𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Signed In The Stars

Parings → Peter Parker x Delmar! Reader

Warnings → Fluff

Summary → You gift Peter a priceless Star Wars poster, sparking a sweet birthday moment and unexpected feelings.

A/n : requested by Superflash2255

          ｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

The bell above the deli door chimed softly, familiar enough that you barely looked up at first.

You were sitting at the small table near the counter, knees tucked under you, notebook open and half-filled with math problems you absolutely did not understand. Chewing on a pencil, your attention split between your homework and the quiet hum of the refrigerator behind the counter.

“Hey, y/n.”

That voice, though—you knew that one.

You looked up so fast you almost knocked over your pencil. Peter Parker stood just inside the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. His hair was messier than usual, curls sticking out in every direction, cheeks pink from the cold outside.

Your face lit up instantly.

“Peter! Hey—happy birthday.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting it, then smiled in that shy, crooked way that always made your chest feel a little tight. “Oh. Thanks.”

Sixteen. He was sixteen today. You’d been thinking about it all week.

He walked up to the counter like he always did, nodding at your dad behind it. Mr. Delmar was already reaching for the bread, already knowing Peter’s order by heart. Some things never changed.

“Wait—Peter,” you said quickly, pushing your chair back and standing up. “I have something for you.”

That got his attention.

You ducked behind the counter for a second, heart thudding, and grabbed the neatly wrapped package you’d hidden earlier that morning. It wasn’t big, but it mattered. At least, it mattered to you. You’d been saving up for weeks, skipping snacks, pretending you didn’t want things just so you could afford it.

You handed it to him.

His eyebrows shot up. “For me?”

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly very aware of how close he was. “Go on. Open it.”

“Aw, y/n, you didn’t have to—”

“Peter.”

That did it. He smiled and carefully tore the wrapping paper open.

And then he froze.

“No way,” he breathed.

He pulled the poster out slowly, eyes scanning it like he didn’t trust what he was seeing. A Star Wars poster—old, well-kept, signed right at the bottom.

Hayden Christensen.

Ewan McGregor.

Peter looked up at you like you’d just told him he could actually use the Force.

“You’re kidding,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “This is real.”

“It is,” you said softly. “Secondhand. But real.”

“That must’ve been so expensive—”

“It wasn’t,” you rushed to say. “I mean—it was affordable. Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t argue. He just stared at it for another second before suddenly stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you.

You froze—just for half a second—before hugging him back.

Peter Parker hugged like he meant it. Tight, warm, like he was afraid if he let go too fast the moment would disappear. You could feel his heartbeat through his hoodie, feel the way his chin rested briefly near your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Seriously. This means so much to me.”

Then, before you could even process it—

He pulled back and kissed your cheek.

It was quick. Barely there. Like he did it without thinking.

Your entire body short-circuited.

Your face went hot immediately, pulse racing, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater as your brain desperately tried to catch up. Peter seemed to realize what he’d done a second later, eyes widening slightly.

“Oh—uh—sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—yeah.”
Before either of you could say anything else, your dad cleared his throat loudly.

“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Delmar said, sliding a wrapped sandwich across the counter, lips twitching. “Sandwich on the house. For the birthday boy.”
Peter beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Delmar.”

He tucked the poster carefully back into the tube, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and gave you one last look—soft, lingering, something unreadable in his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you said, still dazed. “Tomorrow.”

And then he was gone, the bell chiming behind him.

The second the door shut, your dad turned to you with a grin way too knowing for comfort.

You groaned. “Don’t.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Mija—”

“Papá,” you snapped, face burning. “No.”

He laughed harder. You muttered something under your breath in Spanish that definitely wasn’t polite and grabbed your notebook, retreating back to your table.

You stared at your homework for a full minute without seeing a single number.

Instead, your fingers lifted slowly, touching the exact spot on your cheek where Peter had kissed you.

Your lips curved into a smile before you could stop it.

Yeah.

Math could wait.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