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"wave at boats" — on a weekend getaway, in one of your friends' lake house, you have a heart-to-heart conversation with peter—after finding out that he waves at boats.
ᯓ 💬 .ᐟ ⊹ -> tasm!peter parker x gn!reader | slight hurt/comfort · fluff · friends to lovers · both reader and peter have been pining for so long (real) · mentions of my ocs ( becca & eli ) · brief alcohol mentions · peter gets emotional by the end | I haven't written a fic in so long so excuse how rusty this is </3 also possible grammar and spelling mistakes | word count: 1,546
[ 📀༉‧₊˚. ] — wave at boats by kwes.
"Eli, I can't do this right now."
"Wait, I didn't mean to– Becca."
You hear the chimes echo throughout the whole diner, as your friend, Becca, storms out. While her girlfriend, also one of your friends, Eli, follows her behind like a puppy. You sit with Peter on your booth with an awkward silence, the tension from their fight still lingering in the air.
It started small. Just the both of them bickering inside the car, on your way to Eli’s lake house. But things quickly got heated and you suggested stopping by the diner, so Eli wouldn't accidentally crash the car. You know she wouldn't, but you just couldn't stay inside the car with them.
And now you’re here. Sitting beside Peter, staring at your half eaten waffle, and debating whether you should keep going or not. You’ve lost your appetite long ago. But you don't want to waste food.
“I can eat it for you.” Before you can protest, Peter swaps your plates. He’s smiling at you when you’re eyes meet, obviously trying to lighten the mood. But you can see he’s also slightly tense.
“Thanks, you didn’t have to.”You say as he takes a bite. Peter only shrugs in response, a silent understanding shared between you.
Becca and Eli weren't always like this. Before they dated, everything was fine in your friend group. Although, there was still that playful bickering, the arguments were less, almost rare. But now, it’s like someone flipped a switch.
After that, you started growing closer with Peter. And eventually every hang out involved just the both of you.
This 3-day-weekend-getaway was supposed to bring you four closer again. But it feels like you’re off to a rough start.
“Is something wrong?”Peter asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You realize you’ve been spaced out, and he’s finished eating your last waffle.
“I don't know if this trip is the right idea, Peter.”You say and he hears the doubt in your voice. Peter wishes he can just toss it away and have it dissipate in the wind, never to be seen again. You deserve a break. After all, you’re the glue holding this friend group together. He knows it. Everybody does.
“If you’re worried about Becca and Eli. I’ll talk to them.”
“No, that’s.. fine. You don't have to.”
“I want to. It’s for the best. And you need to stop stressing that pretty mind of yours.” He props an elbow down on the table, his other hand reaching to cup your cheek. A warmth blossoms in your chest from his sudden touch, causing you to pause right on the spot, just staring at Peter’s eyes. Which seem to appear brighter than usual against the afternoon light.
“You say that like it’s easy.”You mumble, your words contradicting with the way you seem to melt right into the palm of his hand.
Peter seems to love it though, smiling when you lean further into his touch.
He’s not blind. He knows something's changed between the both of you. And maybe he’s been hoping for this day to come ever since high school. Which is funny, since you’re both graduating from college now. Which means it’s been almost a decade.
But it’s about time all this longing came to an end. So if happens in some diner, or at the lake house, Peter wouldn't complain.
“Ready to get back on the road? I’ll drive this time. And you’re riding shotgun.”He says, giving your cheek one last squeeze before pulling away.
“You know me so well, Peter."
“In my defense, you’re pretty hard to forget.” And he takes your hand before leaving the payment on the table.
The rest of the ride to the lake house went a lot smoother with Peter driving. Becca and Eli went quiet as well, after apologizing to each other and making up—out—at the back seat of the car. While you fell asleep, with Peter’s sweater covering you like a makeshift blanket.
When you arrived at the lake house the sun was setting. And everyone agreed on hanging out by the dock to watch the sun go down by the horizon.
“I’m sorry about earlier this morning.” You’re sitting by the edge of the dock, when you feel warm hands on your shoulders, along with a small peck on the top of your head. It was Becca, coming to apologize.
“You made up with Eli?” She hums, moving to sit down beside you, the tip of her feet grazing the water. And you notice that she’s wearing Eli’s flannel.
“I know we’re both a mess.”
“Can't say I disagree.” You quip, Becca laughs.
“We’re gonna try arguing less around you and Peter.”She says, leaning her head on your shoulder. And you let out a deep breath. You can't remember the last time you’ve had a moment of peace like this. It feels almost sacred.
