𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

From Besties To Dating

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Fluff, PDA, teen romance, high school, obsessed Peter, Teasing.

Summary → Dating your best friend has been one of the best decisions.

          ｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

It started with a pencil.

Actually, no. It started years ago with shared crayons in kindergarten and Peter crying because someone said Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore.

But today?
Today it was a pencil.

“You stole it,” Peter accuses, leaning against your locker like he’s about to interrogate you for federal crimes.

You don’t even look up. “I borrowed it.”

“You borrowed it three days ago.”

“And I’m emotionally attached to it now.”

“It’s mechanical.”

“Exactly.”

He narrows his eyes. You narrow yours right back.

God, you love him.

You’ve loved him in every version—awkward science fair Peter, voice-crack Peter, post-growth-spurt Peter, Spider-Man Peter and now… boyfriend Peter. Which is still weird. Because he’s the same boy who once threw up after spinning too fast at your tenth birthday party.

Now he kisses you like he’s been waiting his entire life to do it.

Which—honestly?
He probably has.

“You have five seconds to give it back,” he says.

“Or what?”

He leans closer.

You hate that your stomach still flips when he does that. You’ve known him for years. Years. You’ve seen him with toothpaste on his face and mismatched socks. You’ve helped him study for Spanish. You’ve seen him panic over pop quizzes.

And yet.

He leans in, voice lowering. “Or I’m telling everyone about the time you tried to cut your own bangs.”

You gasp. “You swore on May’s banana bread you’d never bring that up.”

“You took my mechanical pencil.”

“You look like a Victorian orphan when you’re mad.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He always smiles around you. Like he doesn’t know how not to.

He grabs your wrist before you can look back in your locker.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“What?” You whisper.

His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist absentmindedly. Casual. Natural. Like he’s been touching you his whole life.

“I still can’t believe you’re my girlfriend.”

You snort. “You say that like you won a raffle.”

“I kind of did.”

“Oh my God.”

“No, seriously.” His voice drops quieter. “You could’ve dated anyone.”

“Peter.”

“I’m just saying.”

You step closer, nudging his chest. “I did date someone.”