Request: peter finding it so calming after battles and stuff to watch his SO draw and like they just chill in his room in the summer with his window open and the breeze coming in and he's resting his head on your stomach/chest while u sketch, occasionally running a hand through his hair, and no one talks for hours but it's nice.

It was a long and grueling battle with the villain that was terrorizing Queens over the past few months but finally, Peter managed to take them down. It's a relief, truly. Peter did like the adrenaline of taking down bigger villains but they're the dangerous ones so he was more than happy to go back to helping old people find their way and helping kids find their lost dogs. Peter was ready to relax and let himself just breathe for a few minutes.

Peter climbed through his window and jumped to the floor with a soft groan. With a wince, he took his mask off. His face throbbed with his head and his bones ached with every step he took towards his mirror. Peter grimaced when he got a look at the bruising and cuts on his face. There were three cuts, all still bleeding. One on his cheek, one of his forehead, and one going diagonally across his nose. His left eye was nearly swollen shut with shades of black and purple and blue coloring it.

Peter runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his phone, his fingers skimming over this contacts until he finds your name. The phone rings while he limps out of his suit.

"Hey, Pete." You chime.

"Hey." His voice is soft and you know.

"Need me to come over?" The rawness of his voice told you all you needed to know.

"Please." The word barely falls from his mouth before you hear a thud followed by a soft 'ow'.

"Am I staying the night?" You question, getting up from your bed and already heading for your backpack. It's one you keep stored in your closet, change of clothes and anything you might need on the go for instances like these.

"Can you?"

"May okay with it?"

There's static on the line from Peter tossing a shirt over his head before you hear him scoff. "Yeah, yeah, she said you can stay whenever."

"Be there soon." You smiled and hung up.

Your parents really didn't mind you staying at Peter's as long as it wasn't a school night. They trusted you were in good hands and you always were. And May never cared as long as you Peter abided by her rules, which you always did. Doors open and one of you takes the couch while the other sleeps in Peter's room. Sometimes though, if it's a bad night for Peter, she lets you both crash on the couch but that's mostly because you both just pass out not five minutes after sitting down.

You got to Peter's within fifteen minutes and May answered the door to allow you inside, directing you to Peter's room but only after handing you an ice pack to bring him. You knocked softly on the door and opened it quietly, Peter lying back on his bed with a pair of earbuds in. You walked over to him and scrunch your face with sympathetic pain at the sight of his injuries. His eyes opened slowly as he sensed you were near.

"Are you okay?" You ask as he plucks his earbuds from his ears.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's fine." Peter sits up and nods, making more room for you.

"You don't look fine." You squint your eyes but allow a smirk to dance onto your face.

"I-I am." Peter reassures as his brown eyes soften, well, the one you can actually see anyway.

"I've got some sketching I was in the middle of." You state and hand him the ice pack.

"Yeah?" Peter asks, placing the ice pack to his eye, minding the stitched cuts.

"Mhm." You nod and give him a soft smile. You pull out your sketchbook from your bag as well as your pencil case.

"Can I watch?" Peter's voice is soft and almost hesitant.

"Of course."

You move to sit against Peter's wall, bending your knees to hold your sketchbook up. Peter lays his head on your chest once you're done getting situated, your arm falls over his shoulders. A comforting sigh falls from Peter's lips as his body relaxes into yours. You kiss the top of his head before you flip the page to the most recent piece that's not quite done. You place your pencil against the page and get to work, allowing the graphite to stain your hands and getting lost with the soft breaths of Peter.

The two of you stay like that for hours. Every time he has a bad night or a bad day, he finds comfort in watching you draw. It doesn't matter what you're drawing as long as he lays like this, with you in the comfort of his room with the breeze of the summer coming through his window. The first time it happened, he was beat up pretty up and was way too upset so you allowed him to lay on your chest while you finished up your assignment for your drawing class. When you finished, a few hours later, Peter told you how nice it was. Now it's just a routine.

As you were nearly done, you ran a hand through Peter's hair and he nuzzled his face against your chest, groaning. You giggled, the rumble of your chest sending electricity and butterflies through Peter. But, neither of you said a word, you kept drawing and Peter kept his eyes on your sketch, his eyes growing tired with every passing second.

By the time you finished, Peter was softly snoring on your chest. You closed your sketchbook with a satisfied sigh before carefully moving Peter off of you. He groaned but never fully woke up. You could swear that despite his heightened senses, the boy could sleep through anything. Your lips tug into a smile at the sight of the beat up boy. He was still effortlessly beautiful and peaceful when he slept. You pull up one of the blankets from the end of Peter's bed and cover him, making sure he doesn't get cold. You press a soft kiss to his cheek before leaving him to sleep.