“I’m gonna count you on that.”
The moment is interrupted when you hear Eli calling out both your names. she’s already in the water, arms out, waiting for Becca to jump in.
“I’ll catch you, come here.” She smiles, and Becca pulls away to take her flannel off.
“You coming?” She turns to you, smiling.
“Maybe later.” Becca nods her head before jumping in the lake, and Eli catching her just like she promised.
You stay back, sitting on the dock, watching them splash each other. Maybe this was going to work out after all.
Peter waves at boats. Eli pointed it out after a couple of boats passed by the lake house, and he never once failed to greet each one with a wave of his hand. Becca teased him about it and everyone laughed about it.
But now you’re at the shore still thinking about it.
“I’ve always had a feeling you were the type to wave at boats.”You blurt out, just as Peter makes his way by your side.
“Is that a good thing?” He raises a brow, amused.
“Yeah, don't worry.” You laugh, Peter nods his head with a big smile.
The sun was long gone, and darkness scattered all over the lake. The only light was coming from the moon, and the lake house from behind you.
“What else have you had a feeling about?” Peter asks, out of the blue. You turn to him and he’s already looking at you. His gaze holds so many unspoken things from years of holding himself back. But now it seems like he’s on the edge of a precipice, wanting to spill them all out.
“A lot of things.”
“What about us?”His question makes your heart skip a beat. You can feel the weight from it, like he’s been looking forward to this opportunity for so long. But he wasn't the only one.
That night at the home coming back in high school. When you asked him to dance, after he refused everyone else because he was waiting for you. You had been jittery prior to that, asking yourself why were you so nervous about asking a friend to dance.
Then there was Becca’s house party years after. When everyone was in the pool, the speakers blasted with music, and drinks were being poured. You sat on the porch with Peter, drunk and giggly. You found everything he said funny. And he found himself falling way too deep for his own good. He definitely didn't need a drink to know you that you still make his heart beat the same.
You almost kissed him that night. But Peter knew better, and he stopped you before you could.
Though, he still plays your conversation inside his mind from to time. When it’s late at night and all he can think about is you.
“Peter, we’ve waited for too long.”
“I know. But I prefer if you kissed me and still remembered it the next day.”
And then there was now. Years later, both all grown. Yet you’re still just as nervous as you were back in the homecoming. And Peter was still the same boy waiting for you.
“I think I’ve always been sure.” You say, moving closer to him. Peter grabs your hand, lifting it up to press your knuckles against his lips. He doesn't keep his eyes off you, even when they turn glossy with tears. Your heart stutters.
“You’re crying.”Just as you say that, a tear escapes and slides down his cheek. You reach out with your other hand, wiping it away.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just–” Peter laughs, but more tears come out and he can't help but pull you into an embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck immediately, pulling him closer.
“You don't have to apologize." You whisper, kissing him on his temple, which seems to undo him even more.
“I’m just happy.” He says, hiding his face on your neck for a while, before pulling away to face you again.
“I know I look like a mess but can I kiss you?”You chuckle at his question. Because why wouldn't you say no?
“I had a feeling you would ask that.”You quip and Peter laughs.
blue's muse … ྀ dick grayson ۫ ׅ ⌇ when nightwing becomes the muse of your paintings, dick begins to fall in love with you.
❨🏷️❩ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ dick grayson x painter!reader · I wrote this with fem!reader in mind but it wasn't really mentioned directly in the fic! · self indulgent fic · fluff · suggestive · strangers to friends (muse) to lovers · ooc dick grayson (?) · subtle sexual tension (?) · mention of getting nude · reader has him wrapped around their finger · reader doesn't know dick is nightwing ( but is about to ) · possible grammar & spelling mistakes! · written in second pov⌇ wc: 1,450
── .✦ mcu & dcu masterlist
ꉂ ` 🗒️ `˖ * 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐤 ⌯⌲ wanted to venture out and write for dicky over here 😋 I've been feeling a little rusty though, so I'm sorry if this feels a little off?? hopefully that's just me 😭 also please let me know if I missed some things on the tags!
Without thinking, Dick finds himself rerouting his steps from his own home to yours like a habit.
It’s late at night, and he’s more than exhausted after another day of protecting this forsaken city. He should be crashing on his bed, and sleeping the moment his face hits the mattress. But instead he’s going from one rooftop to another, hoping to catch you by your window painting.
