Inspiring Confidence (Part II)
Peter Parker x Reader
So I wrote something for this, because as soon as I saw these all I could think of was Peter, and how he would totally do something like this, but immediately regret it and panic.
I suggest you read Part I first, this will be much funnier if you do.
Summary: ‘“Did you – did you actually
just send me nudes?”
Looking at yourself in the mirror as you spoke,
at the white of your teeth as lips stretched tight across them and eyes
crinkled as you smiled…’
Warnings: Awkward adorable Peter thinking he has text game, but is really just a dork. Mentions of nudity/intimacy.
(I really cannot believe that I wrote this. I’m so sorry.)
A contented sigh pushed past moistened lips as hot water pounded away at tense shoulders, muscle fibers tangled with all of the hours spent finishing up that paper you’d ended up putting off until late the next evening; laptop and scholarly words pushed aside for toffee curls, fluttering eyelashes, and words that were much more recreational.
There had been more giggling and clanging teeth than there normally was; lips too busy stretched across each other in smiles to even bother avoiding clumsiness.
A rosy blush had stained his face, his sculpted cheeks and sandy freckles a soft, flowery purple in the hazy blue lighting for most of the night. Petal pink color following the two of you back to your room as you’d quickly forgotten about black, white, blue, and jazz and moved on to mixing your colors and making music of your own kind.
He’d left in the early hours of the morning, a colored shadow escaping out of the window and into the purpling sky. You hadn’t heard from him since; it wasn’t often that Spider-Man truly got a night off.
Through the harsh pattering sound of droplets hitting the
plastic of the shower curtain, you heard the tell-tale ping of your
phone, accompanying vibration rattling against the marbled surface of the sink.
The fact that it was 3 A.M. on a Sunday leaving you with no doubt: it was
But then it was almost always Peter.
Rinsing the last of the conditioner from your hair, humid air full of flowers and rain, you cut the water off and grabbed for your towel just in time for Peter’s ringtone to echo off the tiles in the steamed bathroom; drying off pruned hands and wrapping fluffed fabric around yourself before grabbing at the phone that was bouncing across the slicked surface of the counter; a lazy smile on your face.
“Peter, Isn’t it a little lat-” in a repeat of the night before, his nervous voice was cutting you off, vibrating, not unlike the way your phone had been seconds earlier.
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would mind and that was a terrible idea,” chuckles uneasy, deep and bubbling past lips, “and, um, I - I’m not really sure exactly what I was thinking or – actually, again, I do, that’s a lie – ohmygod, um – I was impatient and now I just feel like it was gross, and - ”
“Peter?” You interrupted, deciding on words rather than the laughter that was begging to release as you connected the dots.
“Hmm?” Squeak of a sound from a tight, nervous throat.