summary: you overhear something you weren't supposed to, but it shouldn't have been said in the first place. in result, you can't help but wonder if peter wants something different.
warnings: implied smut, mentions of sex, insecurity, use of y/n
pairing: bimbo!reader x frat!peter
word count: 3.0k+ words (my longest fic yet-)
a/n: in no way is use of "bimbo" meant to be a patriarchal stereotype. please do not take it offensively, this is a work of fiction.
-
peter was totally smitten by you. really, he was. after all he's been through, it was kind of nice having someone who adores him as much as he does, even if you are... a tad bit dim-witted.
while he grew up surrounded by death, trauma, and more, you were raised sheltered, hidden away from all the bad things. and even though peter's been through some shit, he finds it to hold you so gently, like the pretty thing you are, as if you were stained glass; fragile, but so beautiful.
when he's holding you, all his soft, brown eyes can focus on are how your soft, manicured hands wrap around his rough, calloused ones. you're always careful not to hurt him with your acrylics.
even though you can be slow at times, it's almost impossible not to admire the way your clothes always hug your curves, glossed lips pulled into a pretty pout.
peter could have just about any girl he wanted on campus, but he didn't want any of them.
he wanted you, and only you.
maybe it's because you were different, and no, not in dim-witted nature. but because of how soft you were. you didn't know, and even if you did, understand the horrors he wittnessed out there everyday.
you were protected by a little (very pink) bubble that you lived in, so when he came home to you, it felt as if he was in a different world altogether. you were so damn good at distracting peter, and you didn't even know it.
you were in your own dorm room, watching a silly rom-com while peter was with his friends, he told you not to wait up for him, given that he would be up 'til the early hours of the morning. but you decided that peter and his goodnight kisses were slightly more important than your beauty sleep.
slightly.
you furrowed your neatly shaped eyebrows at something that one of the characters said, tilting your head.
ram-i-fic-a-tion? you thought, humming. pulling out your phone, you googled the word.
noun plural noun: ramifications
a consequence of an action or event, especially when complex or unwelcome. "any change is bound to have legal ramifications"
"legal ram-i-fic-a-tions?" you wondered aloud.
you skimmed the rest of the definitions, still confused. surely peter wouldn't mind if you gave him a quick ring? so you went ahead in did that, letting the sound echo in the room.
when he didn't pick up, you frowned.
"ummm..." you trailed off, calling one of his friends, spencer, instead. you weren't a stranger to him, but more of a mutual. after all, your roommate was dating him. actually, you'd ask alyssa, your roomie, but she wasn't here.
much to your happiness, spencer did pick up. "hiii, spence."
"y/n?" he said, slurring slightly.
"what does, like, ram-i-fic-a-tion mean?" you asked, careful to enunciate.
spencer was aware of... how your brain worked, and he wasn't a jerk about it (unlike some people). he was one of peter's closer friends, so you felt comfortable around him.
"ramification? oh, uh, it's like a consequence."
you frowned dumbly, "to what?"
"to an action. if you don't study for the final, you might not do well. that's a consequence to your action. a ramification."
"oh. oh! okay. thank you!"
he didn't disconnect right away, and you could hear one of his frat brothers, you were unsure who, talking. and of course, you strained your ears to listen.
"it doesn't get annoying or anything?"
you heard peter's voice come next, and instantly perked up. "what?"
"dude, be so for real. she's hot, but like, as dumb as a third grader. do you have to talk to her like that too?" he laughed.
oof, you thought, sucks to be whoever it was they were talking about.
"sometimes. she's good in bed, though."
wait. he was talking about you. your jaw dropped. i mean, you were stupid, but not this stupid. so this is what "saturday night with the boys" was all about?
you heard collective laughing. you did stupid things sometimes, but never had the mental compacity to be embarrased by them. this, though? this was different.
you trusted peter.
he was the only person who never, ever, spoke to or about you like that. in fact, it was one of the reasons you'd grown to like him so much. because he was patient, he was kind, and never did he once judge you.
well, that's what you thought.
but you were dumb enough to think that just because he never spoke about it to you, he never spoke about it all.
you immediately disconnected the call, dropping your phone. trying to focus back on the movie, you nibbled on a piece of popcorn.
but you just couldn't get over it. did it bother him?
all the questions? the dim-witted stupidity? all the pink?
reluctantly, you glanced the hot pink bowl that held your snack.
you didn't mean to be so... like that. you were just being yourself. did peter not like you being yourself? no, no, of course not. if he didn't, then why would he be with you?
a little voice in the back of your head rang out; "because you're good in bed."
maybe it wouldn't hurt to try and raise your iq?
you turned off the tv, hot pink popcorn bowl forgotten. alyssa wouldn't mind if you borrowed something, right?
you opened her room door, walking over to her bookself. wrinkling up your nose, you scanned her shelf. how could someone like reading so much?
it was so... gross.
oh, well. maybe peter was into intellectuals. and you had better become before he left you for someone like that.
your eyes paused at a book titled "the hobbit".
"what's a... hobbit?" you asked, not to anyone in particular. you skipped it, looking at her other ones.
