#mcu!Peter Parker x stark!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunshine-lux · 24 days ago

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Clueless (vi.)

summary: teenagers tend to do stupid things when they're scared and in love but y/n and peter really take the cake! between arguments, football games, and parties- peter and y/n try to keep it together for their friends' sake. they're not doing a very good job at it, though.

pairings: Stark!reader x MCU!peter parker, Stark!reader x harry osborn, MCU!peter parker x gwen stacy

warnings: light swearing (i'm getting more comfy with it), one or two innuendos, underage drinking, peter being stupid, some mentions of death but it's not serious at all! f!reader. i think that's it!

word count: 12.3k!!!! double digits!!

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Y/N dropped into her seat beside Peter without saying a word. She didn’t look at him, didn’t even pretend to. Her notebook hit the desk harder than necessary, but she kept her expression neutral, jaw set tight as she stared down at the notes from yesterday’s class.

Peter sat there stiffly, pencil tapping nervously against his desk. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the fight. About what he said. About the way she slammed the car door and didn’t look back. And now she was here—so close, and yet he couldn’t feel further from her.

“Morning,” he mumbled, barely audible.

Y/N didn’t respond.

He glanced sideways at her, only to find her pretending he didn’t exist. Her expression was calm, but her foot bounced under the desk—a habit Peter knew meant she was annoyed. Or anxious. Probably both.

“Look,” he said under his breath, leaning a little toward her. “Are we gonna pretend that didn’t happen?”

Still nothing. Her eyes stayed locked on the board.

Peter sighed. “Y/N.”

She finally turned her head, eyes cold. “What do you want, Peter?”

“I just—I didn’t mean all that stuff, okay? I was pissed.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have said that stuff about Harry. Or you.”

There was a beat. And then Y/N said, “But you did say it. So…”

He winced. “I was being stupid. I know that.”

“You think I’m just throwing myself at the first guy who gives me attention,” she said, still not looking at him. “That wasn’t you being stupid. That was you being honest.”

Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again.

She gave a tight, sarcastic smile. “Thanks for that, by the way. Super empowering.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You never do,” she cut in, finally turning to look at him fully now. Her voice was low, but sharp. “But you say things like that anyway. Like I’m supposed to be okay with it.”

Peter stared at her, thrown.

“You think I’m being dramatic?” she added, eyes narrowing slightly. “I know that look.”

“No, I—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you want from me, okay? I’m trying here.”

“Then maybe try actually trusting me,” she said. “I thought you did.”

“I do,” Peter said. “It’s not about that.”

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it feels exactly like that.”

The bell rang before he could respond.

Y/N stood, grabbing her bag. “Don’t worry. I won’t be bringing any more ‘weird older guys’ around your presence.”

“Y/N—”

But she was already walking out the door.

Peter stayed frozen at his desk, watching her leave, stomach twisted with guilt and something he didn’t want to name.

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MJ was walking down the hall when suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her sideways into an empty classroom.

“WOAH—”

“Shh!” Peter slammed the door behind them.

MJ blinked at him. “Nah, don’t ever do that again.”

Peter looked wildly stressed. Hair disheveled, hoodie strings uneven, backpack half-zipped. Definitely unraveling.

MJ crossed her arms. “This better be good.”

Peter ran a hand down his face. “Did Y/N and Harry walk into the café together?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Last night,” he clarified. “When she showed up after the fight. Did they meet there or did they come together?”

“...Why?”

Peter ignored the question. “Did they walk in together or not?”

MJ tilted her head. “You really wanna know?”

“Yes.”

“I might have told Harry where to find her.”

“MJ.”

She smiled innocently. “What?”

Peter’s eyes bulged. “Why would you do that?!”

“She was upset. He asked. He showed up. I was at work!”

“You let them sit together—”

“I served them coffee. I was on the clock.”

“Okay, but that was basically their first date—”

“Oh my god.” MJ dragged a hand down her face. “Peter. Why do you even care?”

“I don’t,” he said, too fast. “I just—he’s weird. And sketchy. And a total womanizer—”

MJ blinked. “Okay. And?”

“I’m the only one being logical here! I worry about her.”

“Right. Because your concern has nothing to do with the fact that she let him hold her hand, laughed at his jokes, and maybe, just maybe, likes him.”

Peter’s jaw clenched.

MJ stepped closer. “You’re jealous. Just admit it.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Peter looked away, like the floor suddenly got very interesting.

And MJ wasn’t done. Not even close.

“You’ve been doing this cat and mouse thing with Y/N for over a year, Peter. You flirt. You linger. You hover. And just when everyone thinks you’re about to grow a pair and actually say something—you backpedal. Hard.”

She didn’t even blink.

“You did it last year with Liz. Everyone thought you were gonna ask Y/N to Homecoming. Hell, I know you wanted to. And then boom—suddenly you're escorting Midtown’s It Girl to the dance like Y/N didn’t exist.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but MJ cut him off.

“And now you're doing it again with Gwen. Gluing yourself to her, acting like nothing’s wrong, dragging her along too. You don’t get to be confused and territorial and then expect everyone to wait around while you figure it out. Both of those girls are super sweet. And they don’t deserve this.”

Peter just stood there, guilt crashing over him like a wave.

MJ shook her head. “You don’t get to act like this if you’re still pretending you’re into Gwen. Either make a move or move on, Peter. But this weird emotional limbo thing you’re doing? It’s exhausting.”

She opened the door.

“Oh,” she added over her shoulder, “And if you ever drag me into a room again, I will end your life.”

Then she was gone.

Peter just stood there, heart racing, throat tight, and chest aching—because MJ was right. And that was the worst part.

As he was leaving the empty classroom, he spotted her by the lockers, shoving her books into her bag with more aggression than necessary.

He hesitated. He could still feel MJ’s words echoing in his skull, pounding like a migraine. But he couldn’t let it go like this. Not again.

“Hey,” he said, stepping beside her.

Y/N glanced at him, eyes still tired. “Hey.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Are we… okay?”

She zipped up her bag and shrugged. “I mean… I guess.”

Peter winced. “I’m sorry about what I said. About Harry. That whole thing. I didn’t mean to come off like that.”

Y/N looked at him carefully. “It wasn’t just about Harry. It was the way you said it. And the things you said to me. Like you don’t trust me and I’m just some dumb girl.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “And I’m so sorry. I really am. I was just—I don’t know. I was mad. And dumb. And jealous—” He cut himself off, chest tightening. “Forget that last one.”

She gave him a small look, unreadable.

Peter cleared his throat. “Can I… make it up to you?”

A beat. Then, Y/N cocked her head slightly. “You wanna walk me home?”

His face lit up, too fast. “Yes. Absolutely. I’d love to.”

Y/N almost smiled. Almost. She threw her backpack over her shoulder and nodded for him to follow. And just like that, they were walking side by side down the hall again—close, familiar, dangerously close to normal.

Peter’s heart climbed into his throat.

He had to say it.

Tell her, now. Tell her about Gwen.

“Hey, um…” he started, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. “About the game tomorrow—”

Y/N turned to look at him, eyes softening just a little.

And he faltered.

She just invited you to walk her home. She’s letting you back in. If you tell her now, she’ll be pissed again. She’ll think you lied. What if she doesn’t even care? What if it’s not a big deal? Just act like it’s still a group thing. Just play nice with Harry. Don’t ruin this.

Peter forced a smile. “You excited?”

Y/N gave a little nod. “Yeah. Kinda. Big game and all.”

Peter nudged her shoulder. “You’re gonna look cooler than half the team just sitting in the stands.”

Y/N finally smiled. “Well… duh.”

They kept walking, and for a second, it was just like old times.

But Peter felt it in his chest—that knot of guilt curling up tighter and tighter.

Because things felt good. Too good.

And he was still lying.

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The lunch table was quieter than usual.

Ned and Peter were missing—dragged off to the library for “studying,” apparently. Y/N had a hunch it was just Peter trying to avoid this exact dynamic: her, Gwen, and MJ sitting side by side.

Y/N picked at her salad while MJ scrolled through her phone. Gwen sipped her lemonade, then set her cup down and said it casually—too casually.

“So…” Gwen looked between the girls, all wide eyed innocence. “Guess who called me last night and asked me out on a date?”

Y/N looked up, half smiling, pretending she didn’t already know. “Who?”

“Peter,” Gwen said, trying not to seem too smug. “Kinda unexpected, right?”

MJ made a little noise, raising her eyebrows. “Huh.”

Gwen turned to Y/N. “I know you’ve said you two are just friends, but… I mean, you’re super close. Even at the gala, it felt like he would've rather been there with you. I don’t wanna step on your toes or anything.”

Y/N’s brain was reeling. He really didn’t tell me. After everything—after their fight, the apology, the offer to walk her home—he still didn’t tell her.

She blinked. “No, it’s… it’s fine. We’re just close. That’s all.”

