Warnings: Actual kissing this time (should we even count that as a warning?)
Pairing: Writer!reader x Peter
It's late, and the sun has long since bid its final farewell to let the moon take its place. The only light in Peter's bedroom is the one shining vibrantly from the laptop at which you squint, back bent and neck sore. The chair on which you sit is almost like it's a part of you for how long you've been sitting in it. Music pours out of your earbuds, washing the room in the echo of stories once again told.
No one has disturbed you for hours, and you're so deep in your story that you forgot that you're supposed to be asleep. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, writing and rewriting scenes so the world will come alive.
You blink once, twice, trying to knock the sleep out of your eyes. I'll sleep when I'm dead! You tell yourself as you type faster, letting the characters coming to life under your fingertips. You feel the magic pull at you, begging for you to type faster and tell the action before it's forgotten. You oblige, closing your eyes as the scene comes to life in your head.
You smile as you pen a witty line and grimace as the villain rises again. You are once again reminded why you chose this as the sleep is taken from you and you're pulled in by the spell.
You're no longer concerned by the sound the keys are making as you briskly type waking anyone because you've been doing this for hours. The world had been left behind long ago. If they've slept this long, they can sleep as you continue.
You want to hum as one of your favorite songs comes on, but you resist, knowing that you would disturb someone. Instead, you content yourself with swaying gently side to side.
Across the room, Peter wakes slowly to the familiar sound of the clicking keys of the laptop and the creak of the chair as it is rocked back and forth. He smiles to himself, preparing himself to go back to sleep before he makes the mistake of glancing at the time. The electronic clock on his bedside table is the only thing other than the laptop providing light to the room. It reads in big bold numbers one sixteen a.m. and that urges him to sigh your name as he stands up. He stretches his arms high above his head, pulling the shirt he had been wearing all day and fallen asleep in up. He rubs his eyes and pads across the room.
When he lays his hands across your busily typing ones, you almost scream. Your mind flashes to intruders or something else because last time you checked--hours ago honestly--Peter had been passed out on his bed in his day clothes and his aunt had been working a late shift, after which she instantly passed out on her bed. Peter tugs out one of your earbuds and bends down to whisper in a sleep-filled voice that it's just him.
You yank your other earbud out and spin yourself around in the chair, surprising Peter, who stumbles back. "God, Peter," you hiss. "Don't scare me like that!" He grins sheepishly, a hand going to rub the back of his neck.
You go to turn back around to continue writing, but he moves quickly to grab the chair. You huff and yank the chair, again catching the sleepy boy off-guard and spin back to the laptop, where your fingers once again move to their places.
Peter--gosh, why won't he go to sleep?--is right beside you now. With one hand, he takes your wrists and lifts your hands back up, and with the other, reaches out to press ctrl + s. The save status at the top of the Word document changes to say 'All changes saved in OneDrive.' He lifts your hands clear of the screen and shuts the laptop. You glare at Peter. "Peter!" you say in a voice that clearly portrays a 'what-the-heck-are-you-doing-I-was-busy-with-that!' vibe.
"Hey, if it is my break night, then, therefore, it is yours too." You roll your eyes. When you, May, Tony, and literally almost everyone else had declared a break every month for the vigilante and you had volunteered as a guard of sorts, you had not thought that that would hinder your writing habits or lack of. You thought it would have been a chill night with your best friend, which, for all purposes, it had been. You had thought that you were entitled to write once he was asleep. Apparently, he did not share that same idea. He reaches down to snake an arm below your knees and one around your back, lifting you bridal-style.
YOU ARE READING
Spiderson Oneshots
FanfictionIn a world where heroes are seen as the peak of humanity and the goal of all people, many tend to forget that those heroes are people like you and me. That they suffer too. That they feel pain, fear, anger, and sadness. It's forgotten by many that s...
