𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Morning Trouble

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → shared apartment, ungodly early morning, aka prime thirst hour.

Summary → Peter Parker is a messy early-morning tease in tight boxers and a stretched t-shirt.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

You wake up to the sound of soft footsteps and the muted creak of the floorboards. Groggy but curious, you roll over, eyes squinting toward the warm stream of sunlight flooding in from the window.

And there he is.

Peter, half-awake, hair a wild mess of soft curls, standing in front of the radiator. One hand raking through his hair, the other tugging slightly at the hem of his t-shirt-the infamous "I survived my NYC trip" one, now stretched tighter across his back and shoulders than it probably ever intended to be. The fabric hugs his biceps like it has a crush on him, and rides up just slightly, bunched over the curve of his ass like it's trying to tease you.

It works.

The boxer briefs-gray, tight, and indecent-aren't helping either. They're clinging to him like they know you're watching. Your eyes flick down before you can stop yourself. God. It's way too early for this, but your body doesn't seem to agree.

"You're staring," Peter mutters without turning around. His voice is hoarse, sleepy, but cocky enough to send a jolt straight through your spine.

You huff, sinking back into the pillows. "I'm admiring the sunrise."

He glances at you over his shoulder, lips quirking into that Peter Parker smirk, the one that makes your knees weak and your brain melt.

"Right. And the sunrise is my ass now?"

"I mean," you hum, stretching like a cat, "you do light up my life."

Peter chuckles, walking over, and you swear the way his thighs flex under those boxer briefs is an act of war. He crawls back into bed, hovering above you, bracing himself with one arm. The other tugs his shirt down-unsuccessfully, thank god.

"You gonna keep staring, or do I need to take this off so you can focus?"

You grin, grabbing a fistful of cotton at his waist. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

He leans down, lips brushing yours, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Then stop looking at me like you wanna bite."

"I do wanna bite," you whisper. "Starting with your -"

He cuts you off with a kiss, but you're already wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him close, heat sparking between you.

That t-shirt? It didn't survive the next five minutes.

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