Gwen gave her a soft smile. “Okay. Just wanted to be sure. You’re kind of intimidating, you know.”

Y/N forced a laugh. “Oh god. Noted.”

He asked her. He gave her the opening—asked how she felt. He never asked you. Never even hinted. And you thought…

The ache in her chest throbbed deeper. Panic, jealousy, humiliation. Something sharp, something bitter.

“Well,” Y/N said, brightening her tone like flipping a switch, “I’m bringing Harry to the game. As a date.”

MJ’s eyes snapped up.

Gwen looked surprised. “Oh my gosh, really?”

Y/N nodded, sipping her water a little too fast. “Mhm. Why not?”

In her head: Why did I say that?

Now she had to stick to it. Had to lean in. Had to play this ridiculous game Peter started.

Gwen smiled again. “That’s… kind of iconic, honestly. I think you guys are cute together.”

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, glancing down at her tray.

Across the table, she watched Gwen. Blonde hair, soft makeup, pale pink nails. She wore a flowy skirt and a sweater with little daisies on it. Her voice was calm, gentle. Everything about her said safe.

She’s everything you’re not.

Y/N wore her usual baggy jeans and boots. There was still a faint bruise on her knuckle from training with Vision last week. She’d laughed too loud in Physics. She never knew when to shut up. Gwen was soft edges; Y/N was sparks and static.

And maybe that’s why Peter chose her.

Maybe he always would.

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Peter hadn’t said much since dragging Ned in here under the pretense of “studying.”

Now they were tucked in the corner, hidden behind a stack of Bio textbooks, and Peter was chewing on the cap of his pen.

Ned finally put his book down. “Okay. Spill. What’s with the tension?”

Peter blinked at him. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. Ever sinceI told you I saw Y/N with Harry at MJ’s job you’ve been so weird. I woke up to like ten cryptic texts from you. What’s going on?”

Peter ran a hand down his face. “It’s nothing.”

“Peter.”

“…I asked Gwen out.”

Silence.

“You what?” Ned whisper-yelled. “As in, to the game? Like—a date-date?”

Peter nodded, miserable.

Ned’s jaw dropped. “For someone so smart, you can be a real idiot sometimes.”

Peter looked away. “I know.”

“No, seriously. Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Peter muttered. “Okay, I do know. It was stupid. It’s a mistake.”

Ned just stared at him, waiting.

Peter sighed. “Because it’s easier. Because I panicked. Gwen’s… Gwen’s nice. She’s cool. She’s safe.”

“Safe?” Ned echoed.

Peter nodded, quiet now. “She doesn’t make my brain stop working and my heart beat out of my chest. She’s not… her.”

Ned softened a little. “You mean Y/N.”

Peter didn’t say anything.

“She’s Y/N Stark, dude. You’ve been in love with her since summer of freshman year.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Peter said suddenly. “She’s Y/N Stark. Everyone wants her. She’s brilliant and beautiful and terrifying. She’s electric. She’s—she’s the kind of person a genie would grant you as a wish and then laugh when it turns out too good to be true.”

Ned tilted his head. “So you asked someone else out because you think she’s too good for you?”

“I think… if I let myself love her the way I want to, it wouldn’t be fair to her.”

Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “I know what happens to the people I love, Ned. And now I’m Spider-Man. The stakes are higher. There’s always going to be someone coming for me, and if Y/N’s with me… she’s a target.”

He looked down, eyes wet. “Even if she’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. Even if she could probably fry a supervillain with her pinky. It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t handle it. If anything ever happened to her, I—”

He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Ned sat back, stunned. “Pete…”

“I’d rather be with someone who won’t stick around long enough to get hurt,” Peter said quietly. “And she’s got Harry now anyway. He’s rich, powerful, he can protect her. He’s probably what she deserves.”

Ned looked at him like he wanted to hit him. “You absolute moron.”

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The bell rang, and students poured out of the classroom, flooding the hallway with noise and chatter. Peter waited just outside the door, rocking on the balls of his feet. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, and his expression was calm—hopeful, even.

He spotted her instantly, weaving through the crowd. Her face was unreadable.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside her.

Y/N didn’t respond.

Peter blinked, confused, but tried again. “You good?”

A beat. Then another.

“Sure,” she said flatly, eyes straight ahead.

He frowned. “Are you mad at me again?”

“I don’t know, Peter. Should I be?”

Peter’s brows knit together. “I—I thought we were good. I said sorry, remember? You asked me to walk you home.”

They were already nearing the main doors of the school. Peter glanced over at her again, trying to read her expression. She wouldn’t look at him.

He cleared his throat. “Y/N/N… am I still walking you home or—what’s going on?”

She stopped walking.

He paused a few steps ahead, turning back to face her. “Y/N/N?”

“Nope,” she said brightly, too brightly. “I’m going out with Harry.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“I said I’m going out with Harry,” she repeated, like it was obvious. She shrugged. “Change of plans.”

“Y/N, what?! You asked me to walk you. And now you’re just… canceling at the last second?”

By now, they were fully outside. The autumn air hit Peter like a slap, sharp and cold but nothing compared to what came next.

Y/N turned to him, finally meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Because despite what you think of him, he hasn’t lied to me.”

Peter blinked. “What are you—?”

“Unlike you.” Her voice cracked a little. “God, you were just gonna pretend like nothing happened. You were gonna walk me home, sit in my room, lie to my face. And for what, Peter?”

Peter’s mouth opened, closed. “Y/N, what are you talking about—?”

“Have fun with your girlfriend, Gwen. Or whatever she is to you now.” she snapped, turning on her heel just as a sleek black car pulled up to the curb.

Harry Osborn stepped out of the driver’s seat, leaned against the door like he was posing for a magazine cover, and grinned when he saw her.

Peter watched helplessly as Y/N’s entire face lit up. Her anger melted for a moment, replaced by something warm and easy. She jogged down the steps toward Harry, who opened the car door for her with a smirk.

Before getting in, Harry glanced up—locked eyes with Peter—and gave him a lazy wave and an unmistakable wink.

Peter just stood there, rooted to the spot, mouth dry, heart pounding.

What the fuck.

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Y/N flopped backward on the couch in the Tower’s living room, letting out a dramatic sigh as she stared at the ceiling. Her boots were still on. Pepper would yell if she saw her.

Harry, lounging beside her with a controller in hand, clicked the game to pause and tilted his head.

“So,” he said casually, “what happened with your boyfriend this time?”

Y/N groaned. “Do not call him that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry smirked, nudging her boot with his foot. “Your not-boyfriend-who-gets-way-too-upset-when-you-hang-out-with-me.”

She shot him a look. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Too late.” He stretched dramatically. “Did you two fight again? Or is he just doing that brooding in the shadows, ‘nobody understands the burden of being a nerd’ thing again?”

She exhaled through her nose. Then she sat up.

“He lied to me,” she said.

That made Harry pause.

“He lied, like it was nothing. We talked. We were starting to feel like us again, and then I find out from Gwen that he asked her to the game as a date.” She let out a hollow laugh. “I mean, I don’t care. I do, but I shouldn’t. But I’m so tired of playing this weird game with him.”

Harry didn't immediately respond. He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, watching her carefully.

“Sounds like he’s a dumbass.”

Y/N snorted.

“Seriously,” Harry said. “You? Y/N Stark? New York’s It girl? Genius-level intellect? Literal walking thunderstorm of hotness and rage? He should be writing you sonnets, not keeping secrets like he’s in some bad teen drama.”

She didn’t smile — not quite — but her lips twitched.

He leaned back, one arm lazily thrown across the back of the couch, fingers brushing the edge of her hair. “You want to hit something? We can go to the gym. Or I can teach you poker. I always cheat, though.”

“I’d shock you.”

“I’d consider it foreplay.”

She laughed for real then, and he grinned, satisfied.

They sat like that for a beat, her head tilted back, his gaze still on her.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” she said suddenly, eyes still on the ceiling.

“I didn’t ask,” Harry said simply. “But thanks for letting me know.”

She looked at him then, surprised by how soft his expression was — no cocky grin, no teasing smirk. Just... calm.

“I like the attention,” he added, shrugging. “And I like you. But I know I’m a distraction.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Harry leaned in, just slightly. “You don’t have to kiss me to prove anything, Stark. I’m already wrapped around your finger. Besides,” he smirked again, “you’d just be thinking about him anyway.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but couldn’t form a reply.

“C’mon,” he said, springing up and grabbing the controllers. “First to ten wins. Loser owes the other one a secret.”

“And if I don’t lose?”

“Then I’ll still tell you one. I’m just that generous.”

She rolled her eyes but scooted closer.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even flirty.

It was a distraction. A really good one.

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The two teenagers walked side by side down the hallway toward the elevator. It was late, the lights dimmed, casting a warm glow on the floor as Y/N trailed her fingers along the wall. Harry had his hands in his pockets, still looking perfectly unbothered as usual.

