𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Humid Weather

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Fluff, Mild sexual innuendo, Rain/humidity-related discomfort

Summary → During a damp, rainy week, Peter comforts his frustrated girlfriend.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

It's been raining for three days straight.

Not the loud, stormy kind. The soft drizzle that never ends kind-the kind that taps against the windows like a lullaby and makes the city look like it's wrapped in foggy plastic wrap. You love it. You do.

But also?

You're pretty sure your entire apartment is now 76% moisture and 24% bad vibes.

Your hair frizzed up the moment you stepped out of the shower this morning, and now you're sitting cross-legged on the couch in an oversized t-shirt, poking at your leg where the fabric keeps sticking uncomfortably to your skin.

"I feel like I'm wearing someone's breath," you grumble, glaring at the damp air like it personally offended you.

From the kitchen, Peter chuckles. "That is so gross and specific."

You throw your head back dramatically. "Because it is gross! It's humid. My bedsheets feel like soup. The walls are sweating. I'm sweating. My bra is soggy and it hasn't even been washed!"

Peter peeks around the corner with a plate of cookies and two mugs of hot cocoa. He's got that boyish smile on, the one that's 90% amusement and 10% "my girlfriend's losing it again but I love her anyway."

"You could just not wear the bra," he offers as he walks over and places everything on the coffee table.

You narrow your eyes. "Don't try to distract me with pervy solutions and snacks."

"I brought chocolate chip," he says in a singsong tone, holding one up near your mouth. "Fresh. Warm. With gooey centers."

Your stomach betrays you with a loud growl.

"...Fine. I accept the offering."

You take the cookie and mumble a thank you, biting into it like it's going to solve all your life problems. Honestly? For a second, it almost does. It's still warm from the oven, and the chocolate melts in your mouth like heaven.

Peter sits beside you, pulling his legs up onto the couch and watching the rain slide down the windows. "You know, when I was little, I always thought rainy days felt like the world was whispering. Like everything slows down and you're allowed to just... be quiet."

"That's beautiful," you say around your cookie. "Also very poetic for someone whose hair is currently doing an impression of a dandelion."

He snorts. "That's rich coming from humidity's latest victim."

You gasp. "How dare you."

Peter leans closer, lips twitching. "You look like a little pissed-off cloud. Cute. But like... angry at the weather."

"I am angry at the weather," you say, plopping your head onto his shoulder. "Can't it just rain without turning everything into a human rice cooker?"

He laughs softly and wraps an arm around your waist, warm and solid and smelling faintly like cocoa and fabric softener. "At least we don't have to go out today. Professor canceled class, remember?"

You groan into his hoodie. "Yeah, but now I can't get anything done because I'm too damp to function."

Peter hums thoughtfully and presses a kiss to your temple. "You want me to science the humidity away?"

You lift your head. "You can do that?"

"No," he says. "But I could try putting rice in your shoes. That's what they do to wet phones, right?"

You slap his chest gently with a pillow. "Peter Benjamin Parker, I swear to God-"

"Okay, okay!" he laughs, catching your wrist and tugging you down so you're sprawled halfway across his lap. "No rice shoes. Got it."

You sigh dramatically, letting your limbs go limp like a soggy ragdoll. "I feel like a damp sock. I'm going to become a mushroom if this keeps up."

Peter's eyes soften as he brushes a few strands of your slightly-frizzy hair back. "You'll still be the cutest mushroom in the bunch."

"That is the weirdest compliment I've ever received."

"Yeah?" he murmurs, trailing his fingers gently down your arm. "Wanna know something even weirder?"

"Lay it on me, Spidey."

"I kinda love this. All of it. The rain. You being grumpy. You stuck inside in your oversized t-shirt that keeps slipping off your shoulder."

He pulls the shirt slightly to the side to expose more of your collarbone and leans down, pressing a kiss there.

"I love seeing you like this," he adds, voice low, "soft and cozy and just... here."

Your cheeks flush immediately-definitely not from the heat this time.

"You're just saying that because you like when I don't wear a bra."

He grins unapologetically. "That's true. But also not the only reason."

You tuck your face into his neck, hiding the smile stretching across your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're cute when you're damp and angry."

You roll your eyes but stay curled up in his lap, letting the storm outside sing its quiet lullaby. The stickiness is still there, the walls are still sweating, and your hair still has a vendetta against the laws of physics-but Peter's warm under you, his fingers drawing soft patterns on your arm, and the rain taps a slow rhythm against the glass.

Maybe the damp season isn't so bad, after all.

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