Sweeter than a cookie (Peter Parker x reader)
Ganre: Fluff. So fluffy, you could get diabetes.
Summary: Peter is the human equivalent of disaster when it comes to cooking. Thankfully you are always there to help.
Notes: This is my first published fanfiction. Sorry if Peter is too OOC, if there are many mistakes or something like that. Excuse my awful writing too, lol. Some strange part of me wanted to post this, so here it is. I LOVE Peter with all my heart and this idea just seemed too cute not to write it.
You were standing in front of his apartment door for over a minute now.
Normally Peter would meet you either on the staircase or halfway on the way between your house and his apartment. But today something was different. There were some weird sounds coming from inside, strange rumbling and the clinking of metal. The sound intensified even more, then followed a by a long silence, then a muted thud. Suddenly the door flew open and Peter Parker showed up, he stumbled upon something non-existent and clumsily leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.
âHey, (y/n), whatcha doing here?â he said, strange note of innocence in his voice. He quickly tried to fix his messy hair, a bigger mess than usual you noticed. Then crossed his arms again. He was smiling, but there was strange look in his warm brown eyes that made you think that he was hiding something. Thanks to his pose you couldnât see anything except the mess that resembled his hair.
âUm, you invited me⌠For our weekly movie night, remember?â you said a little bit harsher than you intended. You tiptoed a little, and tried to see over his shoulder what he was so obviously trying to hide, but he just raised up a bit and blocked your vision once more.
âPeter, what are you hiding? You know you should let me in to watch the movie, rightâ
âCanât I just stare at my beautiful girlfriend for a moment?â he asked, making that puppy dog eyes that you never could resist, you were getting better at it though.
âYes, but you could do it inside tooâ you answered emphasizing on the inside part.
âNah, Iâm not so sureâ he said only to tease you, knowing that you hated when he did it. Suppressing a kinda evil remark you noticed some strange stains at the sleeves of his dark blue sweater, and something looking like flour just below the collar of his shirt.
âPeter Benjamin Parker, you either let me inside now, or I wonât kiss you for the rest of the nightâ you playfully threatened him, hands on your hips.
âOkay, fineâ he stepped away, so that you could enter, obviously a little unhappy about the outcome of the situation, and closed the door behind you.
âThatâs more like itâ you said cheerfully as you put your arms around his neck and kissed him. You could feel him smiling against your lips. The walk in the autumn afternoon left your hands and nose a little bit cold so you were glad you finally were somewhere warm.
Inside, as you were taking off you coat, you noticed that except the delicate exotic smell of Mayâs flowers, there was a hint of cinnamon⌠and burnt food. You turned round, only to be greeted by a nicely assembled table with a bunch of candles and even more flowers than usual. Peter was grinning proudly at your surprised expression, when the muffled sound of Mayâs voice came somewhere from the kitchen. âPeter, why are you so quiet? Do you even listen to me? Remove the pot from the sto-â Peter then ran to the kitchen and ended what was probably a phone call and gave you a forced toothy smile over the extremely messy kitchen island. There were dirty dishes and pots all over the surface, some bits and pieces of food lying in between them.
"Okay, what is happening?â you really were confused now, but some pieces started to fill up. At least the smell and the phone call were related, thatâs for sure. That would explain Peterâs delay at the door too. But why?
âI, um, wanted to, you know, cook something for you, be all romantic and stuffâ he answered your non-spoken question, stuttering in a adorable way.
âBut I guess I ruined the pasta sauce, and when I called May the only thing she did was laugh, and while I was talking to her it started to smoke and-â
âOkay thatâs enoughâ you smiled reassuringly and went up to him âWe can always order pizza, orâ you prolonged the last bit and sent a suggestive look his direction âwe can cook something ourselves. You are lucky that I can make the best Carbonara sauce everâ you said with the most confident voice you could muster.
âReally? Can we really do it?â the joy returned in his eyes, but there was still a little bit of guilt in them. âYou are not angry or disappointed, are you?â , he said as he put his arms around your waist.
âHow can I possibly be?â sometimes you forgot how gentle and kind he was, and seeing him even a little bit sad made your heart ache.
âIâm touched by your intention, Pete. But to be honest, cooking alone is a boreâ you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. When you were only inches away from another kiss, the pot started smoking again. Peter clumsily tried to remove it from the stove, while you were coughing, suffocated by the fumes. As your lungs calmed down a little, you looked at each other, then bursted out laughing.