“Thanks for hanging out with me today,” Y/N said, glancing up at him. “Even if you totally destroyed me in Mario Kart.”

Harry grinned. “I wouldn’t call it destruction. More like... elegant domination.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You picked Rainbow Road every time.”

“I play to win, Stark. You should know that by now.”

She smiled—finally, a real one. And then she hesitated, chewing her lip. “Okay, so... there’s one tiny thing I forgot to mention.”

Harry tilted his head. “Do tell.”

“I might’ve... sort of told my friends that you’re coming to the game with me tomorrow. As my date.”

She braced herself for whatever smug thing was about to come out of his mouth.

But Harry just burst out laughing, head thrown back like he couldn’t believe her. “Y/N Stark,” he said through a grin, “I didn’t think you had it in you to fight fire with fire like that. I see I’m rubbing off on you.”

Y/N flushed. “It’s not like that! I just—things got messy and I panicked and—”

“Relax,” he said, still smirking. “I’d be honored to be your date.”

“Fake date,” she corrected quickly, pointing a finger at him.

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fake. Real. Same difference when you’re with me.”

The elevator chimed open. Harry stepped in, then turned to face her. His eyes flicked over her face for a moment, softer now.

He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her forehead—quick, but deliberate.

“See you tomorrow, sweet cheeks,” he murmured, the smirk tugging back at his lips.

And then the doors closed.

Y/N just stood there for a second, blinking at the elevator.

She exhaled. “Oh god,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead like she could erase the memory.

This was fine. Totally fine.

Nothing she couldn’t handle.

Right?

Y/N was still standing in front of the elevator, forehead tingling, smile tugging at her lips like it wasn’t sure if it should be there or not.

And then—

“What the hell was that?”

She jumped about a foot off the floor and spun around to see Tony standing there, coffee mug in hand, jaw on the ground.

“What?” she blinked, playing innocent.

Tony pointed dramatically at the now-closed elevator doors. “Did he just kiss your forehead? Did he just call you sweet cheeks?” He clutched his chest like he was moments from a heart attack. “What are you, a Bond girl now? Is this my life?”

Y/N groaned. “Oh my god, Dad, stop being so dramatic.”

“We’re just friends,” she added.

Tony’s eyes nearly bugged out. “You call that friendship?”

He threw his arms up and started pacing. “God, I don’t even wanna know what you do with Parker then. Jesus. My blood pressure.”

Y/N blinked. “Nothing. Oh my god.”

Tony stopped, planted his hands on his hips. “Y/N, I don’t know how I feel about this Harry Osborn situation. I know him. I was him.”

He pointed at himself with exaggerated horror. “This is what karma looks like. This is it. The universe is laughing in my face.”

“Okay, dramatic and delusional,” Y/N muttered, brushing past him.

Tony followed, still spiraling. “Sweet cheeks. He called you sweet cheeks. This is my villain origin story.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin on her face. “You’re not normal.”

“And you are grounded.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Fair.”

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Peter sat on the fire escape outside his window, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he was thirteen again and hadn’t just asked Gwen Stacy to a football game in a moment of emotional panic.

The Queens air was chilly, sharp in that way that reminded him fall was on its way. His phone sat beside him, buzzing every now and then — group chat notifications. Mostly MJ roasting Ned for eating an entire rotisserie chicken after 9pm again.

None from Y/N.

He hadn’t heard from her since earlier. Since she told him she wasn’t walking home with him anymore. Since she left with Harry.

The metal creaked softly behind him.

“Figured I’d find you out here.”

Peter didn’t turn, but he smiled a little as May climbed through the window and sat beside him, holding two mugs. She handed one to him. It was hot chocolate.

“Thanks,” he said, quietly.

May just nodded, looking out at the skyline. “Want me to guess, or are you gonna tell me?”

Peter sighed. “It’s… dumb.”

“Of course it is. You’re sixteen. Everything feels like the end of the world when you’re sixteen.”

He laughed, weakly. “I think I messed up.”

“Oh?”

“I lied to someone. Someone I care about. And now she’s mad. And she left. With someone else. Someone cooler. And richer. And taller. And probably fluent in French or something stupid like that.”

May raised an eyebrow. “So… girl problems.”

Peter looked at her. “It’s more than that.”

“Of course it is,” she said, sipping her hot chocolate.

He was quiet for a second, then said, “I asked Gwen to the game. As a date.”

May blinked. “Okay… is that not what you wanted?”

“No. I mean — yes. I mean…” He groaned and put his head in his hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be a thing. I just panicked.”

May gave him a moment.

“I like someone else,” Peter admitted. “And I’ve liked her for a long time. And she… she was finally opening up to me again. And I lied to her. I didn’t tell her I asked someone else out. I was gonna walk her home and pretend like everything was fine and—”

“And she found out.”

“Yeah.”

May didn’t say anything. Just looked at him gently over the rim of her mug.

“You already knew it was Y/N, didn’t you?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

May smiled, a little sad, a little proud. “Honey, I’ve always known it was Y/N.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“You get this look when you talk about her. You light up. Even when you’re trying not to. You talk about her like she invented air.”

Peter turned away, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“She’s been here for Thai food nights. She’s slept in our couch. She helped me set up the Christmas lights last year, remember? You don’t just let anyone into your world like that.” May bumped his shoulder. “I don’t think you even realized it until recently.”

“I don’t deserve her,” Peter said, voice cracking. “She’s Y/N Stark. She’s smart and fearless and kind. Everyone loves her. And I’m just—”

“You’re Peter Parker,” May said, firm and soft all at once. “That’s more than enough.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared out at the city.

“I like Gwen,” he said eventually. “She’s nice. Easy to be around.”

“But she’s not Y/N.”

Peter’s throat tightened.

“I got scared,” he admitted. “Of it being real. Of finally getting everything I’ve ever wanted and… losing it.”

May was quiet, letting him speak.

“Everyone I’ve ever loved is gone. My parents. Uncle Ben. And now I’m Spider-Man. If anything ever happened to her because of me—”

“She’s not just anyone,” May said. “You know that.”

“I do. She’s Tony Stark’s daughter. Natasha and Steve trained her. She can handle herself. But I— I don’t want her to ever have to. Not because of me.”

“You’re not protecting her by pushing her away,” May said softly. “You’re just hurting both of you.”

Peter’s voice dropped. “I think I already did.”

May placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

“You know what I think?” she asked.

Peter didn’t respond, but she continued anyway.

“I think you’re scared because you love her. And it feels big. And messy. And unfair. But that’s the good stuff, Pete. The scary, overwhelming stuff — that’s what makes it real.”

He looked down at his hot chocolate, steam still curling into the air.

“So what now?” May asked.

He was quiet, then smirked faintly. “I guess I have to play the game.”

“The football game?” she asked.

“No. The dumb teenage jealousy game.”

May snorted. “Well, at least you’re aware.”

Peter smiled a little, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

May reached out and ruffled his curls. “You’re gonna figure it out. Just maybe… don’t wait too long.”

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Peter dragged his feet down the crowded hallway, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder and dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept properly all week — because, well, he hadn’t.

“Dude,” Ned said beside him, trying to sound neutral but already bracing himself for emotional whiplash, “you gotta pull it together.”

Peter shot him a look. “She skipped first period, Ned. First. Period. She never skips. And she hasn’t texted me back since yesterday.”

“She’s mad.”

“I know she’s mad,” Peter hissed. “She’s never been this mad. I think she might actually kill me.”

Ned nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I’m a little scared of her, too.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, clearly spiraling. “Do you think—like, what if I pushed her too far this time?”

“I’ve never seen her like this,” Ned admitted. “Or you. Your guilt is literally eating you alive.”

“I deserve it,” Peter muttered.

Meanwhile, down the other end of the hall, MJ and Y/N were weaving through the crowd with far more confidence—though Y/N’s sunglasses were still on indoors, which MJ clocked as a clear sign of emotional war prep.

“I kinda feel bad,” Y/N muttered, tugging her sleeves over her hands. “I’ve never given him the silent treatment like this. It’s petty. I’m being petty.”

MJ scoffed. “No. You’re reacting.”

“I shouldn’t even let him get to me like this.”

“Too late,” MJ said. “Also? Ned and I are officially children of divorce. Parker’s an idiot. Did I tell you he dragged me into an empty classroom yesterday to interrogate me about your little ‘date’ with Harry?”

Y/N’s head whipped toward her. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Tell him that,” MJ said flatly.

Y/N groaned. “Ugh.”

And then, of course, fate had to be cruel: they turned a corner and came face to face with Peter and Ned in the middle of the hallway.

Peter straightened like he’d been electrocuted. “Oh—hey! Y/N! Hi.”

He was way too chirpy. His voice cracked slightly.

Y/N blinked behind her sunglasses. She could practically feel MJ smirking beside her.

“Hey,” she said, calm and collected. “Didn’t see you this morning.”

Peter tilted his head. “Yeah, weird. You, uh… missed AP Bio.”

