#fluffy peter

Peter’s POV

Grabbing my keys from my coat I opened the door and I immediately smelt the scent of your favorite candle burning. Oh how much I love her. I brought her some flowers and chocolate knowing she had a rough day and set them down on the table. And i found her standing in front of the mirror, hands gripping the side of the counter sink and head down, soft sniffles coming from her nose.

AUTHORS POV

“Hey hey, whats wrong?” Peter asks you clearly with that. He stands behind you and gives you a back hug and wrest his chin on your shoulder

“Oh hey, I didn't hear you get home. Im ok don't worry i just- uhm its just my anxiety getting the best of me.” You reply quickly trying to wipe away the remaining tears staining your face. With that you wriggle out out of his hug and walk out of the bathroom heading to the bed. After a few seconds peter came out of the bathroom and snuggles up besides you on the bed. 

Your thoughts and anxiety getting the best of you again you decide to ask peter what your brain kept bringing up. “Hey Pete?” you ask in a soft voice “Yes baby?” peter answers in the same soft tone you spoke in. “Lets say you are in a room with a bunch of girls…and-” 

“Do a party!” peter cut in “uhhm... I wasnt done, but all of these girls are pretty ok?” you say “okay, how pretty?” “actresses, models , singers, very very pretty, anyone you want.” you say hesitantly scared for his answer. Peter hums and put his hand on his chin pretending to think, to him he was joking. But to you it actually hurt, because what if he chose someone who wasn't you. Someone who would clearly be better than you. “Mmmm, You!” Surprised with his answer you say “Nono who would you pick? Be honest” 

“Honestly…a girl who is a model and a dancer. Who has a hot body also.” Trying to hide the obvious pain and attempting to stop the tears from starting once again you ask “who?” He says “I don't know her name but she always looks sexy…..wait wait lemme show you a picture of her.” Peter leaves your side walking into the kitchen and comes back with his phone in hand scrolling down on it. “hmmm…Aha! Here” Your boyfriend turns his phone so its facing you and you look at with with blurry eyes only to see its on selfie mode and the person he showed you was no one other than you. “But why don’t you know her name? You know….” You say now with a happier tone. “Well because I'm too busy looking at her, Y/n Y/l/n.” “Petey….I'm going to ask one more time, WHO WOULD YOU PICK!!!!” You say with a playful tone. “I’m not at the party.” 

“Y/n Y/l/n! Once again!” 

“And why me?”

You want it to stop right fucking now. But no matter how hard you try, it never leaves. It’s nagging, like a fly or a nat, and you want to rip your hair out in frustration. Your back hits a massive tree, head turning in different directions while you look for that comforting mop of brown curls. They’re nowhere in sight though, so you keep moving forward.

There’s blood on your shirt and hands, dirt covering your face and your once clean converse. Inhaling, your lungs are relieved with fresh oxygen, and your blood is pumping quickly, heart pounding against your ribcage consistently. It’s ringing in your eyes, constantly reminding you that you’re alone in this life. It only moves you forward, motivates you to find him.

You’ve been here before. You can feel it, in your gut and in your bones, that you’ve been in this predicament before and you know how this ends.

The way this ends though, is not how you want it to end. You want things to be your way for once — you want control over this. It’s ridiculous really, because nothing is ever truly in your control, but you want it anyways.

You’re in the familiar forest of some random part of New York. It’s a faint memory brought to life — this has already happened in your lifetime, except not with these people and these clothes and this knowledge. You’re cursed with this knowledge.

Emerging from the woods, you’re met with the front of a once comforting cabin. It’s dark and run down, but your dad’s car is parked in the driveway and you grip your chest with a sob. Spinning around, you find every clavicle and cranny, every groove and gap, searching for at least one person.

You near another path and your feet pick up, shoes hitting the dirt at an alarmingly fast rate. Just up ahead, in the moonlight, is the lake. Moonlight shines the night, reflecting the beauty of the moon. Just before the clearing of the lake is a fallen tree, laying in melancholy of old age and murder. You come to a slow, almost a stop, hesitant to see what lays beside the tree.

You mutter a “fuck” under your breath, body antsy with sweat and anxiety. Your palms are clammy, clenched at your sides, and the strings of your hoodie hit your chest at the last bouncy step. Damp with sweat, you take another step, a scream lodging in your throat, and suddenly you jolt awake, body upright in the dark room of your apartment. The curtains aren’t completely drawn, moonlight seeping through the cracks and lighting up parts of your heavy blanket at the hardwood floor.

You wipe at your forehead, sweat dampening your hand while another tear falls from your soft face. You glance around your bedroom before removing the covers hastily, feet hitting the cold floor with a wince, and suddenly, you’re weakly making your way out of the bedroom and towards the exit. You’re subconsciously navigating towards your roommate's room, the door shut in peace. You can hear nothing but the calming in’s and out’s of his breaths, and you stop and clutch your chest in a heaving breath, eyes flooded in salty tears.

Your hand grips the door handle and the wooden gate gives way, swinging open and nearly banging the wall behind it. Another step forward, you realize you’re shaking, and as the sweet boy in bed comes into your view, you exhale in relief.