âBefore we start you have to promise me one thingâ, you said as your stare moved from the pot to his eyes, âDo not ever try to cook anything for me again.â
You searched around the kitchen, while forcing Peter to do the dishes. There was almost everything you needed for the perfect Carbonara, except one small detail - pancetta. Peter almost gave up, hearing that and you had to explain to him that it would be just as good if you replaced it with bacon. Yes, âpancettaâ sounds fancy and Italian, but you did not want to go to the Grocery shop, knowing that the trusty old bacon could do the trick. After a lot of complaining, a lot of reassurance and some kisses you managed to convince him that the pasta will be fine.
The recipe was pretty easy to follow, so you put some music in the background while you two were working. After the âincidentâ earlier you wanted to help Peter regain his confidence a little, but still you didnât trust him enough to fry the bacon with the garlic, so you made him boil some water and cook the spaghetti. As you were beating the eggs, you swayed your hips in the rhythm of some old song, accidentally bumping into Peter, who was now finishing up with the dishes.
âSo, thatâs how we shall playâ he said, grinning and purposefully bumped his hips into yours. You two continued up like that, laughing, reselling and singing to the old songs. He helped you cut the ingredients, tried to sneak in a little kisses as you were cooking and at the meantime you both danced around the kitchen. You suspected that he only used the kisses for distraction, since after them some bacon was obviously missing. When confronted, Peter only shrugged and tied to swallow whatever was in his mouth. He then granted you with a guilty smile and kissed you lightly once more, bacon flavor overwhelming you.
The sauce was almost ready, when a love song came by. Peter swinged you around and put his hands on your hips and you wrapped yours around his neck. You slowly moved around the kitchen in tune with the song.
âWe should do this more oftenâ, you suggested. âIâve never had that fun cooking in my entire lifeâ.
âWell, if only it turns out deliciousâ he teased leaning down for a kiss, which you stopped.
âDo you doubt my skills, Parker?â you said as you faked an utterly insulted expression and stopped dancing for a split second.
âNeverâ he giggled. âI really like this, you know. We look like an old married couple.â
âI sure feel like one, I only miss a glass of wine to be the perfect housewife, and you already look like a good dad with this sweater.â
âWas, that an insult against my precious sweater?â he chuckled, trying to act offended.
âAnd what if it was?â you said with smug smile and pulled him into a quick but compassionate kiss.
Some time later the pasta was ready and served. You still couldnât believe how much work Peter had put into decorating the room, suspecting that he got some help from May, which he positively denied. And to top it all, as you were sprinkling some Parmesan over the dishes you had to put up with his constant remarks on the amazing smell and his wish to recreate the kiss from âLady and the Trampâ.
âFor a hundredth time - no!â you exclaimed âI am not kissing you, covered in sauce.â
âBut it will be so cuteâ he pleaded, again making that cute puppy dog eyes. âAnd also I will never underestimate you againâ Peter mumbled through his mouth full of spaghetti, âThis is amazingâ. You could only grin proudly as you watched him eat with determination.
You were suddenly stripped off the sweet memory by two gentle hands embracing you.
You were again at Peterâs apartment, cooking in the middle of the night - 2.37 to be precise. Well, most of the baking was done already, so you were doing the dishes. He was supposed to dry them off and put them in their place, but now he was behind you, his chin was resting on your shoulder, arms around your waist.
âHow much more do we have to wait?â he was acting like a little kid.
âWe just put the cookies in the oven, Peter. It wonât be soonâ you said resting your head on his. He just whined in response.
âI really liked the dough cutting part, we really should do it more often.â
âMhmmâ you agreed âbut maybe earlier in the night.â You yawned as if just to prove your point.
You two were laying on the couch, your head was on his chest, your legs tangled up, his hand tracing patterns over your back. Neither of you wanted to get up to play the next film in your Disney marathon so you just embraced each other, half asleep when suddenly Peter said that he wanted some cookies. And there you were, in the middle of the night, baking them.
âI canât believe how lucky I am to have you, an almost professional cook, to bake stuff for me whenever I wantâ, he tried to compliment you, and to be honest he may have succeeded, but for some reason you chose to act offended.
âSo you are saying, that you keep me around just to make you food, because I remember vividly how terrible you are at cookingâ you couldnât hide the joy in your voice though and he continued teasing.
âYou are a smart one too, maybe I will start developing something for you. Who knows?â
âHmm, 'maybeâ you sayâ you replied pensively, as you were scrubbing one particularly stubborn plate. You couldnât comprehend how you were supposed to make simple chocolate chip cookies, but ended up using so many dishes and utensils for the making of, at least, three complicated main dishes. You grabbed some of the bubbly foam and aimed straight for his face. To your surprise you managed to strike him right where you targeted. Peter backed up, cleaning the foam from his eyes, looking like a little unhappy child. Just as he opened his mouth to speak you struck his face again. He must have swallowed some of the dishwasher detergent because now he was coughing some bubbles out. The whole scene was so hilarious that you fell on the floor laughing, completely forgetting that aunt May was sleeping. Your vision was blurry and you could hardly breathe. As you were still struggling to get up, supporting your weight on the counter, something light and wet landed on the side of your face. You looked up and Peter was standing next to the sink, both hands filled with foam, challenging look in his eyes.