“Did I?” Y/N blinked. “Huh. Must’ve overslept.”

Ned glanced at Peter like she’s gaslighting you and you’re letting her.

Peter tried to smile. “Right. Totally. Sleep’s important.”

“Mhmm,” Y/N said, lips twitching like she wanted to smile but wouldn’t let herself.

A beat of silence. The hallway around them buzzed and passed, but it felt like they were in their own little standoff bubble.

“So,” Peter said, scratching the back of his neck. “You ready for the game tonight?”

“Sure,” Y/N replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I mean… I won’t be alone.”

Peter’s jaw tensed. “Right. Harry.”

“Yup.”

MJ cut in before Peter could combust. “We’ll all be there. It’s gonna be great. Go Midtown football.”

Ned gave her a please look and she just smiled like a cat with a secret.

Peter looked back at Y/N. “Guess I’ll… see you there?”

Y/N gave a little nod, still unreadable behind her shades. “See you there, Parker.”

And with that, she walked past him. Peter stared after her, trying not to look like he was watching his whole life fall apart in real time.

Ned clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Man. She’s good at this.”

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The group hovered near the school gates, where a crowd had already started gathering to get into the football field. The fall air buzzed with excitement—music playing from somewhere, cheerleaders scattered in uniform, students rushing around with face paint and posters. Midtown was in full game-day mode.

Peter stood just a little off to the side, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, trying way too hard to look like he didn’t care. Like he wasn’t already tense. Like he hadn’t been glancing around every five seconds wondering when he would show up.

Next to him, Ned was cracking up at something Y/N had just said.

MJ raised a brow. “Okay, but you cannot talk, Stark. You’re the one who couldn’t stop laughing when you had to do the morning announcements last month.”

Y/N snorted. “You kept making faces at me.”

“I was just looking at you.”

“It was funny!”

They all burst out laughing, even Y/N—bright and easy and full of that electric spark that always surrounded her.

Peter’s eyes flicked toward her on instinct. Her smile. Her laugh. The way her eyes crinkled a little when MJ teased her. He looked away quickly, pretending to check something on his phone. He was not going to be the guy who couldn’t stop staring.

Suddenly, Gwen jogged up from across the parking lot, slightly out of breath.

“Hey!” she called, waving. “I have to go take care of some pregame stuff—cheerleader drama, don’t ask—but I’ll meet you guys at the bleachers!”

Before anyone could respond, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to Peter’s cheek.

“You look cute,” she said, flashing a bright smile before sprinting off toward the stadium entrance.

Peter blinked. Face flaming. His neck did that awkward whip thing as he turned straight to look at Y/N.

She was already looking at him.

Just for a second.

And then she looked away fast, lips tightening, eyes hardening.

He felt it in his gut.

Before he could even process it, a familiar black town car pulled up just down the curb.

Harry.

Y/N’s entire face lit up. Her eyes sparkled as she took off toward the car.

“Harrry!” she called, practically bouncing. He stepped out, grinning.

Peter watched—jaw clenched, stomach churning—as Harry pulled her into a hug, lifting her just slightly off the ground with a laugh.

“Missed me already, huh?” Harry said into her ear.

Y/N laughed, pulling back. “You’re late.”

“Traffic. Blame the masses of people who don’t know how to drive in this city.”

She tugged him toward the group. “Come meet the gang.”

“This should be fun,” he said, smirking as they walked over.

Y/N gestured. “This is Ned, MJ—you already know MJ—and– yeah Peter.”

Harry held out his hand to Ned. “Harry Osborn. Nice to meet you.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. New York royalty.”

Harry barked out a laugh. “You flatter me.”

To MJ, he offered a wink. “MJ, always a pleasure. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here with our lovely Y/N.”

MJ rolled her eyes. “Please. You found your own way in the second you spotted her across the ballroom.”

Harry turned to Peter last. A beat of silence.

“I almost didn’t see you there, Parker,” he said, smiling wide. “You’re so quiet. Stop hiding, man.”

Peter’s jaw ticked.

“I’m not hiding,” he muttered.

Harry just grinned bigger.

Y/N, oblivious—or pretending to be—was already chatting with MJ and Ned again.

Peter stood frozen in place, heart pounding, already regretting everything.

The bleachers were already packed, the student section buzzing with pregame energy. Midtown’s marching band played a medley of fight songs while cheerleaders hyped the crowd near the field. The sun was dipping behind the scoreboard, casting everything in a warm, golden hue.

Ned, MJ, Y/N, and Harry had claimed a long row near the 50-yard line. Gwen hadn’t arrived yet, and Peter had lagged behind a little to grab snacks for the group. When he finally showed up, drinks and chips in hand, MJ had to scoot down, making space for him next to Ned.

So it went: Gwen’s empty seat on the end, then Peter, Ned, MJ, Y/N… and Harry.

A lineup so cursed it might’ve been coordinated by the universe just to test Peter’s will to live.

He sat down with a tight smile, handing Ned a soda and settling in. He didn’t look at Y/N. Not directly. But he was very aware of her laughing at something Harry said. She was curled into her jacket, hair flowing with the wind, and Peter could see the glint of her necklace catching the sun.

It was the one May had given her last Christmas.

He frowned.

“I don’t know what that face is,” Ned muttered to him, “but you’re scowling like she burned down your childhood home.”

Before Peter could reply, Gwen appeared— lips glossy, cheeks flushed from running.

“Hey, sorry!” she said, breathless. “Band crisis. Nothing new.”

She waved as she approached, and Harry, ever the gentleman, stood.

“Gwen,” he said with a grin, “you look lovely.”

Gwen beamed. “Thank you, Harry. And thank you for coming! I mean, having two of New York’s biggest socialites in our student section? That’s serious morale-boosting stuff.”

Peter rolled his eyes so hard it might’ve caused permanent damage.

Harry, of course, just laughed and said, “Anything for Midtown.”

Gwen squeezed past Peter, dropping into the seat beside him and flashing him a smile. “Sorry again—I had no idea the band needed a last minute flag runner.”

Peter forced a grin. “It’s fine. You made it.”

“Barely,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his. “But now I’m here with all my favorite people.”

Across Ned and MJ, Y/N shifted. Peter caught the motion and immediately glanced toward her—just in time for her to glance back at him.

They both looked away instantly.

It was the most painfully obvious game of emotional dodgeball either had ever played.

Gwen, meanwhile, leaned forward to catch MJ and Y/N’s attention with a bright smile. “This is seriously so fun. I’ve never sat with a student section this… dramatic before.” She laughed, then added, “.”

MJ snorted. “Welcome to Midtown.”

Gwen’s eyes flicked between Harry and Y/N, then back to the girls. “By the way, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to say—your whole thing with Harry? Super cute. You always blush when someone mentions him. It’s adorable.”

Y/N blinked. “I—what?”

Gwen grinned. “No, really! I noticed it even at the gala. I totally called it. You’ve got this little spark in your eyes whenever he’s around.”

She turned to Harry with a playful nudge. “You two are kind of perfect together.”

Peter’s jaw clenched. MJ didn’t even try to hide her laugh this time.

Harry, completely unfazed, tilted his head and smiled at Y/N. “Guess we’re perfect now, huh?”

Y/N’s cheeks went red—probably from the attention, maybe from something else—but she just shrugged. “We clean up nice, that’s all.”

Across the row, Peter blinked slowly and drank half his soda in one go. Gwen turned toward him, oblivious. “Aren't they adorable?”

“Adorable,” he echoed, flat.

Meanwhile, Ned had leaned toward Harry, whispering something that made him laugh—loud and unbothered.

It was so effortless.

Peter shot Ned a glare, and Ned just raised his brows like what??

Harry leaned back against the bleachers, arms spread behind Y/N as he grinned at something on the field.

Peter could feel the heat rising in his neck. He was about to combust. He turned slightly, pretending to be interested in the coin toss, but really? He was watching the way Y/N’s eyes crinkled when she laughed. Again.

The whistle blew. The crowd erupted. Kickoff.

Midtown’s football team rushed the field, and everyone in the bleachers jumped to their feet.

Y/N and Harry were among the loudest.

“LET’S GO MIDTOWN!” Harry shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “MURDER THEM, BOYS!”

“WE CAN’T SAY MURDER THEM,” Y/N yelled, cracking up as she elbowed him. “That’s so aggressive.”

“You’re aggressive,” he shot back with a grin.

“Oh my god,” MJ muttered, already exhausted.

And then—TOUCHDOWN.

Midtown scored on the opening drive, and the crowd went feral. The drumline was going wild, cheerleaders cheered, and Harry turned to Y/N with a triumphant shout.

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, spinning her around once before setting her down, both of them laughing and red faced from the cold and the chaos.

She threw her arms around his neck in a victory hug and beamed, breathless. It was genuine. She looked happy.

Peter was watching. Of course he was watching.

