𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 - 𝟓

Socks And Flowers ❀

𝐀/𝐍 - All credit goes to the writer luveline on Tumblr

https://www.tumblr.com/luveline/745420487898873856/gah-your-peter-parker-leaves-me-sighing-in-the?source=share

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → fluff

Summary → You're mad at Peter but he has his way to melt you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

Fuck, Peter Parker thinks, jogging up the steps to your apartment building, this is the life. It's a hot day in New York City but there are cold drinks to be had and that electric fan in your bedroom is calling his name. There's genuinely no better place to be than laying on your sheets in pyjamas you wash with that apple blossom laundry softener he loves, knowing you keep using it 'cos you love it, and knowing you wash his pyjamas because you love him.

Spidering is going well, he saved a kid today who nearly got crushed by a ten tonner, so he's feeling pretty good about himself, or at least feeling good about his decisions. He made Aunt May lunch and took it down to the hospital, he flirted gently with the older nurses, and now he's gunning up the stairs to your apartment, every step a crinkle.

Your door is wide open (awful) but you have good reason -the floors and the countertops shine. The windows are open, and the room is fragrant with your oil diffuser. You're on your knees by the TV wiping down the table with a damp rag in loose-fitting clothes, sleeves pushed up, brows puckered.

"Hey, baby," he says.

"Peter, I'm not talking to you today."

"Why's that?"

"You know how many pairs of your socks I found when I was cleaning today?"

He grimaces. "Two?"

"Nine pairs of socks, Peter."

He puts the flowers he's brought you down on the coffee table and his back on the floor. He'd been hoping to do a grand unveiling of the bouquet to surprise you, but he feels terrible. "I don't even know how that happens," he mumbles dejectedly, kneeling down behind you, his arms threading in front of your tummy to give you a backwards squeeze. "They just disappear."

"They don't, evidently."

"I'm really sorry." He kisses your cheek. "I'm genuinely really sorry. That's sloppy. I'm not a kid."

"No, you're not... I'm not that mad though, you don't have to sound so serious."

He holds the place just under your breastbone in his hands. "Oh, you're not?" He tugs you to his front to stop you from moving prematurely and reaches blindly behind him for the flowers. You laugh as he tips back, taking you with him, the sound vibrating through you and into him. "That's good. Don't need these then, do we?"

He twirls the bouquet, pressing it carefully to your chest.

You immediately relax in his arms. He treasures that feeling, your weight leaning against him, your cheek listing down into his arm. You raise a hand, his arm trapped in the crook of your elbow as you examine the lilac petal of a sweetpea. "I love these ones."

"I know."

You take more time than anyone else would sifting through the flowers of the bouquet, breath the only evidence of your delight. You breathe out slowly whenever one of the flowers is particularly beautiful, and then you hug the bunch to your nose for a mild sniff.

"Thank you."

Peter kisses your cheek. He savours the feeling of it, your skin under his lips, being that close to you, his hair on your forehead and your eyebrow tickling him as he hugs you just that little bit closer. "You're welcome," he murmurs, affection in every word, and a little drop of shyness too, "I was thinking of you, and they looked healthy for once, considering they're off of the corner by Mandy's."

"They're so pretty," you mumble, turning into him as much as you can. He lets up his tight hold.

"Like you."

You brush your forehead against his chin. Peter actually gets goosebumps, letting the flowers fall to the floor by your leg so he can hold you. "I feel bad for caring about the socks now," you mumble.

He laughs with lips still closed and offers you a soft kiss.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