Months, it’s been months since he first caught a glimpse of you by your window, hair tousled from a nap, eyes narrowed in concentration, the bottom of your paint brush pressed against your cheek as you tried to choose between a blue or orange undertone. And Dick, or Nightwing as you know him as, perched on a rooftop just right in front of your building.
He was trying not to seem like a creep about it, but he couldn't just surprise you and ruin whatever flow state you were in, so he watched in the shadows until he decided to quit overthinking it.
You had been nice to him, thankfully, and he ended up staying a couple more minutes chatting you up and, accidentally, distracting you from your work. Eventually duty called and he had to leave, but not without promising he’d come by again.
On the night that he did, he saw you working on an almost finished painting of him. You said it wasn't anything special, described it as just another anatomy practice, but he’s never been illustrated in such an intricate way before. And the way your hands slowly brought his form to life, on the canvas, almost left him breathless.
It felt like a glimpse of him in your eyes. The closest he could ever get to actually seeing his own self, and not from a mirror’s reflection.
He’d told you that you were amazing. You took it like any other fleeting, and half-hearted, compliment. But he meant it, in that raw and vulnerable way, that only came when he was all alone in his apartment late in the night. When he’s stitching his own wounds and patching his bruises. When his mind was too loud for his quiet apartment.
That’s when Dick’s visit became more frequent. Sometimes he doesn't even see you. And it would just be him, on the other side of your window, staring at your finished artwork. And your muse? Him.
Now he lands, quietly, on your balcony. Your back is turned to him but he can see you working, dipping your brush on a particular shade of blue. You’d told him the name of it some night before, but he wasn't really good with remembering hues. You’re the expert here, so he likes leaving it up to you.
Dick knocks on the glass, your head turns in surprise and your eyes meet. He leans on the wall beside your window, arms crossed snd staying composed despite the blooming heat coming from his chest.
Your windows open, and he can see the smile on your face forming. Fuck, you’re adorable. “Hey” He says, attempting to be casual, although you probably won't notice how he’s almost breathless. And it’s definitely not because he’s been going from building to building.
“Hey, yourself. Been working on something new tonight.” You’re talking as you open your window wider, an invitation to let him in. Sometimes you feel like a teenager letting her secret fling sneak inside her home. Which totally isn't far off from your situation. You’ve definitely started sharing some anticipating moments with Dick the last few weeks.
“I can see that.” He lets himself in, ducking his head down to avoid bumping his head on the lock, which was getting so much easier each visit. Dick is already staring at your unfinished painting like a moth drawn to a flame.
“It's like you've got magic in those hands of yours.” He hears your snort behind him, followed by the sound of your footsteps, faint and soft.
“Well, it’s not finished yet. I’m only just starting out on the base colors.” Your hand touches his shoulder, briefly, as you stand beside him. Now that you've gotten a good look at your canvas, something feels off.
Dick turns to you when he notices you shift, watching your eyebrows knit together while you contemplate. Then you’re looking at him.
“Can you turn around? I just need to see something.” His back faces you without any question. And a thought occurs to him. You can tell Dick to do whatever you want and he’d do it in a heartbeat. You say you want him on his knees? He’s already on them. You want to paint him nude? Fuck, you don't have to tell him twice. He’s already thought about that plenty of times before.
But the presence of your hands on his back brings him back to reality.
“You don't mind if I touch you, right?” The question is practical. You’re just asking to get his anatomy right. But it falls differently in his ears, and suddenly all he can think about is your hands all over him. He swallows.
“Sure, getting a litle handsy now, are you?” You scoff, Dick grins. Even though his heart beat’s picking up when your thumb begins to trace a downward path his spine. Dick wonders if you know what you’re doing to him. And if you like the way his muscles feel beneath your palms, or if your mind wanders off whenever you paint him. Because his certainly does. And he doesn't even have to see you for his imaginations to work.
“It’s your waist..” Dick hears you think out loud, your hand settling on his lower back. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re lost in concentration as you map the entirety of his back. He can’t help but arch his back, however.
“Sorry, you okay?”
“No– I mean, fuck, yes I am.” He breathes out, relaxing his tense jaw. You’re really not making it easy for him to maintain his composure.
“I’m done.” You say, pulling your hands away. And Dick has never let out such a big sigh of relief. He follows you back to your canvas, standing behind you, as you make a quick fix of his body on the canvas. And his eyes drift down to your hands, and the way they expertly navigate around the canvas.
“I gotta say. I’m very honored to be your muse.” He leans down a little closer to your ear, which makes you pause. Dick doesn't miss it and stays at his position just to mesd with you.