He blinked once. Twice. Jaw tight.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered, practically venomous. “Not at my school.”

He turned to Gwen with a forced grin. “That was sick, right?”

Gwen, still cheering, nodded. “Such a good start!”

Peter leaned in. “Hey, come here!”

Before she could process it, he tugged her close, arms wrapping around her waist. She squeaked in surprise and laughed as he grinned down at her.

“You look really cute, by the way,” he said. “Did I tell you that?”

Gwen smiled, cheeks pink. “No but thank you.”

He laughed again, a little too loud, letting his hand linger against her back.

MJ and Ned sat frozen between them and Y/N like they’d just been teleported into the worst teen drama in history.

Ned leaned toward MJ, whispering through a fake smile, “Are we… witnessing a live custody battle?”

MJ didn’t even blink. “This is a full psychological war.”

Meanwhile, Y/N—still catching her breath from the touchdown celebration—turned and caught Peter wrapped around Gwen.

He was saying something in her ear. Gwen was laughing. Peter was laughing. His hand was on her back.

Y/N’s smile faltered.

Oh.

So he was really gonna do it, huh?

She narrowed her eyes, lips pressed into a tight line.

Fine.

If that was the game he wanted to play, she could play it better.

Y/N turned her full attention to Harry, who was mid trash talk about the other school’s quarterback, and laughed loud—like really loud. The Peter-look-at-me kind of loud.

She reached for Harry’s hand—just for a second—and he grinned like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Peter looked. Of course he looked. His eyes snapped to their hands instantly.

Game. Set. Match.

“Y/N’s definitely doing this on purpose,” MJ said through her teeth.

“Honestly– I respect it,” Ned replied.

Peter moved his arm from Gwen’s waist to drape across the back of her seat instead, his hand barely brushing her shoulder. Gwen leaned into it slightly, not thinking anything of it.

Y/N definitely noticed.

She huffed, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned into Harry, letting their shoulders bump. “Okay, fine. That touchdown was kind of hot.”

“Right?” Harry said, smirking. “I didn’t know Midtown could deliver like that.”

From the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Peter tense up. Saw the way his jaw ticked, even if he tried to hide it by sipping his soda.

Ned took a long sip of his drink, not looking at either of them.

MJ stared straight ahead like she was pretending to be anywhere else.

The game had barely started.

And they were all already losing.

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Harry Osborn had to admit—he was having an excellent time.

This wasn’t the kind of game he was used to. He’d gone to fancy prep schools, where football games were all tradition and decorum and polished school spirit. This? This was something else entirely. The bleachers were packed, the energy was unfiltered, and the drama? Chef’s kiss.

He glanced down the row—Gwen had just said something to Y/N that made her do that tiny, awkward little laugh. The one where she tilted her head and bit her lip like she was trying not to react. The one she did when she was holding something back.

Harry didn’t miss the way Peter Parker immediately looked over, watching Y/N like he might blow up at any second.

Harry smirked to himself. There it is.

He leaned back casually, one arm draped over the back of the bench behind Y/N—not touching her, but close enough to be noticed. Peter’s jaw twitched. Bingo.

Ned said something—Harry didn’t catch it—but it made him laugh out loud. Not a fake one either, a real, belly-deep laugh. The guy was funny. Quirky. Smart. He liked him.

But the best part was watching Peter and Y/N play their little game like no one could see it. It was like emotional ping pong. Y/N leaning into Harry’s shoulder while she cheered, Peter nudging Gwen a little closer and laughing at her jokes just a little too loud. Harry was pretty sure MJ had muttered “kill me now” under her breath at least twice.

“Wow,” Harry said, sipping from his water bottle. “You guys do not play around. This student section is intense.”

Y/N turned to him, eyes gleaming, flushed with excitement. “Rivalry games are chaos.”

He grinned. “I thought you were exaggerating. I stand corrected.”

When their team scored again, Y/N practically jumped out of her seat, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and shaking him. He laughed and picked her up slightly, spinning her half around before setting her back down, her laughter ringing in his ears.

And yeah, sure, part of him was playing it up for Peter. Why not? If he was going to be dragged into the middle of this bizarre love triangle, he might as well enjoy the perks. But the part that surprised him was how real it felt. Y/N was so… unfiltered. Ridiculously fun. And for once, he didn’t feel like the guy on a magazine cover or the heir to anything. He felt normal. Invited.

He risked a glance down the row.

Peter was watching them again, jaw clenched. Gwen said something to him, resting her hand briefly on his arm. He nodded, distracted.

Still looking at her, Harry noted.

And for a flicker of a second, something in Harry’s chest tugged. Just a little.

He knew she wasn’t doing this for him. Not really. Every glance at Peter, every tilt of her chin—it was all part of some silent battle between the two of them. Harry was a pawn. A shiny, charming, well-dressed distraction.

But damn, wouldn’t it be nice if—for once—it wasn’t a game?

If the way she laughed, the way she lit up, the way she clung to his arm during touchdowns… if that was for him.

Still, he wasn’t bitter. Not even close.

Because if he had to play the role of the guy who got under Peter Parker’s skin—got to hold Y/N’s attention for the night, get a front row seat to this mess of unresolved tension and fireworks—he’d play it with pride.

He leaned in close to Y/N and said, “Hey, you think Peter’s gonna blow a gasket before halftime or after?”

Y/N’s grin was instant. “After. He’s trying really hard to keep it together.”

“Admirable effort,” Harry said, glancing down the row again. “But let’s make it harder.”

She laughed, bumping her shoulder into his.

And Peter Parker’s head snapped around so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

God, Harry loved public school.

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Halftime came in a blur of whistles and stadium noise. The marching band was setting up on the field, the snack lines were flooding, and most of the students scattered across the bleachers in search of churros or gossip. Gwen had run off again to deal with some leadership thing, ned had gone to the get more snacks, and Y/N and MJ had wandered off to the bathrooms. That left Peter and Harry… alone.

Peter didn’t mean to seek him out. He really didn’t. But there was Harry, standing a little off to the side behind the bleachers, scrolling through his phone with that stupid perfect hair and that stupid smug expression like he owned the place.

And Peter—tense, frustrated, and one glare away from combusting—walked straight over.

Harry looked up when Peter stopped in front of him.

“Well, if it isn’t loverboy,” he said lazily, slipping his phone into his coat pocket. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Cut the crap, Osborn.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Wow. We’re jumping straight to last names now. Spicy.”

Peter stepped in closer. “I don’t know what your deal is with her, but you need to back off.”

Harry blinked slowly. “Her? As in Y/N? My date?”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “You know what I mean. The flirting. The touching. It’s rude. And annoying. Have some respect, man.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning. “Pretty sure Y/N doesn’t find it rude. She likes it when I touch her.”

Peter saw red. His fists clenched, shoulders squared. It took everything in him not to deck him right then and there.

“God, I knew it,” Peter said, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t care about her. This is all just some game to you. You think she’s just another challenge, something to win.”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened just enough to show he was paying attention now.

“She deserves better than that,” Peter hissed.

And Harry—cool, collected, annoyingly unbothered Harry—just shrugged and said, “Then be better.”

Peter flinched.

Harry stepped closer, voice dropping just enough to land like a punch. “If you’re so sure she deserves more, then go be it. Otherwise… maybe step aside and let someone who actually sees her have a shot.”

Peter stared at him, jaw clenched, breath tight in his chest. Because deep down, Harry wasn’t wrong. That’s what made it worse.

“She doesn’t even like you,” Peter snapped.

Harry raised both eyebrows, grinning again. “You sure about that?”

Before Peter could respond, the sound of Y/N’s laugh rang out from behind them. Both boys turned—she was heading back with MJ, clutching a bag of popcorn and smiling like nothing had happened. She looked happy. At ease.

She saw them and slowed slightly, sensing the tension. Her eyes flicked between them.

Peter took a step back like he hadn’t just threatened to commit murder. Harry threw an arm casually around Peter’s shoulder, smirking as he leaned in to whisper.

“Relax, Parker. I’m just playing the part you walked away from.”

Then he clapped Peter on the back and walked off toward Y/N without looking back.

Peter stood frozen, fists still tight at his sides, heart pounding in his ears.

He had no idea what was happening anymore.

But he knew one thing—he was losing her.

The second half of the game kicked off, but Peter might as well have been watching static.

His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, his knees bouncing restlessly under the bleachers bench, eyes fixed on the field—but not really. He could barely follow what was happening. Every cheer that erupted next to him sent a fresh stab through his chest.

Especially when they were her cheers.

Y/N was laughing again—loud, beautiful, effortless—as Harry leaned in to say something only she could hear. Peter didn’t catch the words, but the way she tossed her head back, mouth open in a smile that made his stomach twist? Yeah. He caught that.

A week ago, she would’ve laughed along to his jokes like that.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to play it cool, phone out, scrolling through nothing. His leg was still bouncing. His mind, a mess.

