Peter Parker Imagines Book

At Peace

Left with angst, returning with fluff!

Don't get used to it :) /hj

A lot has happened since I've been gone, namely being I have seen No Way Home a multitude of times and have emerged a changed person because of it. But we'll get there when we get there. Until then, let's go!

Bubbling in your chest, a yawn warmly crept up your throat. Blinking the sleep away, you knew you had to keep pushing forward. The sun—just barely beginning to set—sent golden-orange rays of light through the curtain drawn windows of Peter's bedroom. Your work, however tedious, would pay off in the end.

The sun had just begun to kiss the horizon as golden-orange light filtered through the curtain drawn windows of the bedroom. Dust mites danced in your peripheral as you sat cross-legged in your chair. Peter's bedroom felt just as home as your own, and coincidently—no matter how monotonous—it also served as an ideal place to study. And while there were certainly cases where the act would be next to impossible, this evening had proven to be nothing but productive; if the pages of completed homework could speak for itself.

It was quiet. The type of quiet that warranted peace, not silence. To which, you greatly preferred. Graphite scratched against paper, May's Bon Jovi record played softly from the living room, and every once in a while you could feel the breeze of cool air wash over you as the fan rotated in your direction, humming softly in the corner. The sounds of other life occasionally crept in as well—the flitting of a nesting robin right outside, the honking of cars on the street and the uproar of voices, curses and laughs alike—but you had to admit: when you allowed yourself, it was Peter you listened to the most.

The boy sat just behind you, perched on his bed as he hunched over in concentration. You hadn't dared look back, not wanting to risk anything breaking your state of focus, but you knew his homework had been long discarded, completed and scattered around him as he now held a web-shooter in hand. Faint in your memory, you could recall him telling you about how a spinneret had been clogged, and no doubt he was remedying the problem at this very moment.

A small smile made a brief appearance as you allowed yourself to picture the sight behind you without tearing yourself from the paper in front of you. Peter only had a select few stages in which he looked completely relaxed as himself, and you knew tinkering with something or other was one of them. You pictured his face of concentration; the tiny bunny lines that appeared between his eyes and nose as his brows furrowed down. The dot of pink that appeared from the corner of his mouth as his tongue poked out of the side.

His breathing always changed as well and you closed your eyes, letting yourself take this one moment of reprieve, momentarily blinking away the numbers and charts that swarmed your vision. Deep and languid, his breaths were something that could instantly send a wave of calm over your being. Peter breathing meant he was alive. That he was here. That he was with you.

And with you he was. Not even five feet away he sat. The both of you shared the space, content with just each others' presence as if the two of you were snuggled together under the covers.

Redirecting your thoughts, you focused back on the remaining work you had: note taking. Studying had always been the biggest giant to slay when it came to schoolwork, and you had definitely made a mistake in leaving it for last tonight. But you couldn't change the past and now you needed to make sure you absorbed this information before midterms came right around the corner to bite you right up the rear.

Every once in a while, you would hear Peter shift behind you. The sheets would ruffle and the bed would creak, or a tiny screw would clatter against the ground and you had to stifle laughter when he held his breath before he knew he would have to search for a minuscule piece of metal among the organized mess of his bedroom floor. They were normal noises—human noises—that brought you an insane amount of domesticated joy. And when you heard the quiet thwip of a web hitting the wall and a cheer bubble through the air behind you, you had to fight the urge off to give in right then and there in its entirety lest you dared lose all responsibility you had been able to keep over the course of the day.