âIt is so onâ you giggled and tried to scoop some of the foam too. Peter was the obvious winner, since he had more precise aim. Your laughter was filling the room, as you were circling the kitchen, trying to strike the other and dodge the flying foam, now being mostly water.
âYou want to give up?â he said with a little mock in his voice.
âDo you?â you raised an eyebrow in response and got closer to him. You tried to hide some of bubbles behind you back but when you tried to shoot them, he simply ducked.
âYou are adorable when you loseâ Peter striked you againg in the face with the bubbly essence and embraced you for a second, only to back up. âJeez, you are really wet.â
âHmm⌠I didnât noticedâ a suggestive smirk appeared on your face.
âNo, really, you could get a coldâ peter said, concern in his eyes.
âOh, I thought you didnât care about meâ you tried to sound as sad as possible.
â(Y/n)â, he made a pause and looked you straight in the eyes âit was a bad joke, I know, and Iâm sorry, but I do care about you, probably more that I care about anyone else in the worldâ. He pulled you close, burring his head in your neck and apologized again and again and again. His guilt was more than you could bare. The sadness in his voice made your heart ache. You caressed his head, running your fingers through his hair.
âI know, Pete, I know. It wasnât a bad joke eitherâ you slightly pulled away and smeared some bubbles on the tip of his nose. âThatâs one of the reasons I love youâ the 3 words rolled off your tongue before you knew what was happening, his eyes widened with surprise.
âYou do? You really do?â his eyes sparked up, a slight disbelief was hiding in his trembling voice.
âMhmmâ was all you could muster as he picked you off the floor and spun you around.
âI-I love you tooâ Peter stuttered as he dropped you back down, but still not letting you go. His hands cupped your cheeks, he pulled you into a kiss, the sweetest and the most gentle kiss you ever had, which soon turned out to be one filled with passion and desire.
The quiet beep of the stove, announced that the cookies were ready. It broke the feeling that the time has stopped and that you were in a wonderful dream. You quickly tried to pull away from him, which was harder than normal, Peter not wanting to let you go.
âPeterâ you were grinning âyou have to let me go, if you want unburnt cookiesâ he only whined in response, but let you anyway. While you were taking the tray, full of delicious goodness, with the help of an oven mitten, shaped as a cat, you heard Peter stuttering again.
âOh, hey aunt Mayâ he slowly swallowed with concern. âDid we wake you up?â
Of course you did, your loud laugh was probably heard on the entire street. You set the steaming tray away and put on the most apologetic look you could muster.
âDo you want some cookies?â you asked your face as red as a tomato.
âThank you sweetie, but no. In case you havenât noticed itâs pretty lateâ May was leaning on the arch of the door with a happy smile on her face, which confused you.
âHow much did you saw?â
If you thought you were blushing, then Peter was on a whole other level. You were amazed that he was able to even ask that question.
âLetâs say enough to know that you two remind me of me and your uncle and made me the happiest Iâve been in a pretty long timeâ soft smile escaped her lips. âBut you still will have to clean all that up.â
You and Peter looked around. The kitchen was a disaster. There was water and bits of foam all around the floor, the walls, the fridge, the counters.
âIâll leave you two alone now. I know you are responsible and all, but I have to be a proper aunt, so no funny business later in the nightâ she winked at you and left.
The awkward silence afterward was suffocating. As if you two were waiting for May to go to bed, or waiting just for something to happen. Peter was the one who dared to break the silence first.
âSo, are they ready?â he tilted his head in the direction of the cookies.
âAs ready as they ever will beâ, you smiled. âShouldnât we clean up first?â
âNah, I canât wait anymoreâ Peter replied and stuffed one still hot star-shaped cookie in his mouth. The grimace his face made when he probably burnt himself was too funny, and you almost failed to hold you laugh, almost. Devious grin appeared on Peterâs face after he finished chewing.
âYou know what (y/n), the cookies are great and all, but they are not that sweetâ his face resembled now something you could only describe as puzzlement.
âWhat do you mean not sweet?â you said taking a small bite. âWe put like a ton of sugar in there, they are perf-â you were cut in mid sentence by Peter, who pulled you into a passionate kiss.
âMhmm, just how I thoughtâ he said in a serious voice âYou are way sweeter.â
âCouldnât you think of something cheesier to say?â you rolled your eyes.
âNot when I am around youâ he grinned and pulled you in a tight embrace.
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