𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

The Doodle Album

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Fluff, university AU, light teasing, hand doodles, fluff.

Summary → Peter complains every time you doodle on his hand, yet secretly saves every single drawing on his phone.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

"I'm gonna get ink poisoning," Peter muttered for the fifth time that month, even though he still held his hand perfectly still on your desk.

You snorted, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as you doodled a tiny spider wearing sunglasses onto the back of his hand. "That's not how pens work, genius."

"I'm serious," he whispered dramatically, glancing toward the front of the classroom where your professor droned on about something neither of you were listening to anymore. "What if the ink seeps into my bloodstream and I die?"

"You're Spider-Man. You've been hit by a train."

"That is so not the point."

You ignored him completely and kept drawing.

It started innocently one day when you got bored during a lecture and absentmindedly drew a smiley face on Peter's hand while he was taking notes. He'd looked down at it with immediate offense.

"Did you just vandalize me?"

Now it had become a routine.

Every class.

Every boring lecture.

Peter's hand automatically finding its way onto your desk without either of you acknowledging it.

Sometimes you drew flowers curling around his fingers. Sometimes dumb stick figures. Once you recreated the entire Spider-Man mask in tiny detail while Peter watched with betrayed fascination.

Today's masterpiece included:

the spider with sunglasses

a tiny coffee cup

your initials hidden near his thumb

and a speech bubble that said "Help, I'm being held hostage."

Peter sighed heavily like this was the worst thing anyone had ever done to him.

"You know," he whispered, "people usually flirt normally."

"This is normal."

"No, normal flirting is like..." He paused. "Eye contact."

"We do that too."

"That's worse somehow."

You grinned and grabbed his wrist before he could pull away, adding a little heart near his pulse point.

Peter immediately went quiet.

The teasing vanished from his face so fast it was honestly adorable.

You looked up at him through your lashes. "Aw. Parker's blushing."

"I am not."

"You literally are."

"It's hot in here."

"It's December."

Peter rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched upward anyway.

The bell finally rang, and the room exploded into noise as students started packing up. You capped your pen and stretched lazily.

"Okay, lemme see your notes because I definitely learned nothing today."

"Absolutely not," Peter gasped. "Academic theft."

"You love me."

"That's unrelated."

You laughed and shoved your books into your bag while Peter gathered his things beside you.

By the time you both stepped out into the hallway, you'd already forgotten about the doodles entirely.

Peter hadn't.

Later that night, after patrol, after homework, after answering three texts from Ned and one from May reminding him to eat the leftovers in the fridge, Peter finally collapsed onto his bed.

Exhausted.

Wearing a worn out t-shirt and sweatpants.

Hair messy from the shower.

And that's when he noticed the fading ink still covering the back of his hand.

Peter stared at it quietly.

The tiny spider.

The dumb little speech bubble.

The heart near his wrist.

His chest did that stupid soft thing again.

"God," he mumbled to himself, flopping backward onto his pillow. "I'm so done for."

Because the thing was-you never remembered the doodles.

To you, it was just something silly to do when lectures got boring.

But Peter remembered every single one.

He remembered the flower crowns you drew around his knuckles during finals week because you were stressed.

The little stars you doodled when you were sleepy.

The tiny "PP ❤️" you once scribbled absentmindedly before realizing what you wrote and immediately trying to cover it with random squiggles while Peter nearly flatlined beside you.

And the worst part?

Peter kept pictures of them.

An embarrassing amount of pictures.

Hidden deep in his camera roll between Spider-Man selfies and photos of lab assignments were dozens of late-night pictures of his hands.

Your doodles.

Your handwriting.

Tiny pieces of you.

Peter grabbed his phone from the nightstand and unlocked it.

Yep.

Still there.

A whole album.

Like an absolute loser.

He clicked on the newest photo he'd taken earlier in the bathroom mirror before washing his hands. The lighting was terrible, but he could still see the tiny heart near his wrist clearly.

Peter zoomed in slightly.

Then smiled without meaning to.

His phone buzzed suddenly with a text from you.

You: Did you take pictures of my doodles today?

You: 👀

Peter froze.

Slowly, he typed back.

Peter: First of all, stalking is illegal.

Peter: Second of all HOW DID YOU KNOW?!

Three dots appeared instantly.

You: Because I know you.

You: ...and you left your camera roll open on the lab desk yesterday, genius.

Peter: That's violation of privacy

Peter: ... and they're cute okay

You stared at your screen for a solid ten seconds after that.

Your face getting warmer.

Because somehow that confession felt way more intimate than it should've.

Meanwhile Peter buried his face into his pillow the second he hit send.

"Smooth, Parker," he groaned into the mattress. "Real smooth."

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