A/N: Sleeeeeppppovvvveeeerrrr! YAY! Send requests and personal stuff! Let’s chill, fam (she said trying to sound cool but failing because grandmas can never keep up with the new slang)
(not my gifs)
You held the door open with your foot, attempting to balance a tray in your right hand. Peter had been confined to his bed with strict orders not to run that came directly from Charles himself. Obviously it has been a hard time for him, as running is literally his life, but you were doing your best to try and keep him from dying of boredom. To be honest, you should get some kind of ‘best significant other of the year’ award for how much you’ve done for him since Apocalypse’s attack.
The making and delivering of this soup you were trying so hard not to spill was a trivial chore compared to keeping his room clean, changing his clothes, and even giving him sponge baths (which he enjoyed a little too much). Your friends were astonished at how much you did for him, curious about what motives you had for caring for him so diligently. It’s simply that you love Peter. Besides, he would do all this for you if you were in his position.
The ruffling of covers caught your attention, causing you to push the door open further and make your way inside. The sight before you did not please you.
“Stop right there, Mister!” you shouted, your free hand shooting up to point accusingly at Peter who was attempting to wiggle his way out of his fluffy prison.
He froze, continuing to stare ahead, seeming to think that if he didn’t move, you wouldn’t see him.
“Your power is super speed, not invisibility, dumbass,” you remarked sassily.
Audibly sighing, he shimmied back into a laying position, his upper body propped up thanks to the multitude of pillows you stuffed behind him earlier that day.
A slight smirk rested on your face as you shook your head.
“Peter, what exactly were you planning to accomplish? You can’t even walk on your own.”
He rolled his eyes, but blushed, clearly not having thought of the ‘standing up’ part his action.
“Uh, right. Psh, I knew that, I was just- uh, just… testing you! Yeah! And you passed!” he lied.
You let out a short laugh and responded,
“Suuuuree, babe, whatever you say. Scoot over a bit, prison-breaker.”
After he complied, you sat next to his hip, setting the tray on the bedside table.
“How are you feeling?” you inquired, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers with his.
“I feel like complete shit. I can’t go anywhere.” he groaned in response.
You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Well, I made you some soup! Maybe that’ll help you feel better,” you stated proudly after a few seconds of silence went by.
He smiled widely and leaned up to kiss your cheek.
“No! Don’t do that!” you implored, lightly pushing his shoulders down to rest against the pillows once again.
His brows furrowed in confusion.
“You don’t want my kisses?” he pouted, jutting out his bottom lip and looking down at his hands.
“Yes, I do,” you began, kissing his cheek before continuing, “but I don’t want you putting too much strain on your body; so no leaning up, stretching, or anything of the sort.”
“You know, you being in charge is pretty hot,” he said cheekily, moving his hand to lay on your thigh.
You giggled and then turned your attention back to the dinner that you had made him which you assumed was quickly loosing its heat.
“You should eat this before it gets cold,” you said, picking up the bowl and spoon before holding it out to your boyfriend.
When he didn’t respond and simply stared at the bowl, you grew concerned.
“What? Do you not like this kind? Are you feeling sick? Should I check your temperature? Maybe I should get the doc-”
“Feed me,” he simply stated, interrupting your worried rambling.
You were stunned. Of all the things Peter might have said, you weren’t expecting that. Your eyes narrows and your forehead crinkled as you retorted,
“You’re a grown man; no!”
Upon hearing your negative response, Peter began to pout once more, his hand retracting from its place on your leg to crossing with his other one in defiance. Not only was he no longer touching you, but he turned his head in the other direction, purposefully making an effort to avoid eye contact. You couldn’t believe this, he looked like a two year old!
“Really, Peter? Are you serious?” you questioned.
No response. You sighed,
“Fineeeee, I’ll feed you. But only because I need to get some food in you.”
His emotions quickly changed to those of happiness, a teeth-baring smile paired with the most adorable dimples on the planet were put on display for the whole world to behold. Turning his head back to face you, he opened his mouth in preparation.
“Would you like it to be like an airplane too?” you joked only to let out a huff seconds later when he aggressively nodded a positive to what was supposed to be a sarcastic question.
You did as he requested, moving the spoon around in the air a few times before ‘landing’ the soup-airplane in his awaiting mouth. As you shifted your attention to collecting more soup onto the spoon, Peter whined,
“What about the airplane noses?”
That did it.
“Peter, baby, sweetie, hunny, deary, I will literally shove this spoon so far up your ass that you’ll be tasting metal for a month if you don’t shut up and just eat your damn soup.”
“Have I told you how hot you are when you’re being commanding yet?” Peter asked, returning to his old flirty self.
You let out a short laugh.
“Yeah, babe, you have. Eat your soup now?”
“With pleasure, my lovely,” he replied, taking the spoon from your grasp and proceeding to feed himself like an adult.
Toad's Cave 