"'twisted love', 'the fault in our stars'... what'd the stars do?" picking up the book, you read the back. "huh," you remarked, putting it back.
instead, you grabbed a couple self-help books, struggling to hold them with your acrylic nails, which, of course, were bright pink... accentuated with big charms; bows and hearts.
you went back over to your room, dumping them on your bed. checking your nails again, you drummed them against your palm to make sure they were intact.
you started reading the first one, curling up in a blanket, but you kept getting distracted. every five seconds, you look up to make sure your lashes were still in place, or that your skin wasn't to shiny, or that your hair was still perfect. and to be honest, you didn't really understand any of it.
like, who actually had the patience to read through all of it? how could a book cure all your crap?
and why would you read a book to feel better, when you could go to a spa, or a shopping spree.
credit cards were invented for a reason.
but you powered through, at the very least, you skimmed the words. there was no way you could read it word for word. but you wanted to try... for peter.
you wanted him to stick around, to love you, but not superficially. not for sex.
you stayed up until 1:30 (mostly reading, and you still didn't understand how people did this for fun), but didn't call peter. you'd talk to him tomorrow, maybe. first, you needed to get your facts straight. eventually, you got ready for bed.
this included showering, taking off your makeup, putting your hair in rollers, and your fifteen-step skincare routine.
you may have been half asleep, but you'd never skip a step.
peter came over around noon monday, when neither of you had classes. "jeez, babe," he groaned, you in his lap, "i've got so much to do. seriously, i'm never gonna get it done."
you twirled your hair, appearing nonchalant, "your mindset is either your best friend, or worst enemy."
you kept your eyes trained on your phone, waiting for peter to respond. looking up, you saw him blink. "uh... yeah. that was- that was very... un-y/n-like."
to be honest, you didn't even know what the saying meant. you just memorized it from your book. "was it dumb?"
"no, it was smart," peter replied, kissing your hairline.
"i'm normally dumb?" you asked, tearing up. lips pouted, voice moist, you made eye contact with him. you knew you were a little slow, but dumb? really?
"no! that's not what i meant. it just sounded- well, i- cause you never say stuff like that. you're my smart, pretty girl."
"oh, okay," you said, your nails tracing the curve of his back. you pecked him on the lips, but he brought you back for a longer kiss.
you giggled as he flipped your positions, peter on top.
"can i show you just how pretty you are?"
he didn't have to ask twice.
-
you were in the dining hall, sitting with some of your friends, mixed with some of peter's.
they were talking as you picked at your salad, leaning into peter.
"ugh," sarah, you kind-of friend started, "my boss gave me a premotion."
"what the fuck are you complaining about?" alyssa scoffed.
"because! it means that i have to do more...! like, i'll have to get up earlier. i dunno if i'll take it. it's cooler than the one i have now, but but it's not as comforting."
you spoke up, completely confident, "commit to change. either embrace the challenge of pursuing your destiny or shy way and live in regret."
collective "oohs" and "damns" were heard around the table, and you reveled in it.
"okay, girl, you go."
"parker, when did your girlfriend get a braincell upgrade?" you looked at peter, waiting for him to shoot something back, but he didn't. you frowned slightly, going back to the salad.
it went on like that, you would pipe in and offer self-help advice (not really knowing what it meant) hoping for peter's attention. sometimes you got it, and sometimes you didn't.
it was fine, you wanted him to notice you. after all, you weren't reading for fun. you were doing it for him, so... just, like, notice already.
you'd been focusing so much on the self-help books, your nails had grown out, leaving space between your nail bed and acrylics. deciding to take some time away from the books and all their un-understandable wisdom, you wanted to paint your nails.
nothing to big, but more simple. you were finding it hard to turn the page with the large charms on the acrylics you normally had to.
you found some 100% acetone in your bathroom, so you soaked your nails, waiting for the acrylics to come off. once they got loose enough, they came off easily.
you did some prepping, then picked out two different shades of pink. you were about to start when you heard two long knocks, then two short ones.
(it was peter's special knock, so you'd always know when it was him.)
"come in!" you called out, and you saw a head of fluffy brown hair peek in.
"hey," he said, slipping in your room.
"hi, petey!"
he came up from behind you, hugging your waist. "whatcha doing?"
you opened a bottle of nail paint, "painting my nails."
"cute colors," he kissed your cheek, and you leaned in.
"right? pink is so pretty," you gushed.
"what are these?" peter asked, and you looked over curious as to what he was talking about.
"oh, just, like, lyss' books."
"yeah, but why're they in here?" he read the back of one, raising a brow.
you continued painting your nails, trying to appear chill. "i was reading them."
he seemed to do a double-take, and you frowned, "what?"
"nothing- nothing, i just..."
"i know how to read," you said, shoulders sagging. "i'm smarter than a third-grader," you didn't catch the slip-up, but he did.
that caught him off guard there, "what?"
"what?" looking up, you finally met his eyes.
"you said you- well, yeah, i know. you just don't-" he paused, "self-help books didn't seem like your thing is all. oh, is that why've you been saying all that?"
