’ up.” He feels her shift, and she moves his feet off her lap, tucking them under a pillow. He pokes his head out from under the blanket to watch blearily as she moves in between the kitchen and the living room, throwing stuff into her bag. “When ar’ you leavin’?” he asks absently, tipping his head back over the arm of the couch. 

 

She runs a hand through his hair as she walks by, and Peter relishes in the contact. “Little while. After Happy shows up to get you.”

 

He grunts, then coughs again. “‘kay.” 

 

“Glad it’s to your approval,” she says, tugging at his ear. Then, “Oh, Happy’s outside, you gonna try walking out?”

 

“Yeah, I can do it,” Peter says, gritting his teeth, and May’s hand leaves his hair as a knock sounds at the door. He groans again, coughing heavily, and attempts to wobble to his feet, gathering the blankets in his arms and holding them to his chest. “Don’. Wanna. Ge’. Up,” he whines, hearing May’s soft voice in the background. He stumbles, foot catching in one of his blankets, and puts a hand weakly out to catch himself. “Ouch.”

 

Then there’s familiar arms circling around his waist, and a familiar Southern drawl in his ear, causing shivers down his spine. 

 

“Hey, sickie,” Harley says softly, and Peter smiles. 

“Harls,” he murmurs. Harley’s arms tighten around his waist, and then Peter’s being scooped up with ease, cradled to Harley’s chest. Peter nuzzles into him. 

 

“How’d you get yourself sick, huh?” Harley asks teasingly, starting to walk and Peter butts his head into Harley’s shoulder. 

 

“Missed you,” he says instead of responding to the question. Lips brush against his forehead. 

 

“Missed you too, Pete.”

 

“Mm, you’re warm,” Peter whispers. Harley chuckles. 

 

“And you’re delirious, darlin’.” 

 

“No, ’m not.”

 

“Yeah, ya are.”

 

“Bye, Peter,” May’s voice says from somewhere above Harley’s left shoulder, and he reaches out a hand weakly to find hers. 

 

“Bye, May,” he says, and she squeezes his hand before letting it drop. He hears her whisper something, probably to Harley, but his senses are too disoriented to focus on it. He watches as Harley nods, and then tucks his head closer into Harley’s chest, closing his eyes. They start to move again, and Peter feels stairs, and then cold air surrounding him as Harley steps outside. He shivers and Harley holds him tighter. 

 

“You got the sickie?” he hears Happy call, and feels Harley nod. They move towards the car, and Peter hears the door open. Harley starts to put him down, and Peter whines. 

 

“No, wanna sta’ wi’ you.”

 

Harley huffs, and Peter feels warm air brush across his face. “Alright. But just ‘cause you’re sick.” Peter grins. 

 

Harley somehow gets the both of them in the backseat with Peter curled in his lap. Happy glances at them in the mirror, and Peter attempts to glare threateningly. Judging by Happy’s chuckle, it doesn’t work. 

 

Peter closes his eyes again, and when he opens them, he’s lying on the couch in Tony’s living room, a Star Wars movie playing on the TV and his feet in Harley’s lap. He glances at the screen, and huffs in annoyance. Harley looks over at him. 

 

“You’re awake.”

 

“Yeah, and ‘m judging your taste in movies.”

 

Harley looks affronted. “You like Star Wars!”

 

“No’ the prequels. Never the prequels.”


“I don’t even know what that means,” Harley says, and Peter sees the corner of his mouth twitch up. 

 

“I ha’e you.”

 

“Sure you do.”

 

“Hey, ‘m sick, you can’t tal’ to me like tha’,” Peter whines. 

 

Harley squeezes his ankle. “Okay, darlin’.”

 

Peter passes off the blush that travels up his cheeks as a symptom of his fever. 

 

“’m bored,” Peter groans, kicking Harley softly. 

 

“You’re needy when you’re sick,” Harley remarks. 

 

“You love me anywa’,” Peter says automatically, and Harley smirks. 

 

“Did I mention, that I’m in love with you?” he asks, and Peter, despite being sick, feels his heart pound. But then music starts from the speakers, and the TV stops, and Peter realizes it’s a song. He’s not disappointed, he’s not. 

 

“And did I mention, there’s nothing I can do, and did I happen to say, I dream of you every day, so lemme shout it out loud, if that’s okay, hey, hey,” Harley croons, standing up. “I met this guy that rocked my world like it's never been rocked-” He winks at Peter, shaking his hips. “And now I'm living just for him and I won't ever stop, I never thought that it can happen to a guy like me. But now look at what you've done, you got me down on my knees.” Peter laughs as Harley drops to the floor, sliding towards him. “Because my love for you is ridiculous! I never knew-who knew?-that it could be like this, my love for you is ridiculous, my love is R-I-D-I-C-U-L-O-U-S!”

 

He points at Peter. Peter coughs, and then, reluctantly, repeats, “R-I-D-I-C-U-L-O-U-S.”

 

“It’s-”

 

“Ridiculous.”

 

“Just-”

 

“Ridiculous.”

 

“And I would give my kingdom for just one kiss!” Harley sings, and there’s a crack of desperation in his voice. Peter’s breath hitches. The song continues, but Harley stands there, waiting.

 

Peter would think he was joking, he couldn’t be anything else but joking, because why would he want Peter? But Harley’s hands, which flit nervously at the hem of his sweatshirt, and his eyes, which avoid Peter’s, reveal him.

 

“Are you-” Peter coughs, and tries to push himself up. His knees buckle and Harley surges forward to catch him, forcing him back to the couch. 

