You gasp at the sight in front of you. Looking back at you through your mirror was yourself, but not exactly. You had just gotten out of the shower, and once you walked by the mirror, something a little blue had caught your eye. You went into the shower with y/h/c hair, and now you’ve come out with royal blue hair. You took deep breathes as you lifted some parts of hair from your scalp to see that all of it really was blue. Some strands were a more faint blue than others.
Meanwhile, Peter was sitting on your living room couch, giddy with anticipation. You didn’t know it yet, but he was the one who had put the blue dye in your shampoo. It was semi-permanent, he figured it’d be a funny little prank. He impatiently waited to hear something from you, knowing your reaction wouldn’t be subtle. He had heard the shower turn off, “Hows it going in there y/n?” Peter called to you.
It all clicked to you now. Peter was the one who had ruined your hair. Of course it was him. Blue hair to match his red and blue suit. “Peter Parker, I’m gonna kill you!” you screeched as you bolted into your room throwing on two pieces of clothing that were the first items you saw, a pair of underwear and Peters hoodie that you “borrowed”. With your wet blue hair, you marched out to the living room where Peter was laying, laughing uncontrollably. His eyes ran up and down your body and rested on your hair, “Well you look, amazing,” he told you, attempting to stop his snickering.
“You think this is funny, Parker?” You grumbled, breathing heavily.
“No, no not at all, I’m sorry. I think it’s hilarious,” He knew you meant war when you said his last name, but he couldn’t help but give himself a small pat on the back at his clever prank.
You groaned at his comment and began to advance towards him. Peter was taking no chances, knowing you were currently wild. So he flexed his arm out, and from his wrist shot out a web that pinned your fist to the bookshelf behind you. Looking at your hand that was covered in a sticky substance, your jaw dropped and features turned to a bewildered look. Oh he did not. You yanked and pulled at your hand, but it wasn’t escaping anytime soon.
“Look just calm down,” he tried to reason, with a wide smile on his face, “wait, is that my sweater?” he asked you in a higher, curious tone of voice. He cocked an eyebrow, as he studied the article of clothing. But because he was a teenage boy, his eyes became glued to your naked legs. He was quite enjoying your outfit,
“Don’t try to change the subject Peter. What did you do to my hair?” you demanded, ignoring his burning gaze,
“It was just a joke, baby. I swear.” He said, taking slow steps towards you,
“You think it’s funny that I get to match your stupid onesie now?!”
“Ugh, it’s not a onesie,” he whined, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, “babe, I’m sorry-”
“Sorry isn’t going to help when I kick your ass!” you interrupted him, yanking at your hand once again.
“I’m not letting you out of that till you calm down y/n,” Peter told you, gazing down to webbing.
“I’m not going to calm down, my hair is blue!”
He sighed, and tilted his head to the side. He began walking towards you again. Once he was within arms reach of you, you brought up the hand that wasn’t pinned down, and swung it at Peters chest. He caught it before it could hit him, and he pressed his body against yours. Trapping you completely, in the corner between the wall and the bookshelf. You tried taking back the hand that he had a hold of, but he held it tightly and closely to his chest. You grabbed a fist full of his grey shirt, and attempted to push him away, but he wasn’t budging.
Peter lowered his forehead to yours, knowing your wild mood was slowly fading. He knew what he was doing, and he knew the effect he had on your body. “Stop it. I’m mad at you,” you spoke to him sternly, determined to keep your fuming attitude, to prove a point to him. “No, you’re not,” he persuaded you with a smile.
“Yes, I am. Look at my hair!” You argued not looking him in the eye. Again you tried shoving him away, but it was hardly worth trying, without control over either of your arms.
“There’s nothing wrong with your hair. It’s perfect,” he whispered to you. You stopped struggling against him, and decided your best bet now was to give him the silent treatment. Moving your head to the side, you didn’t give him any attention and took your forehead away from his. Shortly after, you felt a pair of soft lips press themselves to your temple. You closed your eyes at excitement of butterflies attacking your stomach. Peters lips pecked a trail of kisses down the side of your face, “I’m sorry,” he muttered in between every one of them. Leisurely, he brought them down to your exposed neck. Sticking to your plan of the silent treatment, you didn’t protest.
“Please-forgiveme-I’msorry,” he repeated every time his lips left your neck and reconnected them.
“I hate you,” you whispered, just barely audible for him. Peter smiled against your neck and placed his forehead back against yours, “What was that?” he asked teasingly with a grin. You tried so hard to keep a smile from taking over your lips, but you failed trying, “I hate you,” you said louder to him.
He shook his head with a smile, “No you don’t,” he declared with a laugh. You just nodded your head in response, letting out a laugh also.
“Nice sweater by the way,” he said to you, “mind telling me where you got it?”