He wasn’t trying to show off anymore. Wasn’t laughing with Gwen. Wasn’t trying to “win.”

Because he wasn’t winning. Not anymore.

He was losing. Badly.

Gwen glanced over. “You okay?”

Peter looked up, blinking. “Yeah. Just… tired, I guess.”

She frowned a little. “Too tired to go to Flash’s after party?”

Peter turned to her, confused. “Flash is throwing a party?”

“Victory party,” Gwen said with a little shrug. “I know you don’t like him, but he promised me he wouldn’t mess with you or Ned tonight.”

Ned perked up instantly from beside MJ. “Wait, what about me?”

Gwen leaned forward to look at him. “I was saying we all got invited to Flash’s party.”

“Oh sick!” Ned grinned. “We should go! I’ve heard rivalry game parties are legendary.”

That’s when Y/N chimed in, glancing up from her conversation with Harry. “Go where?”

MJ rolled her eyes. “Flash’s party. Gwen’s dragging us.”

Harry leaned forward behind Y/N, slinging an arm across the back of her seat. “That’s a great idea actually. My first public school party. Can’t deny me that honor, right?”

Gwen beamed. “Exactly!!”

Then she turned to Peter again, all soft smiles and hopeful eyes. “Please come with us? It’ll be fun.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to Y/N. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was twirling a strand of her hair, laughing at something Harry said. So easy. So gone.

He looked back at Gwen. ��Yeah. Okay. Fine.”

Because he couldn’t let her go to that party alone.

And definitely not with Harry Osborn.

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Midtown won.

Which meant Flash’s house was packed.

There were lights strung up along the front porch, music booming so loud the floorboards seemed to vibrate. People were already spilling out onto the lawn. Somewhere deep inside, someone was cheering about a keg stand.

“Okay, ground rules,” Harry said casually as the group approached the front steps, his voice light but his eyes glancing toward Y/N. “You’re allowed to drink.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “How generous.”

“But I won’t,” Harry continued. “Because I am your responsible designated driver. I’d rather not get yelled at by Iron Man or arrested by Captain Stacy.”

“A gentleman and a self-preservation king,” MJ muttered approvingly.

Behind them, Peter rolled his eyes so hard it might’ve caused a migraine. Gwen’s fingers were laced through his—warm, soft, safe—but his attention was locked on the way Harry placed a guiding hand on Y/N’s lower back as they stepped inside.

The bass dropped. The crowd screamed. Flash’s parties were just as obnoxious as Peter thought they’d be.

Harry turned to Y/N with a lazy grin. “Any drinks for the princess?”

Y/N giggled. “Sure. Surprise me, Osborn.”

Harry smirked like it was a personal challenge. “That’s my specialty.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Y/N and MJ followed after, slipping through the crowd like they weren’t causing complete chaos just by existing.

Peter was still standing near the door when Ned elbowed him in the ribs.

“Bro,” Ned hissed. “This is it. This is the place to let loose and tell a certain someone how you really feel.”

Peter gave him a look. “We are at Flash’s house. This is, like, the least romantic location of all time.”

“So? Romance thrives in adversity. That’s a fact. Shakespeare probably said that.”

Peter groaned. “I’ve never even drank before. I don’t know how this stuff works.”

Ned shrugged. “You’ve heard of liquor courage.”

Peter hesitated. His eyes followed Y/N as she threw her head back laughing—laughing at something Harry said as he handed her a drink in a red solo cup.

Liquor courage. Maybe it was exactly what he needed.

“I’ll be back,” Gwen said suddenly, tugging Peter’s hand to get his attention. “One of my friends just got here. I’ll come find you in a bit, okay?”

She kissed his cheek, gave him a little wave, and vanished into the crowd.

Peter turned to Ned.

“Okay,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Let’s find some bad decisions.”

The party was in full swing.

Music throbbed through the walls, bodies pressed together in the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room, red cups littered every flat surface. Somewhere in the chaos, someone was singing into a hairbrush and Flash was shouting about being the MVP of life.

Y/N had lost count of how many drinks she’d had. She wasn’t drunk—not really. Just… floaty. Everything was a little fuzzy at the edges. Her cheeks were warm. She laughed at everything Harry said, let MJ spin her around in the kitchen, danced like no one was watching even though everyone was.

But Peter was.

From across the room, Peter sipped something that tasted like gasoline and stared.

She was glowing.

Y/N Stark in a crowded room was like a magnet—people were drawn to her without even realizing it. He hated that Harry got to be close enough to make her laugh. He hated that she wasn’t looking at him.

Until she was.

Their eyes met.

And then Gwen pressed up beside him, giggling, and kissed his cheek. “You’re so warm,” she murmured, unaware—or pretending not to see—how Peter went rigid.

Y/N saw.

Her smile faltered. Just for a second.

Then she turned, said something quick to MJ and Harry, and slipped out of the room.

Peter didn’t even think.

He shoved his cup into Ned’s hands and followed her.

Upstairs, the hallway was quiet. The music was muffled now, just a bassline vibrating through the floor. He spotted the open balcony doors and walked toward them, heart hammering.

She was leaning against the railing, her drink dangling from her fingers, face tipped up toward the stars.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Y/N turned, and her expression flickered when she saw him. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs? With your date?”

Peter sighed. “I saw you leave.”

“Congratulations. You have eyes.”

“Y/N…”

She shook her head, lips pressed tight. “Why are we fighting so much?” Her voice cracked slightly. “We’ve never fought like this before.”

Peter moved closer. Close enough that he could smell her perfume—faint and electric, like the air before a thunderstorm.

“I think you know why,” he said.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

He reached out, gently took her cup from her hand and set it on the balcony ledge.

“I hate this feeling,” Y/N admitted. “I hate fighting with you. More than anything.”

“I know,” Peter said. “So do I.”

She sniffed and gave a tiny laugh, eyes flicking up to his face. “Your cheeks are so flushed. I’ve never seen you drunk before.”

Peter cracked a grin, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Says you! You’re starting to slur your words a little.”

“Am not,” she said, grinning.

“Are too.”

They both laughed—real and easy—and for a moment, it was just them again. No drama. No fights. Just Peter and Y/N under the stars, making each other smile.

Then the quiet slipped in again.

Y/N’s voice dropped. “We’re not normal anymore.”

Peter’s heart twisted. “No,” he said. “We’re not.”

“I missed you,” she whispered.

Peter looked at her like it physically hurt him to say the next words. “So did I,” he said, barely above a breath. “So bad.”

Their eyes locked. Her gaze drifted to his lips. His followed.

They leaned in.

Almost.

But then—he stopped. Just barely pulled back.

“We can’t mess this up.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

He swallowed. “We can’t. Not this. Not us.”

“You were about to kiss me…” she said, voice thick with disbelief.

“I know.”

“God, Peter, would it really fucking kill you if we kissed?!”

He flinched, like the words physically struck him. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I—” But he didn’t finish. Couldn’t.

Y/N stepped back, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Y/N/N—”

“I hate you,” she spat, but it came out sounding heartbreakingly soft.

And then she turned and left him standing there.

Peter stayed frozen, the cold wind biting at his face as the door clicked shut behind her.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t say a word.

“…Shit.”

Y/N descended the stairs with shaky breath and a glassy look in her eyes. Her lips were still tingling. Her heart was still racing—but not in the soft, glowing kind of way. This felt like something was tearing inside her. Something that had been holding out hope for way too long.

She spotted MJ and Harry across the room near the kitchen. MJ was absolutely roasting some jock who had worn flip flops to the party, and Harry was doubled over laughing, clutching his drink like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Y/N blinked, dazed, and slipped between partygoers to rejoin them. She forced a smile, tucked herself under Harry’s arm, and laughed along.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room—

Peter stood against the wall, eyes wide, breathing hard.

“Bro,” Ned said quietly, “you look like you just watched someone get murdered.”

Peter turned to him, frantic. “I had her. Ned, I had her. And then I let her walk away. What is wrong with me?! Put me out of my misery.”

Before Ned could respond, Peter’s head snapped up.

Because across the room, Y/N locked eyes with him.

Her expression was unreadable.

And then something shifted.

Something snapped.

Before he could even process it, Y/N turned, grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, and kissed him.

Full-on. Deep. Desperate.

MJ froze mid sentence, blinked, then slowly stepped away, muttering under her breath, “Okayyyy,” with a little laugh as she disappeared into the crowd.

Peter’s heart dropped. No, it plummeted.

He couldn’t breathe.

Then, Gwen appeared beside him.

“Oh—there you are,” she said with a bright smile, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He blinked, staring at Y/N across the room. Still kissing Harry. Still not looking away.

So Peter did the only thing he could think of.

He wrapped an arm around Gwen and pulled her closer. “Dance with me,” he said quickly.

She raised an eyebrow, but followed him to the makeshift dancefloor.

And just like that, Peter was touching Gwen’s waist, spinning her, saying anything and everything to make her laugh—and it worked. She giggled, cheeks flushed. But then—

She looked up.

