𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

When You Stopped Staying

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Angst, Hookup, Fluff, Situationship

Summary → Peter realizes he's catching feelings for his hookup buddy (you) after you stop staying the night post-sex.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

Peter was convinced the air-conditioning had stopped working. That was the only explanation for why he felt like he was overheating. It definitely wasn't because he was staring at your lips again.

Nope. Not at all.

He could blame the stuffy air, or the stress of finals, or even the fact that his brain was slowly dying from the fifteen pages of calculus problems he'd just flipped through. Anything but the truth- which was that you were sitting across from him in an oversized hoodie, your legs curled up on your seat, pen cap between your teeth, and it was driving him insane.

Not even in a sexy way (okay, a little in a sexy way)- but in a soft, confusing, terrifying way.

He missed you.

Which was stupid.

Because you still hooked up. You were still in his bed just three nights ago, your legs tangled with his, head resting on his chest, the soft rise and fall of your breathing lulling him into the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

But you'd left before sunrise. Just like you always did now.

You didn't stay anymore.

You used to. You used to cling to him like gravity, half-asleep and warm and perfect, whispering sleepy jokes or murmuring about your dreams. He'd wake up to the sound of your breath. He'd watch you steal the blankets and deny it every time. You'd stay.

But not anymore.

Now, as soon as the high faded and your breathing evened out, you'd press a kiss to his chest, get dressed, and leave. No goodbye. No "see you tomorrow." Just... gone.

And Peter felt it. Every time.

It felt stupid to admit it even to himself, but the bed was colder without you. He was colder without you.

He'd always brushed it off when you used to stay. Told himself it was just the post-sex haze. But now that you didn't?

Now he realized how much he'd come to need it.

"Pete?"

Your voice snapped him out of his spiral, but not before his eyes betrayed him, lingering on your lips again as you tilted your head, looking adorably confused.

"Huh?" He croaked, blinking like an idiot.

You raised an eyebrow. "What's the answer to number four?"

Peter's mind went completely blank. He stared at the paper in front of him as if it were written in another language. "Um... I think it's... wait, is that the one with the exponential-"

You huffed softly, the kind of sound that used to come right before you'd roll on top of him and kiss him breathless for being dumb. But now, it was just tinged with mild amusement.

You reached across the table and took his notebook like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your fingers brushed his and lingered a little longer than necessary.

Peter stared at you like you were magic.

You didn't even double-check the answer, just started copying it into your own notes, mumbling, "Good thing you already finished this one."

And Peter...

Peter couldn't breathe.

Because watching you take his notes, so casually, so confidently-like you knew he'd always have your back, even academically-it did something to him. Not lust. Not even love. Something quieter. Heavier. Real.

He loved this.

He loved you.

Not just the sex. Not just the late-night moans and tangled sheets. But this.

You. Sitting here, wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, calling him out for zoning out, stealing his work like a little menace. This was what he missed the most.

"Hey," he said before he could stop himself.

You looked up, pen poised. "Hmm?"

His mouth opened, then closed. He chickened out.

"Nothing," he said lamely, forcing a smile. "Just... thanks for not making fun of my handwriting this time."

You grinned, and his heart did something weird again. "It's still terrible. But I'm used to decoding your chicken scratches now."

And Peter just nodded, pretending to focus on the textbook while his mind screamed:

"Tell her. Ask her to stay. Ask her why she stopped staying. Ask her why it hurts so much when she's not around."

But he didn't.

Instead, he snuck another glance at you. At the way your lashes flickered when you read. At the slight smile tugging at your lips when you figured something out. At the comfort of you just... being here.

And in that moment, Peter Parker-the genius, the hero, the guy with all the answers-couldn't solve the only problem that really mattered:

How to tell you he was falling for you.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