outside my dorm is a little water fountain and u can hear it if u open the window. imagine you and peter sitting in a small garden with a little water fountain because he brought u there to confess his feelings and it’s soft and stuttering and 💓💗💞💓💗
omfg ollie thats so fucking cute i cant
From the moment you met him at orientation, you knew that Peter Parker was not a spontaneous person whatsoever, and he didn’t want to be. Every library study session and coffeeshop meetup was scheduled days in advance, even little activities like movie nights and holiday break facetimes were planned and discussed well before they occurred. So, with that in mind, to get an unprompted text at half eleven on a Tuesday night asking you to meet him outside was definitely out of the ordinary.
With your feet clad in the fluffiest pair of slipper socks you owned, and swaddled up in the warmest hoodie you had— which happened to be one of his that you’d accidentally left his dorm room wearing about a month ago —you exited your dorm building to see Peter pacing by the small water fountain outside in only a t-shirt. The chilly Autumn breeze combed through his hair as he wrung his hands out in front of him.
“Peter? What’s up? Are you okay?” He froze in his spot and watched as you approached him with caution, “It’s cold as fuck out here. Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”
“(Y/N), I- I have to talk to you.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” you paused and placed a comforting hand on his bare arm, “Should we go up to my room?”
“No! No, it’s fine. I- I’m not cold.” He grabs your hand gently and pulls at you gently as he sits on the edge of the fountain. You do the same, trying not to flinch as the cool stone of the ledge hits your thighs.
“What’s up, Pete, you’re kind of worrying me.” He tried his best to look anywhere but at you, eyes flicking between the crisp golden leaves of the trees above and the sectioned off plots of flowers that surrounded you, guarded by little wooden borders. But no matter how hard he fought it, his gaze ended up landing on you. You, sitting cross-legged, facing him, wearing his hoodie that’s a bit too broad in the shoulders. You, fiddling with his fingers in your hands, tracing his slightly bruised knuckles and prominent veins absentmindedly as you looked at him with concern.
“I- I need to tell you something,” he starts hesitantly, his eyes still not meeting yours, “b-but you have to promise me that no matter what I say t-that... that you’ll still be my friend, okay? B-because I can’t... I can’t lose you.”
The second the words left his mouth your head began nodding intensely, “of course, Peter, of course.” You let your right hand settle in his grip, your fingers intertwining as you grazed your thumb up and down the side of his comfortingly.
“(Y/N),” his eyes suddenly shifted from their skittish movements to looking directly at you, “I... I love you.” His words didn’t end there; you could see his lips moving rapidly and his eyes were blown wide open, but his worried diffusing comments came to a halt the moment your lips met his.
The kiss wasn’t perfect: it was clumsy, short, and neither of you really moved your lips, but that was fine with him because it dismissed every fear that had been running around his head. It was spontaneous; but for the first time in his life, he was okay with that.