Across the room.

At Y/N and Harry.

Still kissing.

Still pressed together.

And then she looked back at Peter.

At the way his eyes kept flicking toward Y/N when he thought no one noticed. At how forced his smile was. At how his hand tensed against her waist like he was holding onto something that was already gone.

Gwen understood.

Deep down, she always had.

But now, it was undeniable. This wasn’t real. She was a stand-in. A band-aid. A safe choice.

And even though it hurt—god, it hurt—she was going to let him pretend. Just for tonight. Because sometimes it was enough to feel chosen, even if it wasn’t forever.

Back on the other side of the room, Y/N finally broke the kiss.

She was breathing heavy, heart pounding, but her eyes were locked on Peter.

Still dancing. Still whispering.

Still trying to pretend it didn’t wreck him to see her like this.

So she turned to Harry, wild and impulsive and a little drunk, and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

Harry blinked. “Right now?”

She smirked. “Not like that. Just… upstairs. Somewhere quieter.”

Harry, to his credit, caught the glint in her eye. The pain she was trying to bury. The performance she was committed to. But he still said, “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Y/N grabbed his hand and made sure—made absolutely sure—that Peter saw her as they climbed the stairs together.

She knew exactly what it looked like.

She wanted him to know.

She wanted it to hurt.

Peter’s jaw clenched. His entire body stilled. Gwen's voice became muffled, the music drowned under the sound of blood rushing to his ears. He watched as Y/N disappeared upstairs with Harry, hand in hand, laughing.

He had no idea if she meant it.

No idea if it was real.

But the damage was done.

And Peter Parker was spiraling.

Hard.

Y/N stumbled through the doorway with Harry behind her, his hand loosely on her back to make sure she didn’t trip. The music from downstairs thumped through the floor, muffled now, as the door clicked shut behind them.

Harry locked it.

Not for that reason—but because he didn’t want anyone barging in. Not when she looked like this. Not when she was shaking, chest rising and falling like her emotions were stuck somewhere between rage and heartbreak.

There was a bed—typical teenage boy's room, probably Flash’s older brother’s—and Y/N collapsed on it like her bones had given out. Harry stayed standing for a moment, watching her. He’d seen this kind of sadness before.

But not in her.

And not like this.

He slowly sat down beside her.

“Hey,” he said gently, “You okay?”

Without a word—without hesitation—Y/N turned and kissed him again.

It wasn’t like the one downstairs. That one had heat, electricity, defiance.

This one was sad.

Desperate. In a bad way.

Harry pulled back, blinking. “Whoa. Hey, hey,” he said softly, cupping her shoulders. “Maybe not like this.”

Y/N’s face fell. Her bottom lip trembled. “So you don’t like me either?”

“What—?”

“You don’t wanna have a super hot makeout with me?” she sniffled, eyes glassy. “That’s fine. Totally fine. I get it.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He let out a breath of a laugh. “I never said all that.”

Y/N blinked.

He smiled a little, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I just said I’m not doing this while you’re drunk, Y/N/N. It wouldn’t be right. And you know it.”

Then—boop.

He gently tapped her nose.

She pouted.

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” he added. “I entertained your little act downstairs, but we’re not doing that here, sweetheart.”

That’s when her eyes started to fill again. Real tears now. Her voice cracked.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Harry. Please don’t be mad. I’m an idiot. I made it weird. You probably hate me. I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I—”

“Stop it,” he said, firm but warm. “Stop. Breathe.”

She hiccuped.

Harry reached for a tissue box on the nightstand and handed her a few. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. You didn’t scare me off. I don’t hate you.”

Y/N wiped her eyes, miserably quiet.

Harry looked at her like she was a puzzle he was still figuring out. Like he could see through every layer.

“Y/N/N,” he said, “any guy would be lucky to be with you. You’re smart, you’re terrifying, you’re hotter than sin—”

She let out a wet snort at that.

“—and anyone who rejects you is either an idiot,” he continued, “or just not the guy. That’s not on you.”

Y/N looked down at her lap, voice small. “I really thought he was the guy.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I kinda thought he was too. For what it’s worth.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Harry stood. “Come on. Let’s get you sobered up a bit. I’ll grab you some water, maybe a piece of that sad pizza I saw in the kitchen.”

“You’re not taking me home yet?” she asked, wiping at her cheeks again.

He grinned. “Can’t have you like this in front of Iron Man. I like being alive.”

She let out a half-laugh, half-sob, nodding.

Harry turned to the door, then paused.

“Hey,” he added, looking back. “You’re not alone. Okay?”

Y/N looked at him, vulnerable and messy and aching.

She nodded again.

And for the first time that night, she actually believed it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Harry helps Y/N into the passenger seat of his sleek black car, buckling her in like the gentleman he is. She’s tipsy, not drunk anymore, just quiet. Worn out.

MJ stands on the curb with Ned, both watching.

“You got her?” MJ asks, voice soft.

Harry nods. “Yeah. I’ll get her home safe.”

“My dad’s coming to pick us up, so don’t worry about us,” she adds. Then smirks. “Peter and Gwen left a while ago.”

Harry glances over, unreadable. “Right.”

“Thanks for looking out for her.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N sinks onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Her heels are dangling off her feet, and her eyes are glazed from more than just exhaustion.

Harry crouches in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees.

“You’ll call me if you need anything, yeah?” he says. “I’m the hangover king. Got all the tricks.”

Y/N gives a weak smile. “I will. Thank you. For tonight. And… for everything.”

He waves her off with that same effortless grin. “Please. You think I’m passing up the opportunity to be your knight in designer armor?”

She laughs.

He stands and starts walking to the elevator, turning back at the last second. “Hey, Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be okay. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

And then he’s gone.

The tower is quiet. Everyone’s asleep.

Y/N pads barefoot into the lab, still in her day clothes, makeup a little smudged. Tony was hunched over one of his holographic schematics, coffee in one hand, a wrench in the other. Music played softly in the background, FRIDAY dimming the lights to match the late hour.

He paused, hearing footsteps pacing just outside the lab. Back and forth. Back and forth.

He sighed.

“Y/N,” he called without looking up. “If you’re trying to wear a hole in the floor, congrats, you’re close. Just get in here.”

A beat.

Then: the door slid open and Y/N stepped inside, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Tony turned around and studied her. “You look like hell, honey.”

She let out a dramatic groan and flopped onto the nearest chair, legs tucked under her. “I think I’m having a breakdown.”

Tony set the wrench down. “Is this a ‘there’s a villain loose in Manhattan’ breakdown or a ‘someone broke my heart and I want ice cream and an alibi’ breakdown?”

“Neither. Both. Ugh, I don’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued.”

Y/N leaned forward, dropping her face into her hands. “Okay, so… hypothetically—hypothetically—what would you say if I told you I liked a guy who doesn’t like me back?”

Tony’s smirk vanished. “I’d say… he has garbage taste.”

Y/N snorted, but it was watery, her eyes getting glossy again. “Dad—”

“No, I’m serious. Who is this kid? You’re smart, you’re kind, you’ve got a face that belongs on the cover of Vanity Fair and hands that can fry an entire Hydra base. What’s not to like?”

“Apparently a lot,” she muttered.

Tony rolled his chair closer, softer now. “You wanna talk about it?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “It’s Peter.”

Tony blinked. “Our Peter? Peter Parker?”

She nodded again.

Tony leaned back, sighing. “I mean… I did kind of see that one coming.”

Y/N’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?”

He gave her a look. “Sweetheart. I have functioning eyes. You light up like a Christmas tree around him. And I’ve caught the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”

She frowned. “You think he likes me?”

“I think he’s either madly in love with you or incredibly confused by the fact that he’s madly in love with you.”

That made her smile. Barely.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Lately it’s like… he’s always with Gwen. And she’s so pretty and confident and sweet and she says things like ‘Peter, you’re amazing’ and he glows.”

Tony frowned. “Y/N…”

“And I know it sounds dumb but sometimes I feel like I’m too much. Like I’ve got all this… noise inside me. And maybe he likes the quiet. Maybe I scare him.”

Tony’s face softened completely.

He stood, walked over, and knelt in front of her. Hands on her knees.

“Y/N Stark,” he said, voice low, “you are the best thing I’ve ever built. You hear me? You’re brilliant. Brave. Ridiculous. And so full of life that any guy who can’t see how lucky he’d be to love you — isn’t worth your time.”

Her eyes watered. “Even if that guy is Peter?”

He sighed, then smiled. “Look, I love the kid. Really. But if he ever makes you feel like less than you are… well, let’s just say I know a guy who can launch him into space.”

She laughed. A sniffle, a wipe of her cheek.

Then her voice turned quiet again.

“There was a moment tonight,” she said. “On the balcony. It was just us. And he looked at me like—god, like I was the only thing that existed.”

Tony didn’t say a word. Just listened.

