Comfort [Peter Parker x Reader]
SUMMARY: After a rough night at home, you seek comfort in your friend, Peter Parker.
CONTAINS: fluff, swearing, mentions of divorce, mentions of alcohol
A/N: hey so i whipped this up the other night and its not my best work but i decided i might as well post it for the hell of it! i’m opening up requests now to anyone who has anything they would like me to write about. i hope you enjoy this and if you do, feel free to check out my other works! :)
THE NIGHT WAS COLD, rain pouring like wet curtains from the sky and splattering across the sidewalk. You quickly trudged through, your sneakers soaked and clothes sopping. You were shuddering against the heavy wind, hopelessly trying to tuck your hair out of your sight. It refused to remain snug behind your ear, your Y/H/C locks opting to smack violently against your face.
You and your father had been arguing again. It was something that hat occurred often, so you never really dwelled to much on it to avoid having to face your feelings about it. This time it was different. He yelled at you this time around. Loud. Your mother was out of town on a business trip so she wasn’t there to defend you, and the divorce between them was pretty nasty so you didn’t expect him to be any lenient on you for wishing to live with her.
You finally arrived at the apartment complex of your friend, Peter Parker. You two weren’t best friends, not like him and Ned. But you were close—close enough for you to develop the tiniest of a crush and close enough for you to open up a little to him. He knew somewhat of your situation and he always insisted that if you ever came down to it and you needed a place to hang for a little, his home was always yours too.
You rushed up the stairs, your sneakers sloshing with ever step. Once you found yourself perched before his doorstep, you raised an arm, holding your knuckles inches away from the wood. Your heart was racing. Maybe I shouldn’t, you thought. Maybe I should just find a diner or something instead.
It’s fine. He’ll understand.
You knocked on the door, a few seconds passing before the locked clinked and the knob shifted. The door opened and your heart dropped.
“Hey, Y/N,” Peter’s voice was laced with concerned. He opened the door wider, absorbing your disheveled state, urging you to come inside. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Here, let me get you a towel?”
“Thanks,” you sniffled, wiping the back of your hand along your nose. Your body was convulsing with shivers, hands working desperately to warm up your arms. You hadn’t even thought to bring a sweatshirt before you mindlessly stormed out—not that having a sweatshirt would do much to fend off the rain.
Peter returned hastily with a towel, instantly wrapping it around your body. He held it firmly against you, rubbing up and down on your limbs to create some friction. You grabbed on to the towel and patted it across your face, the tears and rolling water droplets sinking into the soft fabric. He kept his hand firmly on your shoulder, his thumb drawing comforting circles.
“W-where’s May?” You panted, your body disappearing beneath the towel. You felt awful for intruding so late, but you didn’t know where else to go or who else to talk to. Peter said he was always there, so by default, he was he only option.
“She’s uh, she’s working late tonight. So it’s just me,” Peter replied calmly. “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, wiping away at your lashes still coated with your hot tears. “It’s just my dad. You know how he can be sometimes, and tonight he just … sucked. He-he first got made at me because I got a C on that one math test we had, a-and I tried to tell him that I forgot about the test because I was working so hard on the prepping for the Robotics Club and the Environmental Club, but then he just got mean about everything. About my friends, how I spend my time, about me. Not just that one stupid grade! I-I know it’s sounds stupid, and I’m probably being so, so overdramatic and completely sensitive about this—”
“No,” Peter cut you off. “No, it’s okay, Y/N. He shouldn’t be giving you a hard time for one bad grade when you’ve been working your ass off on a bunch of other things. It’s okay.”
You nodded, using the towel to wipe again at your eyes. “I think he’s been drinking. That’s why he’s always in a pissy mood now. That, and the divorce. He-he gives me shit for everything. I can’t ever say ‘no’ to him without getting nervous about how he’d react. My anxiety is off the charts because of it.”
Peter curled and arm around you, listening attentively as he led you to his room. Once you arrived, he pushed the door open for you, then started to pick through his dresser for some spare clothes to lend you.
“I-I’m really sorry, Y/N. That’s really shitty of him. I’m relieved that you came here. We can uh, just hang out the rest of the night and-and you can have my bed. I’ll take the couch,” Peter sounded sincere, his hand resting on your knee. Your smile was watery when you accepted the bundled up t-shirt and sweatpants. “I can um … t-turn around. If you don’t want me to leave.”
Your cheeks flushed pink and you nodded profusely, not wanting to be alone. It was cathartic to you knowing that Peter was close by, living and breathing the same air as you. And Peter smelled like birch wood and peonies, unlike the stench of bittersweet alcohol and burned out cigarettes that your home usually reeked of. Peter, to you, was a breath of fresh air. You found comfort in his embrace, always wanting to savor the warmth his arms radiated whenever the coiled around you. You felt safe and protected, like you were buried in a home you never quite knew you craved.
