𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Forgotten Confession

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Domestic fluff, mild teasing, suggestive affection, soft, fiancé dynamics

Summary → While you were cooking, Peter tries to distract you with kisses to confess that he forget to do the laundry.

          ｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

The kitchen smelled warm. Garlic, butter, something slightly overcooked because you got distracted halfway through on your phone.

You stood by the stove, wooden spoon in hand, wearing one of Peter’s oversized t-shirts that slipped off one shoulder and a pair of soft shorts. Your hair was messily tied up, a few strands sticking to your neck from the heat.

From the living room, the TV droned quietly. Some documentary Peter had definitely put on with the intention of watching, but was now ignoring.

You didn’t need to turn around to know when he walked in.

You felt him before you saw him.

Two arms slid around your waist, warm and familiar, pulling you back against him. His chest pressed to your back. His chin hovered near your shoulder for half a second—

—and then his lips were on your neck.

Slow. Intentional. Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

A soft kiss just below your ear. Another, lower this time. Then a lingering one that felt like he was trying to melt into you.

You paused mid-stir, eyes narrowing slightly.

Oh.

Oh, you knew this game.

“Peter.”

“Hm?” He hummed innocently against your skin, like he wasn’t currently committing distraction crimes.

You tilted your head slightly to give him access—traitor behavior, honestly—but your tone stayed flat.

“What do you want?”

He pulled back just enough to sound offended. “What? Nothing!”

“Mhm.”

Another kiss. Slower this time. He nuzzled into your neck like a clingy cat.

“I’m just being affectionate,” he added, voice softer now, almost persuasive. “Can’t I kiss my fiancée?”

You finally turned your head to look at him.

Deadpan. Unblinking.

Peter froze.

Because yeah—he knew that look.

His arms were still wrapped around you, but now he looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Big brown eyes, slightly guilty, slightly hopeful. The puppy look was fully activated.

“Spill,” you said.

“…What?”

“Peter.”

“I’m not—there’s nothing to—”

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

He physically winced.

“…Okay, wow, full government name, that’s—”

“Spill.”

He sighed dramatically, resting his forehead against your shoulder like the weight of his crimes was too much to bear.