#i don't even give nurse t as much love like. i draw flower on the daily HKJSHFSFHNKSJHNKGS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rileywrites-parker · 7 years ago

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okay but consider this peter parker wouldn't be able to sleep without his special blanket (It's Ben's old one don't fight me on this) and when he can't find it he needs you (for the 800 followers thing) aND BABY I AM SO PROUD OF YOU, LOOK AT YOU GO, YOU PRECIOUS, SWEET THING SHDHEHE

Ok, oops, I misread, BUT it’s still sweet and good, I promise. I adore you, bby!

Also, note that this is actually part of a much longer imagine that I’m working on for the lovely miss who requested this tidbit, so you will see this part again later.

Peter had been blowing up your phone for the past two days,texting you at all hours, constantly checking in on you since you had fallendown the stairs in your rush to get to class. He’d actually been the one tofind you at the bottom, tears welling up in your eyes and a tear in your jeanswhere you’d hit and skid across the tile, twisting your knee and shredding theskin.

He’d surprised you withhis strength, and then again when he’d delicately tucked you into his chest,lifting you up from the ground with careful arms behind shoulders and a rapidlybruising knee, taking you to the nurse. You’d nearly laughed out loud, laughedat yourself when your body reacted to his closeness even after taking a tumble;the way your body felt pressed into the lines of his, the fluttery tingling youfelt between nerves that were burning, how soft his voice had been as he’d utteredfeathery words like: “It’s OK, you’re OK, I’ve got you.”

“Please, please don’tcry. If you cry, I’ll cry, and I don’t have any tissues, so you’ll have to wipeyour nose on my sleeve, and it’ll just be one big mess. We can’t have that, canwe?” His face had been inches from yours, concern painting his eyes as helooked down at you.

“No, we can’t. No snotfor you,” giving him a watery smile, face tight as you’d tried to get up fromthe floor; his hands were quick, and warm, and sweet as one wrapped around yourshoulder, fingertips brushing at the bare skin of your neck, a calloused thumbhovering over a delicate collar bone, the other tethering your thigh to tile.

“No, no, let me, yourknee looks bad, it’s already changing colors,” his brown eyes were askingpermission and his cheeks were flushing with color, funny eyebrows raised andwaiting for your answer.

“Y-yeah, OK, t-thankyou, Peter,” without even thinking your nose had pressed into the crook of hisneck as soon as he had you in his arms and off the ground, drawing in the scentof the heated skin there, all sunshine, honey, and musky rain clouds, “I’d belying if I said it doesn’t hurt like hell.”

“I-I kn-know,” wordsstumbling out of him as your breath puffed against fine airs, tickling, moistureteasing, unbeknownst to you, leaving smatterings of goosebumps over tensingarms and an excited heart, “almost there.”

He’d stayed with youin the office, elbows on his knees and a pointy chin in his hands withcaramel-flecked eyes that watched your every move as you lay there, kneepropped up on a stack of pillows, pack of ice balancing precariously where itwas most swollen. His sweater had come off at the first sign of a shiver fromyou.

“Please?” Hisfingertips brushing past yours as he passed it to you.

“Thanks, Parker,”brushing hair out of your eyes, using long, shy lashes as blinds, avoidingwhat rested beneath his own for fear of giving yourself away.

“Yeahyeah, no problem.”

He surprised you again when on the third day of your absencehe was there, knocking at your bedroom door and peeking a head covered in messybrown curls past the frame. You moved quickly to cover your legs with yourblanket, self-consciousness immediately kicking in at the sight of him so closeto the bubble of your safe space, at the thought of him seeing your legs bare,at seeing you in a tank top, at seeing you in your bed in your room where hiseyes had never been before.

“P-parker, what are you doing here?” He hadn’t pushed thedoor open yet, careful eyes scanning your face, eager fingers peeking past thewood.

“Can I – Is it OK that I come in?” You were nodding beforeyour brain had time to process that Peter Parker, the boy who constantlyblinded you with dazzling smiles and a heart made of the sun, who was secretlystrong but always gentle, was entering your world. It was strange that it feltsuch a big thing, like it was important, like it should be noted, even thoughit was happening now with no ceremony, no bells or whistles, just rattlingnerves and shaky smiles.