“Well, I haven't been this motivated to make art before..” You trail off, facing him now, cutting off the distance between the both of you. With your proximity, Dick can’t help his gaze from flickering down to your lips. The undeniable tension surrounding the two of you burning even brighter.
“If anything I should be grateful.”
“Nah, you don't have to thank me, beautiful.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the pet name. And then he’s reaching out to wipe some dried paint off of your jaw, using his thumb. Suddenly, you can't look away from his lips either.
“If I kiss you right now, would you let me?” He asks, his thumb hovering just an inch away from your bottom lip. And your heart clenches as if its been waiting for him to ask that for long.
“Yeah, only if you let me paint how it feels afterwards." Whatever noise or groan that comes out of Dick gets muffled as your lips finally meet. You tilt your head to the side and the way he perfectly fits against you almost makes you drop your brush and palette.
“You don’t gotta ask. I’ll let you touch and memorize my entire body..” His hand moves to the back of your head, combing through your hair and making you gasp, as he continues to whisper in between your kisses.
“..If it means you won't paint anyone else other than me.” You let your paint brush clutter on the ground, rolling towards the wall below the very window you allow Dick to get in. His hands make their descent, holding the back of your thighs and lifting you up with ease.
“Promise me?” He breaks the kiss just to ask, his forehead pressed against yours. Dick knows he’s on the verge of revealing his identity to you, but he’s never been in a position in his life where his heart and mind were screaming the same thing. And it’s to trust you.
“I promise.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck like you’re already claiming him yours. And your lips meet again, this time it feels more meaningful.
𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 … ྀི 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ۫ ׅ ⌇ when nightwing becomes the muse to your paintings, dick begins to fall in love with you.
❨🏷️❩ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ dick grayson x painter!reader · I wrote this with fem!reader in mind but it wasn't really mentioned directly in the fic! · self indulgent fic · fluff · suggestive · strangers to friends (muse) to lovers · ooc dick grayson (?) · subtle sexual tension (?) · reader has him wrapped around their finger · reader doesn't know dick is nightwing ( but is about to ) · possible grammar & spelling mistakes! · written in second pov⌇ wc: 1,450
── .✦ mcu & dcu masterlist
ꉂ ` 🗒️ `˖ * 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐤 ⌯⌲ wanted to venture out and write for dicky over here 😋 I've been feeling a little rusty though, so I'm sorry if this feels a little off?? hopefully that's just me 😭 also please let me know if I missed some things on the tags!
Without thinking, Dick finds himself rerouting his steps from his own home to yours like a habit.
It’s late at night, and he’s more than exhausted after another day of protecting this forsaken city. He should be crashing on his bed, and sleeping the moment his face hits the mattress. But instead he’s going from one rooftop to another, hoping to catch you by your window painting.
Months, it’s been months since he first caught a glimpse of you by your window, hair tousled from a nap, eyes narrowed in concentration, the bottom of your paint brush pressed against your cheek as you tried to choose between a blue or orange undertone. And Dick, or Nightwing as you know him as, perched on a rooftop just right in front of your building.
He was trying not to seem like a creep about it, but he couldn't just surprise you and ruin whatever flow state you were in, so he watched in the shadows until he decided to quit overthinking it.
You had been nice to him, thankfully, and he ended up staying a couple more minutes chatting you up and, accidentally, distracting you from your work. Eventually duty called and he had to leave, but not without promising he’d come by again.
On the night that he did, he saw you working on an almost finished painting of him. You said it wasn't anything special, described it as just another anatomy practice, but he’s never been illustrated in such an intricate way before. And the way your hands slowly brought his form to life, on the canvas, almost left him breathless.
It felt like a glimpse of him in your eyes. The closest he could ever get to actually seeing his own self, and not from a mirror’s reflection.
He’d told you that you were amazing. You took it like any other fleeting, and half-hearted, compliment. But he meant it, in that raw and vulnerable way, that only came when he was all alone in his apartment late in the night. When he’s stitching his own wounds and patching his bruises. When his mind was too loud for his quiet apartment.
That’s when Dick’s visit became more frequent. Sometimes he doesn't even see you. And it would just be him, on the other side of your window, staring at your finished artwork. And your muse? Him.
Now he lands, quietly, on your balcony. Your back is turned to him but he can see you working, dipping your brush on a particular shade of blue. You’d told him the name of it some night before, but he wasn't really good with remembering hues. You’re the expert here, so he likes leaving it up to you.
Dick knocks on the glass, your head turns in surprise and your eyes meet. He leans on the wall beside your window, arms crossed snd staying composed despite the blooming heat coming from his chest.