 

“Stop trying to move,” Harley says softly, tucking the blankets back around Peter. He sits down at the other end of the couch, avoiding eye contact with Peter. Too far away. Peter coughs harshly to get his attention, and Harley looks over, concerned. 

 

“Do you-do you mean it?”

 

Harley bites his lip, looking down. Then he nods. “Yes.” Peter grins.

 

“I love you too, you idiot,” Peter says hoarsely. Harley meets his eyes nervously. 

 

“You-”

 

“Yes, I do, shut up and c’mere.” Harley scoots closer. Peter curls into his warmth. “But ’m no’ kissing you, I don’ wanna get you sick.”

 

“Fair,” Harley mutters. He tugs Peter onto him, wrapping an arm around his body. 

 

“No,” Peter complains, “I wanna hold you, you’re mine.” His voice, while scratchy, dips into a possessive growl. Harley chokes on a gasp. Peter smirks. 

 

“Okay, darlin’, I understand that, but you’re the sick one right now, and I’m gonna hold you.”

 

“Fine,” Peter relents, pillowing his head on Harley’s chest. Harley holds him more tightly and Peter feels warm. Then he says, “Harls?”

 

“Yeah, Pete?”

 

“Wha’ was that song from?” He feels a gasp leave Harley’s lungs, and he turns his head to look up at Harley’s face. 

 

“You don’t know Descendants? The greatest fucking movie of all time?” Peter shrugs. “A classic Disney Channel Original Movie?”

 

“Ah, tha’s why I don’ know it.” 

 

Harley splutters. 

 

"You have a younger sister, Harls," Peter says, and Harley frowns, offended.

 

 "Yeah, but the Descendants movies are fucking cinematic masterpieces that transcend age and time. I watched the first one before Abbie even knew about them, Parker." Peter looks up at him, eyes wide. 

 

"Oh-you-you're actually bein' serious." He blinks innocently at Harley. Harley pokes his forehead. 

 

"Okay, you little asshole, time for you to understand the beauty of Disney's Descendants. FRI?"

 

“Already cued up, Harley.” 

 

As the opening to the “greatest fucking movie of all time” plays, Peter looks up fondly at Harley. 

 

“I love you a ridiculous amount,” he whispers. Harley grins. 

 

“I know, babe. I know.”

 

“Don’ Star Wars me in my own home!” 

 

“This is my home! And that wasn’t meant to be a Star Wars reference, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

 

Peter frowns. “Why are we together?”

“Because your love for me is ridiculous,” Harley says mockingly. 

 

“I hate you.”

 

“Love you too, darlin’.” 

 

---

 

“You ready?” Ned asks, gripping his shoulders tightly. Peter smiles softly. 

 

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my entire life.” 

 

Ned smirks and MJ groans. “Get that sappy bullshit out of my face, Parker. Disgusting.” Peter grins. 

 

“Love you too.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Now go get your mans,” she whispers, tucking the box into his pocket, and Peter walks into the living room, where Harley and Tony are sitting on the couch. 

 

Harley lights up when he sees him. Peter meets his eyes, his own smile bright. Tony raises an eyebrow at him from behind Harley. Peter nods imperceptibly. FRIDAY takes that as her cue, and an acoustic tune starts to echo through the room. Peter clears his throat, walking towards Harley, whose eyes widen.

 

“I met this guy that rocked my world like it’s never been rocked,” Peter starts, his voice gravelly but not unpleasant. Ned and MJ sing softly in the background, and Tony snaps quietly, keeping the beat. Harley laughs softly, watching him. “And now I’m living just for him and I won’t ever stop. I never thought that it could happen to a guy like me…” Peter trails off, and Harley turns to look at Tony, laughing. Peter fumbles in his pocket for the box, and he’s on one knee when Harley turns back to him. “But now look at what you’ve done, you’ve got me down on my knee…” Harley holds back a gasp. His eyes shine with love, and Peter opens the box. 

 

“Peter, yes, God, yes,” Harley breathes, reaching forward. Peter laughs wetly, tears spilling from his eyes.

 

“Baby, I gotta-you gotta let me ask you-“ he starts. Harley nods, his own tears falling. 

 

“Right, yes, of course.” Then he looks at Peter with the most blinding smile and Peter is so in love, it’s ridiculous

 

“Harley. Baby. Princess. I love you so fucking much. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, you’re my forever and always, and it’s you and me against the world, right? Will you marry me, baby?” 

 

Harley nods violently, crying too hard to talk, and Peter slides the ring onto his finger. Then he tugs Harley off the couch into a deep kiss. Harley’s hands tangle in his hair, and Peter wraps his arms tightly around Harley’s waist. Tony, Ned, and MJ cheer. 

 

“Did I mention, that I’m in love with you, and did I mention, there’s nothing I can do?” starts from the speakers, and FRIDAY is suspiciously silent. Harley breaks the kiss, leaning their foreheads together, and says, along with the lyrics, “Because my love for you is ridiculous!” 

 

Peter laughs, and continues, “I never knew-”

 

“WHO KNEW?” Ned screams viciously, and MJ kicks him in the shin. 

 

Harley sings, “That it could be like this.” 

 

“My love for is ridiculous!”

 

“My love is r-i-d-i-c-u-lo-u-s!”

 

“R-I-D-I-C-U-L-O-U-S!” Ned cheers, MJ reluctantly joining in.  

 

“It’s-” Peter says. 

 

“Ridiculous!” Harley shouts.

 

“Just-”

 

“Ridiculous!” 

 

“And I would give my kingdom for just one kiss!” Peter finishes.  

 

“Well, c’mere then, Parker,” Harley says, smirking, and yanks him into another kiss.