“Yeah, yes, enter at your own risk,” sweaty fingers pointingup at the sign hanging above his head. When he walked past that threshold andinto a new world where Peter suddenly existed where you did, and his shouldersshook as he laughed, eyes crinkling and cheeks pushing at baggy, tired puffs ofsleeplessness, your heart settled and you released a breath, deciding that thiswas good and you very much liked him here, with you.

Even when he stood in the middle of your room, hands stuffedin pockets, backpack hanging off of one shoulder and messing up the plaidcollar peeking from under a grey sweater. Even when those chocolate eyesscanned over the little secret pieces of yourself, secret pieces that weren’t asecret to him anymore, and a lazy smile had found those lips. Even when hefinally turned to you and stared, words lost, like perhaps he too was beginningto realize the step he’d just taken.

“I like your room,” he managed, “did you do those?” He pointedto the push board you had decorated with sketches of flowers, the moon, famousfaces, your childhood home, and him. You were praying he hadn’t noticed the oneof him. You nodded, trying to rein in the panic and prepare yourself for theembarrassment when he did.

If he saw, he was gracious and kind, as he always was andsaid nothing, “They’re amazing. I had no idea you liked to draw.”

“Sometimes,” your eyes followed him as he moved to take aseat at the end of your bed, dropping his backpack at his feet, “it’s all aboutinspiration.” You didn’t miss the pale pink coloring the tops of his earsas he took your words in. Of course he’d seen. His eyes focused on his hands,tracing the lines of his palms, as seconds turned into a minute, maybe twowhere you just watched him and he worked studiously to avoid your eyes. Hissilence was too much, he was too much, pink ears, dark eyelashes, and fidgetyfingers were too much, so you broke it.

“What are you doing here, Parker?” Curls jostled, settlingover too-big ears and temples as he whipped his head towards you to catch yourvoice and offer a sheepish smile.

“Right, sorry,” unzipping his bag, he pulled out an old,ratty looking quilt that smelt overwhelmingly of him, passing it over to youwith this vulnerable look on his face and in his eyes, “I wanted to bring youthis, you-you know, for comfort. To help you, with your knee. It’s mine-well,is mine now. It was my uncle’s before, you know,” Before you could sayanything, before you could tell him in so many words that your heart was now a soppingpuddle of adoration full of the heaviness of his gesture, he was already talking again, silence having been broken,he was now a bundle of nerves, an open heart, and a blur of words.

“Anyway, here’s all of the homework you’ve missed. I tooknotes for you, and I thought that I could, um, maybe go over them with you,h-help you with your make-up work and studying, or whatever,” he was digging inhis bag again. Your fingers traced over swirling patterns and faded colors asyou watched the way his mouth moved around the sounds, lost in thought, lost inall of the walls crumbling and the feel and smell of this new world you existedin, lost in that feeling you’d had many times since that day in chemistry whereyou realized how much you wanted his lips to know yours, too.

“Oh, and I got you these,” you looked up to the crinklingplastic of your favorite snack and a nervous smile, “I know you like them. I’veseen you with a bag almost every day at lun-” you cut him off with a kiss tothe cheek, too afraid of what else would change if you’d pressed at his lipsinstead, if you’d thanked him where your eyes always hovered, lingering, tryingyour best to convey everything you were feeling through the warmth blossomingwhere bodies were connected by blushing cheeks and blushing lips.

“Oh,” he whispered,like he’d clued in, like he was smiling, like he was singing.

“Thanks, Park-Peter. Peter.”

“Yeahyeah, no, uh, no problem,” he whispered again, eyes wide andfull of the sun. Your fingers were pacing over fabric again.

“About this homework -”

“Right, right, so in Physics,” and he was a blushing mess as hisfingers shuffled through the papers he’d brought you, smile on his face that brought that feeling right back, lips unsated, lips wanting more now that they’d stepped into that known world of his skin.

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