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inklore · 2 years

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“ you’re so full of shit... [if you think the kiss didn't mean something] “ from ur prompt list with tasm!peter parker omg plssss, but maybe peters saying that to the reader?

this turned out to be more than a blurb...lmao but i cannot be blamed!

and you need to know.

pairing: peter parker x (f)reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: big friends to lovers trope here, fluff, weed mention, slight (so slight) angst. 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

You can hear the frustrated huff in his breath, the cloud of air that forms from the cold as he speaks, as the two of you trek down the sidewalk, leaving the corner bar a few blocks from your place.

The trip cutting into your normal Friday routine together which was ordering pizza and watching some classic movie, and possibly getting high on your balcony. It taking much convincing to get Peter to wait to use his pizza coupons next time, and accompany you to the bar tonight instead. Flashing him your puppy dog eyes until his pulling into that cheeky smile he always gave you and saying “fine, but we are stopping for a slice on the way back!”

Which, obviously.

And when you stepped out of your bedroom adorning a cute dress that stopped just above the knee, doing your best twirl and pose for him, his apprehension turned into excitement—until you made it known exactly why you wanted to go to the bar to begin with, for whom you wanted to see there—or to hopefully run into; the new intern who just started working in your office, the one who you’ve mentioned a dozen times, Peter usually completely zoning out when you did so, “what do you think I should do? Should I just ask him out? We’ve barely talked. Peter? Peter! Are you even listening?”

“Mmm,” he would reply with a forced smile, indifference-and something unreadable—flashing across his face.

So you didn't find it too surprising when his excitement to go out with you died out, and why it seemed like he was dragging his feet as the two of you made your way to the bar. And also why when you finally got there and your co-worker completely ignored you Peter kept throwing scowls at him, kept reassuring you that it wasn't you and that he was clearly blind to not look at you in that dress, to not drool-his exact words.

“Maybe I need to get his attention, like other than a weird hey and awkward wave.” You chew on your bottom lip, tapping your finger against the table you were sat at. It only takes you a few minutes, wracking your brain, and looking at Peter’s amused grin as he watches how hard you’re thinking, to come up with an idea. “Maybe if he sees someone else hitting on me or something, that’ll peak his interest.”

Peter’s grin falls, “I think you’re going about this wrong-”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures!”

“Are you really that desperate? If he can’t see how amazing you are-”

“Shh,” You stand from your seat, walking around the table and standing between Peter’s open legs. When you grab his hand and place it on your waist you feel his body go rigid, see the slight panic in his eyes, “look like you’re into me!” You demand, plastering on a big smile, as you wrap your arms around his neck-ignoring the way his body heat and the smell of his cologne makes you want to move closer to him. Shooting your eyes in the direction of your co-worker as you let out your best—loud—flirty laugh in hopes to catch his attention. “Peter, you feel like stone,” you turn back to face him to see he is staring at you intently, dazed almost. “You have to act like you actually like me or this isn't going to work,” you let your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Is it that hard-”

“No,” Peter shakes his head, his other hand coming to your waist to pull you closer so your chest is flush to his. “Only a fool would find it hard to not be into you.” Your cheeks burn slightly, a genuine smile forming on your lips, and an even bigger one pulling onto his. “I think you might be too good for him.”

“You don’t even know him, Peter.” You sigh, continue playing with the hair at the back of his neck-don’t let the thought of how not weird this is, to be this close in his space, the way your body feels like it's starting to grow warmer from him—or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you in a way he’s never done before, making something in your stomach concave.

“I know any person who could take their eyes off of you even for a second, to not give you a chance isn't good enough for you.” And as if you’ve been punched in the stomach, gutted, your breath stops. The two of you holding eye contact for too long. Until Peter’s eyes drop to your lips, “maybe we should try another way to make him jealous?”

You nod, silently agreeing, your words failing you. You don't know what you expect him to do, but you don't expect Peter to cup your cheek in his palm or to lean forward an inch, two, and connect your lips together. And if you thought you knew warmth—heat—from being this close to him, the warmth you were feeling now, the way your stomach fluttered as his lips moved along yours perfectly, practiced, like the two of you had been doing this for years; perfect, like they were meant to be connected like this, always.

Your brain was hazed.

Until you pulled away, until the two of you sat in silence for the rest of the night, finishing your drinks and deciding to give up on the ‘mission’ and head home. The cold burning your overly warm body.

Thus bringing you to this moment where Peter is huffing beside you after you shrugged off the kiss, shrugged off his weird questioning of what just happened and why you were acting weird about it and you stating-factually and sternly—that it was nothing.

“You’re so full of shit if you think the kiss didn't mean something.” His hand wraps around your wrist stopping you, his fingers searing your skin.

“Peter..” you sigh, shaking your head. “Just let it go.” The nerves that are currently fluttering throughout your body making your tone more clipped than you were going for.

“Are you serious?” A chuckle is the last thing you expect to follow his questioning, especially with the look of astonishment on his face. You don't have time to think up a response because he’s pulling you into the alley you’re standing in front of, pushing your back up against the brick of a building. His palms cupping your face just as they did earlier in the night and bringing his lips down on yours, it taking only seconds—less—for the feelings plaguing your nervous system to simmer out and all you feel is Peter, all you want to feel is Peter.

Your fingers finding their way into his hair, the kiss turning into something else entirely, fast—faster than you can comprehend.

When the two of you finally pull apart you’re both out of breath and Peter’s smiling, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

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