cloud city | peter parker x reader

i. princess leia

before you read:

the reader in this story is drinking coffee, wearing her hair in a bun, and uses gmail. if, for whatever reason, those things bother you because they're "basic", then don't read. i don't get how any of these things are basic.

but hey, if you do and it bothers you, then feel free to not read.

//

He was not sure what he was doing. Just moments before, he was walking fast to a sub shop, planning on ordering and taking out a couple of pizza subs and a liter of Coke for him and Ned to share. Like every Friday, he planned on watching Star Wars with his best friend until they were passed out on his bed or floor. Now the plans were on hold and possibly changing, as he was standing in front of a Starbucks, his eyes glued on a girl he had never seen before.

She was beautiful. Her hair was pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. Messy strands were hanging out, sticking to her cheeks and neck. A pair of chunky black headphones pressed her hair down. She was sipping coffee out of a paper cup and typing on a laptop with one hand, her mother, he assumed to be, beside her, reading a magazine and eating a muffin.

She looked absolutely normal, with her evenly proportioned body and her blemishes and marks, yet he couldn't help but believe she was an absolute goddess.

She looked around his age. Was she a junior? If so, why hadn't he seen her before? Did she go to school with him?

He needed to move before it got too weird. He was watching through a window from the outside, feeling horribly awkward and very much like a stalker.

He needed to look away. Sophomore Peter did crap like this, not Junior Peter. He was turning sixteen soon; he needed to act more like a normal man and less like a socially awkward freak. Even he agreed that he was a creep.

But then she smiled at something on the screen, a flash of white teeth as she put her cup down and leaned her face into her closed hand. Her lips moved, glittering with baby pink lip gloss, forming words he could not hear, and a couple of dimples appeared on her skin. They were deep and beautiful.

His feet were moving before he could talk himself out of it. His hand was in front of him, pushing the door open. A bell rang, a soft, gentle sound.

His eyes darted over to her as he clumsily moved to the counter. He was losing his mind, staring at a girl that had no idea who he was. If she caught him, she would think he was a murderer.

He didn't stop walking until his hips hit the counter. This jolted him back to life, making him look up at the menu. The barista in front of him looked extremely unpleasant.

"Uh, I'll have, uh," he paused, stumbling over his words, unable to focus on what the menu said. "Uh... a mocha... iced. And a sweet tea? Iced?" Everything came out like a question.

The old woman frowned deeply. She had unhappy eyes and her lips were covered with so many layers of orange lipstick that she looked like a pumpkin. "You want a mocha frappe and an iced chai tea?"

"Uh, sure," he said, digging in the back pocket of jeans, reaching for a wallet. He turned his head, trying to seem cool about it, when we was really just making sure she was still at the table. She was.

"Kid," snapped the lady. He jumped. "Sizes," she said, and he realized that she had been asking him the same question for thirty seconds.

"Oh. Uh, mediums are fine," he said quickly.