“You can turn around,” you agreed, smiling softly. Peter obliged, shoving his hands into his pocket before standing up from the bed to turn his back to you.
You stood up, lifting the soaking wet shirt up and over your head, discarding it onto the floor. There was something about changing with Peter just feet away that made your stomach explode with butterflies. The part of you that wasn’t so focused on the painful events of your evening wished that he would turn around and look at you for a minute. You wondered what he would think and how he would feel. You wondered what he would do with his hands and where he would place his fingers. Where would he place his lips?
But tonight was certainly not the night for any of that. That’s not what you needed. What you needed was a friend to protect you and a shoulder to cry on. You needed Peter Parker, your friend. Not Peter Parker who you loved more than just a friend. You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. Your fragile, perplexed mind wandered once again.
You tugged the shirt over your head, Peter’s scent fanning pleasantly across your nose. After kicking off your shorts, you pulled on the baggy sweatpants and ran the towel through your hair once more, giving it one final drying.
“I’m done,” you announced.
Peter bounced back on his heels before turning around, his heart racing when he saw you in his clothes. You looked good. He scolded himself for having the crude desire to turn around earlier; his conscience would’ve never forgiven him, and neither would he. Maybe to you it didn’t mean anything, but to him it was everything. You were everything. With your crystallized Y/E/C eyes and youthful cheeks and glowing smile. With your good heart and golden personality.
“So-so do you want to watch some movies? Or we could just uh … we could hang out and order some Chinese food. It’s only eleven so they’re still open. May left me cash for dinner but I never got around to it.”
You nodded, your lips curving up softly. Peter started towards the kitchen, subconsciously placing his hand on the small of your back to usher you towards the living room couch. Your cheeks reddened with the gentle contact of his palm, but you leaned back into the touch, desiring something stronger. When you sat down, you pulled your knees to your chest, billions of thoughts whipping violently through your mind. Some of them pertained to your father others were more fixated on Peter and why he made you so nervous. Some of them even revolved around the stupid test you had Monday and the club meeting you had after school. You had so many thoughts and nothing to do with any of them besides dwell and ponder until your brain was sore.
“W-whatever you want to do. I don’t want to intrude or anything,” you shrugged.
Peter flashed you a grin. “Let’s get Chinese. I’ll get like, fried rice and noodles or whatever. You’ll like it!”
After Peter ordered the food and joined you on the couch, he flipped on the television, using the remote to flip through all the stations. He settled on Criminal Minds, a show you didn’t mind watching. All you really wanted was some background noise to kill the crippling silence. You got comfortable on the couch, burying yourself into the corner, stretching your legs out just enough to not invade Peter’s personal space. Laying your head against the pillow, you curled up beneath the throw blanket and watched the show.
Peter anxiously tapped his toe against the floor, staring at you out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were bright pink, and he desperately wanted to start a conversation. But for some reason, he was so nervous. His stomach was churning and twisting into knots, and he hated himself for wanting to kiss you even during the most inappropriate of times, yet he still couldn’t help himself.
“So uh, did you go to Betty’s party last weekend? I-I know she invited everyone from decathlon, so …” you trailed off, threading your clammy fingers together, eyes cast upon the floor.
Peter nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I left early though. Parties aren’t really my kind of thing, I-I guess. I saw you though, before you left.”
You finally mustered the courage to meet his eyes. The bright lighting of the television screen reflected off his glistening, chocolate brown irises. “You should’ve said something,” you responded. “I’m not really that big of a partier either. I-I just go to get out of the house, but I’d rather be doing anything else.”
“I would’ve said hi, but you were talking to that guy from our Spanish class, so-so I didn’t know if I’d be interrupting you or anything?” His pitch got higher as he grew more anxious. He didn’t want to be stepping over any boundaries or anything. The look of shock that flushed across your delicate gestures made him regret every word he’d uttered.
“Who, Jacob?” you giggled, shaking your head furiously. “No-No! No way! Never! He was just totally wasted, and he-he kept going on about his dog. I gave him a ride home. That’s all though,” you assured Peter. You definitely didn’t want him to get the idea that you had a thing for Jacob—if anything, you were trying to drop hints to Peter that you were interested in him! But you weren’t exactly keen in those particular types of romantic situations, so it wouldn’t be baffling to you if found out you were doing a mediocre job at it.
“O-oh,” Peter stuttered. He felt stupid. “Well, you still looked really pretty that night. I wanted to say hi. Really.”