"saying what?"
"all the-" he didn't want to hurt your feelings, but if he was right, he already had. "the, um, advice?" he stammered. peter didn't trip over his words often, and you knew that.
you were sure that he knew that you knew, but you weren't sure if he knew for sure.
you shrugged, "doesn't it sound smart?"
"no, yeah, it does." he's treading very carefully. it was quiet for a brief moment; "did you hear?"
"hear what?"
"the... the comment i made?"
"oh, that one about me being stupid, but good in bed?" you said it so casually, as if it didn't bother you at all.
but it did. he knew it did.
he sighed, "i'm really sorry, baby."
"for what?"
"for saying that."
"no, you're sorry you got caught. you wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it."
"i didn't- i was drunk," peter tried again.
"drunk words are sober thoughts," something else you read, you aren't sure where.
he was starting to get really nervous. he didn't know what was going through your head, normally he had a good idea, but it wasn't anything like this. it didn't seem like you hated him, but he wasn't about to take advantage.
"no, i-"
"it's okay. i'm working on it," you said, trying to make him feel better. as if you were the one who'd messed up, not peter. the idea itself was insane to him, and it only made him feel worse.
"angel," peter started, "this is not your fault. please don't make it your fault. i'm the one who messed up, and what i said was not okay. it was a stupid, drunk joke, and i shouldn't said it."
you blew on your nails, blinking back your tears. mascara, the good stuff, was expensive. you looked up, shocked to see tears in his eyes. you don't think you've ever seen him cry before. well, maybe once, when you watched "titanic" with him.
peter wasn't one to get emotional, he still denied ever crying over that movie.
"it's okay," you repeated again. you were dumb, you knew that. it really wasn't his fault, you shouldn't have pushed him to feel like that.
"but it's not. and i know you know that, please tell me what i can do to make it better."
"but-"
"no, it's not," he said sternly, "and i cannot stress that enough. i'm really sorry, baby."
you capped the polish, you didn't know what to say. it wasn't your fault? okay, fine.
maybe he was right.
"i got really upset," you admitted.
"i know, baby," the tears are falling, he quickly wipes them away.
"did you really mean it?"
"no, no, no, of course not. i absolutely love you the way you are, and you shouldn't have to change yourself for anyone- especially not for me."
"so you don't think i'm only good for sex?"
"baby, no, baby, no!" baby, he used that word for affection; when he was guilty, trying to prove something to you... in this case, how sorry he was. "you are good for so many other things," he paused, "okay, that didn't sound great."
he took a deep breath, taking your freshly painted hands in yours, "don't mess up the polish," you warned, even though you were tearing up.
peter smiled slightly, that meant you weren't too upset, right? that he hadn't fucked everything up by great means?
"i haven't ever met someone like you, who loves me the same back. and i don't mean generally, but romantically. lots of people can't put up with me," he started, "but you do, and jesus, baby, i'm so greatful for that- and you," peter added.
"you are the bright pink light of my life. you're so different from other girls i've been with, you see me. you don't look at me, you see me. like, okay, maybe you aren't the greatest at math, but you don't have to be a s.t.e.m. genius to be smart."
peter was getting raw, he was getting vunerable. "i don't know how to use a curling iron for the life of me, i don't know the difference between mascara and eyeliner. well, i do, but i didn't before you."
you looked at him, opening your mouth to speak. you wanted to tell him he'd lost you somewhere along the line, but figured it was important for him to get this out.
"you've got a different mindset than me, and i love that. you're the biggest feminist i've ever met, and wait until you meet may. i think it's interesting that your entire personality doesn't revolve around your degrees and resumes, because, god, people like that are annoying. most of all, you're confidence is amazing. i never had anything like that in high school."
you knew that he was a nerd, kept his head down, shoulders sagging. "i just... i'm sorry. i don't know why i said it. i'm a huge insecure jerk that thinks he can get away with crap by projecting it onto his lovely, amazing, wonderful girlfriend. you're my favorite person, and i can't help but think you'll leave me one day. i thought that if i acted like i didn't care... i don't know. i- i don't... i'm sorry."
you took moment, that's the longest he's ever spoken to you, but he wasn't done, apparently.
"also, i don't care about sex. i mean, it's nice and whatever, but what's the point of it if i don't have you. what i'm trying to say is, i'd pick you over that any day, okay? it doesn't matter to me. i'm not with you for that."
"thank you," you said, it seemed appropriate. basically, he just compliented you a whole lot, and it worked; you seem to have a thing for praising. "and i forgive you. also, i hated those stupid books, and if they weren't, like, alyssa's, i'd burn them."
you shuddered, "i can't believe i read them."
"really?" peter asked, hopeful. you kissed away a stray tear, looking into his wet eyes. "we're okay?"
"we're so okay," you paused, "but you have to watch bridgerton with me."
he groaned, "fine." (you knew he liked it, he just wouldn't ever admit to it.)
"wait, so just checking, you aren't into, like, intellectuals or whatever?"
"i'm into you," he said, "whether not you idenify as one."