Dreamer

When Peter came home from work, you almost never heard him. It was almost always late into the night, so he quickly got used to the routine of being as quiet as possible so there wasn’t a chance of waking you up. And on those days when he knew you were still up, you only heard him once he called out your name or a sweet, ‘Honey, I’m home’.

But tonight there was nothing quiet about his arrival at home. 

You could hear him before he was even in the warmth of your home, the loud chatter and his drunk giggles as he spoke with his colleague who brought him home from the bar. You were lying on the comfy couch reading one of your books when you heard his dramatic cursing as he struggled to unlock the front door. You couldn't help but giggle to yourself at the sound of his cute cheers as he successfully unlocked the door. 

Peter stumbles through the door, nearly tripping over himself as he clumsily kicks off his boots and turns around to close and lock the front door, wincing dramatically at the thud it makes. You sit up and peek over at him from the back of the couch, smiling at the sight of him. 

His hair was slightly messy from running his fingers through it a dozen times, a habit he always does when he’s drunk. His face was flushed from the cold and the many drinks he’d had; his demeanor was relaxed with that rare drunk looseness that he rarely ever had. Peter wasn't a drinker; he rarely drank, especially with the traumas of his father. But tonight was his friend's birthday, and he wanted to enjoy it. 

He spots your head peeking over the couch almost immediately, a cute, dopey dimpled grin forming on his face at the sight of you. He clumsily shrugged off his jacket as he quickly made his way towards you, as if he couldn't be away from you any longer. He couldn't. He’s talked about you countless times tonight; his friends weren’t surprised or bothered by it. The two of you were soulmates, two peas in a pod. 

He missed you all day and night. So seeing you now, all cozy on their couch, wearing nothing but his sweater and some sleep shorts, the lit fireplace casting a warm glow across your face, was everything. 

Peter practically stumbled towards you, arms already reaching out towards you, eagerness and yearning in his eyes like a puppy who hadn’t seen his owner in years. The second he closed the distance, he collapsed onto his knees on the rug in front of you, leaning down and wrapping both of his arms around your waist. He wasted no time burying his face into your stomach with an exaggerated groan. 

”Mmm…you smell so good.” He mumbled against your sweater—his sweater—the fabric soft and warm against his cold face. He breathed in your scent, his mind going wild with naughty thoughts the longer he held onto you. You smiled as you carefully tossed your book on the coffee table before tangling your hand in his hair, the other resting on his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“Hello to you too, oh—“ You let out a small gasp of surprise as your boyfriend lifted his head and cut you off with a sloppy kiss to your lips. He moaned as his lips touched yours. It wasn't graceful; it was wet. A little messy because drunk Peter had zero coordination tonight. You could taste the alcohol on his lips. 

His hands slid under the sweater, swallowing the gasp you let out into his mouth at the feeling of his cold hands pressed against your bare stomach. He tried to deepen the kiss, but you kept it slow, not wanting to get him riled up, but it seemed he was doing that perfectly fine himself. He barely pulled away, panting against your lips as he let out a slurred whine, “Miss you so bad baby, need to be inside you.” 

You softly bumped your nose against him, the soft touch making him melt even more into you. He leaned in—his mouth already parting—for a desperate kiss, only to pout when you stopped him. You moved your hands from his hair and shoulder down to his chest, softly pushing him back. You smiled softly with a shake of your head, “Peter, baby, you're drunk.” 

“Drunk in loveee.” Peter grinned as he sang the popular lyrics, very much off-key, might you add. You laughed softly as you looked up at him; he was so pretty, so carefree with no weight of his father holding him down. Peter grinned and tried to lean back in for a kiss, pouting when he got the same result. 

“Peter, no.” 

“You’re evil.” Peter groaned dramatically as he hung his head low, resting his forehead on your chest. Even drunk, he knows no means no. His hands continued to caress your sides, letting your warm skin warm up his hands. You smiled and tilted your head down to place a soft kiss on his head, your hands slowly moving up and down on his arms and shoulders to help warm him up. 

”Kisses, please.” Your boyfriend dramatically puckered his lips for a kiss once he lifted his head from your chest. He really mastered the puppy-dog eyes as he looked at you, continuing with a needy whisper, “At least?” 

Your eyes softened at the needy look in his face; the look of lust in his eyes seemed to have disappeared. You scooted over to make room for him on the couch despite knowing he’d most likely end up pretty much on top of you. With and without the alcohol in his system, your boyfriend loved to cling to you. You smiled and said softly, “Get up here.” 

Peter grinned and clumsily sat up from the floor, practically lying on top of you once he got cozy on the couch. Your legs were tangled together and your bodies pressed against each other, a feeling Peter had been craving all night. It didn't take long for the two of you to get comfortable, knowing each other's bodies well. You whispered as you felt his warm breath against the side of your face, “You smell like whiskey.” 