Your windows open, and he can see the smile on your face forming. Fuck, you’re adorable. “Hey” He says, attempting to be casual, although you probably won't notice how he’s almost breathless. And it’s definitely not because he’s been going from building to building.
“Hey, yourself. Been working on something new tonight.” You’re talking as you open your window wider, an invitation to let him in. Sometimes you feel like a teenager letting her secret fling sneak inside her home. Which totally isn't far off from your situation. You’ve definitely started sharing some anticipating moments with Dick the last few weeks.
“I can see that.” He lets himself in, ducking his head down to avoid bumping his head on the lock, which was getting so much easier each visit. Dick is already staring at your unfinished painting like a moth drawn to a flame.
“It's like you've got magic in those hands of yours.” He hears your snort behind him, followed by the sound of your footsteps, faint and soft.
“Well, it’s not finished yet. I’m only just starting out on the base colors.” Your hand touches his shoulder, briefly, as you stand beside him. Now that you've gotten a good look at your canvas, something feels off.
Dick turns to you when he notices you shift, watching your eyebrows knit together while you contemplate. Then you’re looking at him.
“Can you turn around? I just need to see something.” His back faces you without any question. And a thought occurs to him. You can tell Dick to do whatever you want and he’d do it in a heartbeat. You say you want him on his knees? He’s already on them. You want to paint him nude? Fuck, you don't have to tell him twice. He’s already thought about that plenty of times before.
But the presence of your hands on his back brings him back to reality.
“You don't mind if I touch you, right?” The question is practical. You’re just asking to get his anatomy right. But it falls differently in his ears, and suddenly all he can think about is your hands all over him. He swallows.
“Sure, getting a litle handsy now, are you?” You scoff, Dick grins. Even though his heart beat’s picking up when your thumb begins to trace a downward path his spine. Dick wonders if you know what you’re doing to him. And if you like the way his muscles feel beneath your palms, or if your mind wanders off whenever you paint him. Because his certainly does. And he doesn't even have to see you for his imaginations to work.
“It’s your waist..” Dick hears you think out loud, your hand settling on his lower back. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re lost in concentration as you map the entirety of his back. He can’t help but arch his back, however.
“Sorry, you okay?”
“No– I mean, fuck, yes I am.” He breathes out, relaxing his tense jaw. You’re really not making it easy for him to maintain his composure.
“I’m done.” You say, pulling your hands away. And Dick has never let out such a big sigh of relief. He follows you back to your canvas, standing behind you, as you make a quick fix of his body on the canvas. And his eyes drift down to your hands, and the way they expertly navigate around the canvas.
“I gotta say. I’m very honored to be your muse.” He leans down a little closer to your ear, which makes you pause. Dick doesn't miss it and stays at his position just to mesd with you.
“Well, I haven't been this motivated to make art before..” You trail off, facing him now, cutting off the distance between the both of you. With your proximity, Dick can’t help his gaze from flickering down to your lips. The undeniable tension surrounding the two of you burning even brighter.
“If anything I should be grateful.”
“Nah, you don't have to thank me, beautiful.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the pet name. And then he’s reaching out to wipe some dried paint off of your jaw, using his thumb. Suddenly, you can't look away from his lips either.
“If I kiss you right now, would you let me?” He asks, his thumb hovering just an inch away from your bottom lip. And your heart clenches as if its been waiting for him to ask that for long.
“Yeah, only if you let me paint how it feels afterwards." Whatever noise or groan that comes out of Dick gets muffled as your lips finally meet. You tilt your head to the side and the way he perfectly fits against you almost makes you drop your brush and palette.
“You don’t gotta ask. I’ll let you touch and memorize my entire body..” His hand moves to the back of your head, combing through your hair and making you gasp, as he continues to whisper in between your kisses.
“..If it means you won't paint anyone else other than me.” You let your paint brush clutter on the ground, rolling towards the wall below the very window you allow Dick to get in. His hands make their descent, holding the back of your thighs and lifting you up with ease.
“Promise me?” He breaks the kiss just to ask, his forehead pressed against yours. Dick knows he’s on the verge of revealing his identity to you, but he’s never been in a position in his life where his heart and mind were screaming the same thing. And it’s to trust you.
“I promise.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck like you’re already claiming him yours. And your lips meet again, this time it feels more meaningful.
★ And I just wanna call her, she makes me crazy - Lost my mind right when I saw her - And when I go to sleep, I know my thoughts are all about her - I don't know what I would do without if I lived life without her
