Peter Parker Imagines

17. I Have a Girlfriend

A/N: A lot of you guys said you wanted one with drunk Peter so here you go aksdjaslkdj

Warnings: Language, Underage Drinking, Peter is just...rlly adorable

"Sorry babe, I have a girlfriend," Peter slurred against you, his entire body weight leaning for support on your smaller frame.

"Peter, you don't have a girlfriend," you rolled your eyes, helping him up the steps to your apartment.

You had never seen your best friend drunk before, much less in such an intoxicated state that he couldn't even go up the stairs on his own. Your parents were out of town for the weekend and you were afraid of Peter getting in major trouble with his Aunt, so you made up a cute story about how Peter fell asleep on the way home from the party and you decided to just stay at your place and have a sleepover. May loved you and ate the story up, much to your relief and slight guilt.

So here you were now, dragging up an incredibly delirious and quite heavy boy to your apartment, where he could pass out on your couch and wake up with a hangover and not worry about Aunt May finding out at all.

"Yeah I do," he protested, his words getting jumbled as you two reached the top, "She just doesn't know we're dating yet. I loooovveeee herrrrr!"

You cringed slightly when he shouted the last part, probably pissing off a few of your neighbors. Luckily you had reached the door and opened the lock quickly, shoving his sorry butt inside.

"Don't be ridiculous," you shook your head, not able to help the small flash of pain in your chest at the idea of Peter with someone else. You were pretty sure he was just drunk-talking and had no idea what was going through his lips, but the slight idea that he might be telling the truth...well, you'd be heartbroken.

"Shhhhh," he grinned, putting a finger to your lips. "Don't tell her."

You swatted his hand away, pulling him to the couch, "Sure, Pete. Let's just get you to bed."

"I'm Spider-Man, I can take care of myself," he said in an annoyed tone, but plopping down on your couch anyway. You left him there to grab a pillow and blanket for him.

"Haha, very funny joke, Pete," you laughed, now knowingly he had no idea what he was saying. Your best friend was so not Spider-Man.

"Are you drunk?" He asked, giving you a disapproving look. "I'm not joking, Y/N/N."

"Peter, you're the one that's drunk," you stated, "I'm the designated driver, remember?"

"I don't drink," he slurred again, leaning back on the couch and shutting his eyes. "You're...cray cray."

You snorted, "I should be recording this, then you'll never drink again."

"I don't drinnnkkk," he whined again as you put the pillow behind his head, lifting him up slightly to help him adjust. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You will tomorrow when you wake up with a killer headache," you grinned, helping him take his shoes off, surprised he wasn't protesting. You tossed his shoes in a corner of the room and got the blanket, tossing it over him.