“Y/N?” He’s rubbing at his eyes, sitting up slightly with a groggy voice. He’s fresh out of sleep, that fact present in the evidence: his voice, his demeanor, his body language. You almost feel bad, guilt rushing through you, but when you suck in a sniffled breath, he’s awakening faster than ever. “What happened? Is everything alright?”

You nod weakly, something that doesn’t convince either of you. He sits up further, the blanket falling to reveal his bare golden chest. Normally, you’d be flustered at the view, but you’re too caught up in your head to think of anything but getting his touch.

“What happened?” He tries again, feet softly padding over to you, arms reaching out cautiously, not wanting to overload you with questions and touches.

“Ni- nightmare.” You blink, reaching out for something stable to help you keep your stance in the room. Peter’s hands make contact with your skin, something that causes butterflies to erupt in your stomach. You release a breath, out of relief that he’s here, at your touch, and you don’t need to worry anymore.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“You were- you were there one minute an- and then you- you left me and I- I couldn’t find you-”

He stays quiet, realizing you’re about to have another breakdown. With permission, he pulls you into his embrace, arms wrapping around you protectively, while he kisses your forehead and then the top of your head.

“I’m right here, see?” He offers a smile, and you let out a teary chuckle, eyes glancing to his messily arranged curls and then to his abandoned blanket, and all over again, you feel bad.

“I’m sorry,” Peter pouts at your words, shaking his head.

“No, I’m- I’m glad you came to me. I know how bad nightmares are — I’m here for as long as you want me to be.”

“I don’t- I don’t want to leave you.”

Peter’s face softens, in infatuation and flattery. His big, puppy-dog brown eyes marvel your vulnerable form, and he offers a gentle smile, one you try to mirror.

“Wanna sleep with me?”

You nod again, and Peter’s sensual hands guide you to his bed. You slip under the covers, Peter laying beside you. Your head rests atop his chest, listening to his heartbeat while one of his hands squeezes yours in comfort.

You’re aware now that he’s still shirtless, and that you’re just his roommate, cuddling him after a nightmare. But he’s so sweet and adorable and gentle with you that you can’t help but want to confess your long suppressed feelings.

He hums against you, acknowledging that you’re still awake and making it known that he knows.

He whispers, soft and almost so quiet you wouldn’t be able to hear it had you not been so close to him. “Please tell me you’re alright.”

“I’m alright if you’re alright,” You squeeze his middle to comfort yourself, not just him. “I don’t want to lose you like that.”

“Like how?”

“Like how I did in my dream. You-” you swallow thickly, voice choking up. Peter’s hands move up and down your back, brain following his instincts for what he hopes is right. For someone who doesn’t have much experience in cuddling, he’s doing a really great job. “You just slipped from my hands.”

“I promise I’m not going to slip from you like that.” He interlocks your pinkies, smiling down at you even though you’re not looking. You hum, unsure of where to go from here. Peter’s heart is thumping against his chest harshly, so hard that he knows you can hear it with your ear to his skin. He tries no to focus on that, but instead your gentle fingertips that are drawing images into his skin, and your soft breaths and exhales, and your heartbeat, the one that’s kept him steady for so long. For a roommate, he’s done an awfully bad job at staying behind the line of boyfriend.

He can’t help it though. Not when there’s moments like these, or small breakfasts before class lectures, or late night pizza dates on Friday, or studying for finals and exams in your corner of the library.

He can’t help it when you look at him like that, with hopeful eyes, intimate eyes, vulnerable eyes. He can’t help it when he thinks there might be a sliver of a possibility of you reciprocating his very secretive feelings.

He can’t help it when all he wants to do is wake up next to you — in the middle of the night because of a nightmare, or in the morning when the sunshine hits your face in the way that makes you even more ethereal than before.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Why was it a nightmare?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why… why was losing me a nightmare?”

Your breathing comes to a quiet stop, breath hitched at the unexpected question. Peter’s quite sure his heart has stopped too, but alas, your whispered response hits him harder than anything has before.

“Because… because I like you and- and I like the way you make me feel.”

It’s quiet for a few beats, almost as if the prior events had never taken place and the apartment is filled with the once peaceful silence of sleep. But then, Peter whispers the words you’ve always wanted to hear.

“Y’know something?”

“Hm?” You encourage him to go on, curious and almost afraid of what he’s gonna say.

“I like the way you make me feel, too.” He clenches and unclenches his free hand, using it to stroke your cheek. “I like everything about you and I… I don’t know. I really like you.”

You hum, and suddenly, you feel the peace that everyone else feels in the night. Wrapped up in Peter and his blankets that smell just like him, you feel it almost as strongly as you feel the love you have for Peter — even if you don't know that it’s love.

“I guess we’re not roommates anymore?”

“What?” Panic fills you, eyes widening even in the dark. “What do you mean? Why? Wh-”

“I mean,” he stutters, clearing his throat nervously. “If we can be m-more than friends.”

“Do you want that?”

“I do,” he admits bashfully. “Do you?”

For once, you look up at him, fingers interlocking again. “I really do.”

You fall asleep like that: wrapped in the comfort of Peter and his bed, peace and serenity flooded through your veins. For the first time, you make it to the end of a different dream, one where he doesn’t slip from your hands.

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