You gaped, blinking blankly at him like his words were some sort of spell in a foreign tongue. Peter Parker just called you pretty. You could feel your heart racing and the butterflies in your stomach only magnified with the flustering compliment. “You thought I looked pretty?”
Peter laughed anxiously, his eyes darting between you and the floor. “Y-yeah. You were wearing that blue blouse and that pair of jeans you always wear. The ones you got from Old Navy.”
Grinning fondly at him, you eased back into the couch, flattered that he’d remember something as ridiculous as an outfit—flattered that he’d remember you at all. You shrugged, “Yeah. I-I guess I was. I can’t believe you’d remember that.”
Peter was relieved when the doorbell rang, because he definitely didn’t want to come up with some ridiculous excuse as to why he remembered what you wore on that very particular evening. He was practically staring you down from across the room whenever you weren’t looking, jealousy flaring like a fire in his stomach whenever he saw how fondly Jacob was looking at you. He watched and noticed the way the corners of your eyes crinkled whenever laughter came bubbling like a melody from your tongue. He watched and he noticed the way you fiddled with your bracelets, a nervous tick you had whenever you were placed in stressful situations. He’d known you long enough to pick up on those little quirks.
Once he paid the delivery man and grabbed the bag full of Chinese, Peter carried it to the kitchen and placed it onto the counter, immediately diving in. You jumped up and joined him, ferreting through the cabinets for some plates and silverware for you both. He picked out the boxes of rice and noodles, and the sweet and sour chicken, and cranked them open as if they were eating at some prestigious, gourmet buffet. He gestured towards the food, urging you to go first, your mouths watering.
The remainder of your evening was spent balled up on the couch, eating your Chinese food. The tension had finally subsided with your laughter, and you continued to talk and talk until your eyelids started to droop.
“I can’t believe you said that to Flash! What did he do about it?” you listened with ignited eyes, twirling a noodle around on your fork.
Peter snickered. “Nothing! Well, nothing yet. I’m totally not looking forward to going back Monday. He’s going to give me such a hard time at decathlon,” he groaned.
You tilted your head, frowning slightly. “I’m sorry. It sucks that he’s a dick to you, but you should take what he says to heart. You’re totally awesome, Peter. And Flash just kind of sucks. I mean, for God’s sake, what kind of person calls themselves 'Flash’, and for what? It’s not like he’s fast or anything.”
Peter laughed at your statement, flashing you a toothy smile that made your heart feel warm. “Thanks, Y/N. And yeah, I guess you’re right. I still can’t believe you had a thing with him.”
You moaned, sinking down into the couch. Swallowing the last bit of your food, you buried your face into the palms of your hands, wanting nothing more than to shield yourself from the world. “Please don’t talk about that. It’s so embarrassing. I genuinely feel so sick,” you joked. You ran a hand through your hair. “Yeah. We don’t talk about that, ever. That’s one of the things we are locking away in a vault for eternity.”
Peter’s face grew curious, and his eyes flickered with an emotion you couldn’t quite identify. “Why did you even do it?”
You pondered. “I-I don’t know. I guess I was just really excited. It was the first time a guy had asked me out, and I really wanted to go on a date. So I did. And like, he was kind of nice to me. Still Flash, but … nicer than my dad. Then he asked me for nudes,” you stared to giggle at the silliness of it all. “Such a tragic demise to a fruitful relationship, don’t you think?”
Peter scoffed. “Yeah. I guess you could say that. That’s shitty though. That he’d ask you for stuff like that. You don’t deserve that.”
“Thanks, Peter. What about you? Any first date stories you want to share? First kiss? First whatever?” you bit down on your bottom lip, watching the way his wavy chocolate locks bounced whenever he turned his head. Your eyes met for a brief moment, the gaze impenetrable and laced with affection.
“I’ve been on a date once, with that Ally girl in your Environmental Club in freshmen year, but … I wasn’t really into it. I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he confessed. “And I’ve never kissed anyone. What about you?”
You shook your head. “No,” you hummed. “I’m still waiting for the right person.”
Eventually, you two had feasted on just about all the Chinese food you could stomach for one evening. After packing the leftovers away into the refrigerator, Peter let you borrow an unopened toothbrush, and you went to brush your teeth. The both of you were beyond exhausted, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up beneath a heap of blankets and pass out.
Peter fixed up his bed for you, fluffing out the pillows and asking you if you needed anything—a glass of water, more blankets, anything.
Once you were in bed with your sheets pulled to your neck, you couldn’t push away that lonely feeling prodding away at your core. You were scared. You didn’t want to be all by yourself alone in the dark. Not after what happened at home. You felt horrible and guilty, intruding on Peter’s evening, having him buy dinner, having to give you his clothes. He was probably exhausted from the week, and you had just barged in unannounced in complete and utter disarray.
