𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Fever Dreams

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Fever, Allergies, Illness, Fluff, Comfort.

Summary →You fall sick at night, and Peter lovingly takes care of you with cuddles, water, and soft domestic comfort.

          ｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

One second you were scratching at your feet, trying to ignore the red splotches that had bloomed thanks to your annoying winter allergies. The next, you were curling up on your side of the bed, wrapped up in the covers, letting exhaustion pull you under.

At some point in the night—maybe 3 a.m., maybe later—you start shifting. You don’t know why. Everything feels sticky and hot. Your body’s too heavy. You're not really awake, but not fully asleep either.

Peter stirs beside you. You don’t hear him say your name, but you feel his hand on your arm. A gentle shake.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice low and raspy from sleep. “You okay, babe?”

You mumble something incoherent, probably a cross between “I’m fine” and “Go back to sleep,” but Peter’s already on alert. His hand brushes your forehead, then lingers. You’re burning.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, sitting up immediately. “You’re hot. Like—no, not that kind of hot—well, always, but you’re literally burning up—ugh, shut up, Peter.”

You barely register it, but he’s already moving. Pulling back the covers, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand. The cold air makes you shiver, but your skin feels grateful for it.

“Come on, drink this,” he says softly, easing an arm under your back to help you sit up. You blink up at him, dazed. He’s shirtless, hair a complete mess, eyes puffy with sleep—but he’s looking at you like the world just tilted on its axis.

You take a few sips. He makes sure you don’t spill.

Once you’re lying down again, he stays on top of the blanket, just in case the heat kicks back in. He threads his fingers through yours and kisses your hand.

“I should’ve noticed earlier,” he murmurs, guilt thick in his voice. “You were sniffling all day. I thought it was just allergies.”

You hum, half-asleep. “Still love you.”

He smiles. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna be annoyingly clingy nurse boyfriend for the next 24 hours.”

You giggle faintly before drifting off again, the cool air slowly soothing your skin, Peter’s hand wrapped protectively around yours.

—

You wake up late. Like, embarrassingly late. The light in your shared apartment is golden and warm, the kind of morning sun that says “you slept through breakfast and half of lunch.”

Peter's sitting beside the bed, laptop balanced on his knees, glasses perched on his nose. He notices you stirring and sets everything down immediately.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers. “Fever’s gone. How’re you feeling?”

“Sore. Itchy. Starving.”

He grins. “That’s my girl. I made you soup. Also, meds are waiting—post food, don’t worry.”

You blink. “Did you sleep?”

“Barely. You kept flopping around like a dying fish.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

“I’m just saying,” he teases, kissing your forehead, “you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re sick.”

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