”Well, I had a lot of whiskey.” Peter nodded fast with a goofy dimpled grin, his words slurred as he spoke slowly. His head felt heavy and slightly dizzy from nodding so fast; he rested his hand on your hip—his other resting near your head—as if he was grounding himself in your warmth. 

You giggled and softly bumped your nose against his again, finding drunk Peter very cute. You placed a soft kiss on his brow before whispering teasingly, “Yeah? I couldn't tell.” 

Peter’s breath hitched the second your lips brushed against his forehead, that single kiss sparking something warm and giddy in his chest. The alcohol made everything brighter—your smile, your laugh, the way your nose scrunched when you teased him—and suddenly he couldn't stop himself. 

He tilted his face up with clumsy urgency and started peppering kisses all over you. Quick and soft pecks on each corner of your mouth, soft presses along your cheekbones like a drunk artist painting with devotion. His lips wandered up and pressed soft kisses to both of your closed eyelids; you had fluttered them close the moment you felt his lips on you. 

His lips made their way back down with tiny kisses along any inch of your warm skin he could reach. A giggle escaped you as one landed on the tip of your nose—he did it again immediately because god, he loved that sound—and then another to the apple of both of your cheeks. 

“Mmm, you're so pretty.” Peter slurred between every little kiss against your skin, his words immediately flustered you—a bashful smile decorating your face. One of his hands moved to cradle the side of your face while the other slid under your sweater and rested against your lower back, softly pressing you closer against him. 

His mouth found yours again for a short but soft kiss; it was a little sloppy but perfectly Peter. He dipped his head towards your neck as he pressed kisses along your jawline. You hummed happily and slid your hand up his nape and tangled your fingers in his soft hair. A pleased sound left his lips at the sweet affection of you playing with his hair. 

Peter melted into your touch and body like snowfall—soft, weightless, and utterly undone. The way your fingers curled through his hair sent tiny electric pulses down his spine, making him sigh against the crook of your neck where he was now trailing lazy kisses. Each press of his lips was slow and dreamy, sleep quickly creeping up on him as he worshipped you. 

You felt the exact moment Peter’s drowsiness hit him—his soft kisses slowing from eager pecks to heavy, lingering presses. His breathing deepened against your skin, his body growing warmer and heavier where it molded perfectly against yours. With a sleepy smile, you asked him softly, “Are you getting sleepy?” 

Your voice was low and warm like honey, laced thickly with affection. You already knew the answer. You tilted your head slightly, gently brushing a few strands of his hair from his forehead. You studied his closed eyes and the way his breath was growing heavier against your neck. Peter did not answer with words, but his body spoke for him. 

“Goodnight, Peter.” You whispered lovingly with a fond smile as you placed a soft kiss on his forehead, your own body and eyes getting sleepy from the shared warmth and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. This wouldn’t be the first or the last time the two of you passed out on the couch. 

His arms around you loosened—not pushing away but surrendering—as sleep claimed him fully. One hand still rested lightly on your back beneath the sweater, the other hand slipped down to cradle loosely at your waist. A tiny content sigh escaped Peter as he nuzzled unconsciously into the crook of your neck—the place that always smelled and felt like home. 

The quiet hum of the house settled around you—the crackling fire, the faint ticking of the clock in another room. You both lay there, breathing in sync, wrapped up in each other like a cocoon. The book lay forgotten on the coffee table, pages slightly bent where it had been abandoned earlier. 

You adjusted slightly to get more comfortable without waking him, shifting so your head rested against a couch cushion while keeping him curled into your side like an overgrown cat seeking warmth. His weight was comforting, familiar enough that it lulled you deeper into drowsiness. 

The world outside—cold, sharp, full of demands and expectations—faded away completely. Here, in the golden glow of the fireplace with Peter’s steady breathing against your shoulders and the warmth of his arms loosely draped around you like a promise, everything was peaceful. 

This wasn't just love. This was home, the kind that didn't need grand gestures or loud words to be felt. Just this: his soft exhales mixing with yours, the way he instinctively curled closer whenever you moved. Even unconsciously, he held onto you like letting go wasn't an option. 

And as sleep finally pulled you under too, you smiled into it all. 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙖𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 & 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Იᰍ omgee editing this I realized I forgot to mention butterscotch so just imagine the cute kitty is sleeping in his bed but trust that he found a way to wiggle between them (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) I wrote this pretty fast because I was so inspired but the cuteness 🥹 please tell me your thoughts , ideas, and opinions, they are very important and wanted !! comments, reblogs and feedback is very welcomed !! 🐇

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