“Peter!” you blurted his name before he could leave. The boy stopped, poking his head out from around the door.
Your heart was pounding harder. “C-can you stay with me? I-I don’t really want to be alone right now. It’s okay if um … if you don’t want to, so don't—”
“No, it’s okay,” Peter’s tone was soft. You could hear his bare feet padding across the carpet.
You relaxed once you felt the weight of his body dip into the mattress of his twin sized bed. You scooted over as much as you could, turning your back towards him. He pulled up on the comforter, getting comfortable in his bed. You felt a lot warmer and a lot safer.
“Thanks, Peter. For everything,” you whispered. “I’m sorry for—”
“Hey,” he rolled over to face you, and in response you turned back. Your faces were inches apart, hot breaths fanning across each other’s parted lips. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me for anything, Y/N. I would do anything for you. Anything. I had fun hanging out with you.”
You smiled, relief fluttering in your chests “Me too, Pete.”
“And for the record,” Peter’s words were shaky, his breaths growing shallower by the second. You anticipated his next words, a lump growing in your throat. “I-I think you look really pretty even when you’re wearing my clothes. I mean, e-especially.”
A smile blossomed on your lips, and you felt his lashes brush across your brows. Your lips were so close, if you moved your head even an inch the gap between you would be closed and everything would fall into place. He was so close. So close. You didn’t know how much longer you could tolerate feeling him like this against you. Never in your whole life did you feel the way you did when you thought about Peter and his illuminating smile and mussy curls and dorky personality, and you were afraid if you didn’t kiss him now you would never feel that way with anybody every again.
“Peter,” you whispered his name like a prayer, your tone thick with love and adoration for the boy.
“Y-yeah?” his nerves were inflamed.
You couldn’t take it anymore. With every ounce of courage you had festering within your core, you took a leap of faith and leaned forward, your lips meeting Peter’s. The silence grew loud, and he responded instantly, craving your touch just as much as you craved his. It was better than you could ever imagine—a dream come true. He was beautiful and you loved nothing more than the softness of his lips pressed against yours. They molded together flawlessly, moving in sync. It took a few seconds to grasp to concept, but together you eased into it, finding a pattern to move to as you explored each other.
His heart soared, his stomach performing summersaults. He couldn’t fathom a moment more perfect and tender than this. And you were perfect. Everything was perfect. You tasted of mint toothpaste, and he loved it. He placed his hand onto your waist beneath the covers, his fingers pressing into the skin where your shirt had ridden up. He felt you sighed contently against him, and he pulled you closer. He always wanted you closer.
You pulled away, your foreheads pressed together, your taste now glowing on each other’s lips. You panted against each other, basking in the silence and savoring the tender moment before delighted laughs cut through and decorated the atmosphere in bright hues. There were simply no words to describe the happiness flooding within both your hearts.
“I-I was kind of hoping to kiss you,” Peter admitted breathlessly.
You chuckled lightly. “Yeah, me too. We can uh, do it some more if you’d like?”
“Oh, yeah,” Peter agreed eagerly.
He needed no other words to latch his lips onto yours again. You cupped his face with your hands, the pads of your fingers running intimately across his cheekbones, admiring the softness of his skin. You trailed a hand back to tangle in with his curls, combing them fondly. His arms boxed around you, pulling your frame flush against his on the bed. You weren’t entirely sure what you were doing, but thankfully neither did Peter. Whatever came naturally, you did it. You swiped your tongue along his lip, and he parted his mouth, your tongues tying. The kiss grew deeper and more passionate, bodies aflame with lust and desire.
Your shirt continued to ride up further, and his hands followed until he stopped at you diaphragm. Your noses brushed together, cheeks painted a shade of coral. He was magnetic, and you clung to him like never before, never wanting to slip away from the comfort of his embrace ever again.
You kissed for a while, peppering each other’s faces until you both could no longer stand yourselves. You curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest, ear pressed against where his heart would beat like a drum. His chin laid on the top of your head, arms coiled around you, his thumb drawing soft circles on your forearm. There was something incredibly comforting to you about listening to his heart beat, firm and steady. It reminded you of how safe you were with him.
You fell asleep that way.
Aunt May was a little bit confused when she came home, but she didn’t have the heart to wake you.
After all, you left dinner in the fridge and cleaned up after yourselves. What could she possibly be upset with?
That didn’t keep her from having a stern conversation with you both in the morning. She didn’t let you leave for a breakfast date until getting the words “be responsible and use protection” drilled into your heads.