“We were about to kiss,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “I know he was going to kiss me. And then he didn’t. He pulled away. Said we couldn’t mess this up.”

Tony’s expression dropped. His jaw tightened.

“And I—I get it, maybe. But it felt like this final confirmation that he’s never going to choose me. He had the chance. And he didn’t take it.”

Tony exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand over his face. “My baby…”

Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I told him I hated him.”

“You don’t.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But it hurt. It really, really hurt.”

Tony nodded, sitting beside her now, pulling her close. “Then cry it out. You’re allowed to cry. Doesn’t make you weak.”

She leaned into him, cheek against his shoulder.

“I just wanted him to want me. Just once. Not Gwen. Not Liz. Me.”

Tony kissed the top of her head. “He’s an idiot.”

She smiled into his shirt. “You’re just saying that.”

“No. I’m saying that because I built an Iron Man suit in a cave with a box of scraps and even I wouldn’t be dumb enough to reject you.”

Y/N snorted.

Tony grinned. “C’mon. You want some ice cream?”

“Always.”

“And hey,” he added as they walked out of the lab, “for the record? You’re the most beautiful girl in the city. Possibly the planet. You make Gwen Stacy look like a warm up act.”

“Dad!”

“Just saying. Someone’s gotta hype you up. Might as well be me.”

And as Y/N leaned into his side, finally letting some of that ache bleed out into safety — she thought maybe being a Stark didn’t mean she had to carry it all on her own.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺

taglist: @f2lix @the-faceless-bride @lovely-foxes-exe @uhmellamoanna @gyus-lvr @aomi04 @liaverse37 @pettypeety @pleasingregulus @theyluvmesblog @sqfewrd @ultrunning @boomitsallie1

author's note: i'm evil laughing behind my screen rn. guys i'm so tempted to lose the plot and let y/n and harry become a thing BUT NO! we simply cannot let that happen. i'm trying to plant the seed for something but idk if you guys will catch on...

when i was writing the party scene all i could hear in my head was "party on u party on u party on party on u" LMAO

i've decided the official y/n x harry songs are bad for business by sabrina carpenter and perfect by one direction. which btw, can be found on the official clueless playlist!

141 notes · View notes

love-hs28 · 2 months ago

Text

BRING BACK AVENGERS TOWER FICS PLEASEEEEEEE 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

oh my god you guys i’m obsessed with this

— it's brutal out here

chapter summary: Peter's class is going on a field trip to Stark Industries. The catch? No one believes he's an intern at SI and no one knows he's dating Tony Stark's daughter—other than Ned and MJ. Surely nothing will go wrong, right? word count: 14.7k+ pairing: Peter Parker (MCU) x fem!stark!reader notes: i've said it before, peter parker goes on field trip to SI is one of my favorite tropes ever. but what else is? reader being tony stark's daughter and dating peter. so i thought i'd combine both for the ultimate self-service. it's my first time writing for peter, so feedback is appreciated. enjoy! <3 warnings/tags: avengers are a happy family because i say so (includes bucky!), fluff, peter parker goes on a field trip to stark industries, tony is your biological dad, pranks, slight bullying, reader is a genius (she's a stark after all)

“Alright, before the bell rings I have something important to say!” Mr. Harrington announced, stopping most of the students from packing up.

“I swear, if it’s another—” Peter mumbled before Ned cut in.

“Dude, what if it’s a parental consent form for a movie? Or an experiment? Or—”

"—Or it's just Harrington being overdramatic. Again," MJ added in dryly, not looking away from her book.

Peter snorted softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Mr. Harrington cleared his throat dramatically again, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he lifted a stack of papers from his desk. "We will be taking a field trip next week, and it's not just any field trip."

"Oh no," MJ deadpanned, flipping another page of her book, "his voice cracked. That means it's big."

Peter chuckled quietly, looking at Ned with an amused smirk. "Ten bucks it's another 'groundbreaking' planetarium exhibit."

Ned shook his head quickly, grinning. "I'm holding out for something good this time, man."

Mr. Harrington began passing out the papers excitedly. "Next Friday, this class will be touring none other than Stark Industries!"

The room erupted in surprised chatter, excited whispers filling every corner.

Peter froze, eyes wide. "Wait—what?"

Ned's mouth fell open, equally shocked. "No freaking way!"

MJ lifted her gaze from the page for the first time, eyebrows raised as she leaned slightly toward Peter. "I take it back. This actually is big."

"Not again," Peter muttered anxiously, voice strained. "The tower? Seriously?"

"What's the problem, Pete?" Flash's voice rang out smugly from across the room. "Afraid they'll realize you're not actually an intern?"

Peter frowned, shooting Flash a glare. "I am an intern. I've been telling you guys this for literally two years."

Flash scoffed loudly. "Yeah, sure, Parker. And I'm Thor's favorite chess partner."

"Dude," Ned whispered urgently, "this means the whole class is gonna see you with—"

Peter nodded nervously, his voice hushed. "—Y/N. They're going to see me with Y/N."

MJ leaned in slightly, giving Peter a knowing look. "You're worried they'll find out you're dating Tony Stark's daughter?"

Peter's cheeks flushed pink. "I'm not worried, I just... it's gonna be weird."

"You've literally fought aliens, and you're worried about your classmates finding out you have a girlfriend?" MJ remarked flatly.

"It's not just any girlfriend!" Ned argued, waving his hands excitedly, "It's Y/N freaking Stark, MJ! The Y/N Stark!"

MJ rolled her eyes slightly, suppressing a smile as she glanced back at Peter. "So what, you two just gonna pretend you don't know each other?"

Peter hesitated, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I... haven't exactly figured that out yet."

Across the room, Flash continued loudly boasting, "Maybe I'll even get to talk with Tony Stark himself. I've got some great ideas I wanna pitch him."

"Oh, yeah, great," Peter mumbled under his breath sarcastically, "that'll go well."

Mr. Harrington clapped his hands to regain everyone's attention. "Make sure you have these permission slips signed and returned by tomorrow. This is a rare and exciting opportunity, people!"

Peter slumped slightly in his seat, sighing heavily as Ned gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

"Relax, man," Ned said confidently. "It's gonna be fine."

MJ shrugged, eyes back on her book. "Or it'll be an entertaining disaster. Either way, I'm looking forward to it."

"Gee, thanks," Peter muttered, giving MJ a pointed look.

She simply smirked without looking up. "Anytime."

Peter stared down at the permission slip in front of him, anxiety swirling through his chest. Next Friday was going to be interesting, to say the least.

---

“—but, there was always… Y/N? Hey. Hey!” Steve snapped his fingers as you slowly looked up.

"Huh? Sorry, I fell asleep to your boring recollection of the battle of… whatever," you said, leaning back in your chair dramatically with a loud yawn.

Steve crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow as he stared at you. "Y/N, we've literally been covering World War II for months. It's the battle of Normandy."

"Oh, right." You sat up again, blinking sleepily at him. "You know, Steve, when Dad said you'd be teaching me history, I figured we'd cover a little more than just your glory days."

Bucky snorted from his spot on the couch, not even bothering to hide his grin. "See, Steve? Told you even your own niece would get tired of hearing your stories eventually."

Steve shot Bucky an annoyed look. "Not helping, Buck."

You laughed lightly, swiveling your chair toward Bucky. "Honestly, Barnes, your lessons are more interesting. At least when you teach, I get to hear the real stories, not the G-rated, Captain America-approved versions."

Bucky smirked proudly, leaning back comfortably. "That's because I tell you all the gritty details your dad specifically said you shouldn’t hear."

Steve sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You're both impossible."

"And yet," you shrugged innocently, reaching for your phone on the desk, "you still insist on teaching me."

"Because," Steve began firmly, taking a step forward and pointing toward your textbook, "you still need to actually learn this stuff."

Bucky chuckled softly. "Yeah, kiddo, just pretend to pay attention for a couple hours so Steve doesn’t cry himself to sleep tonight."

You bit back a smile, dramatically nodding at Steve. "Alright, alright. Battle of Normandy, June 1944. Got it. Continue, Uncle Steve."

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you, slowly returning to his spot by the whiteboard. "Right. So as I was saying—"

Your phone buzzed suddenly, and your attention immediately snapped down to it. Peter’s name lit up your screen, making your heart flutter as you quickly picked it up.

"Hold that thought, Steve," you said distractedly, swiping open the message.

Steve paused, arms crossed again with an exasperated sigh. "You're texting Peter again, aren’t you?"

You gave him a guilty smile, fingers flying rapidly over your screen. "Sorry, but it's important."

Bucky raised an eyebrow curiously, leaning toward you. "What's got Parker worked up this time?"

You bit your lip, chuckling softly as you finished your reply. "Apparently, his class is taking a field trip to Stark Industries next week."

Bucky laughed, leaning further forward. "Oh boy, Pete must be freaking out."

"He absolutely is," you confirmed, still texting quickly. "He's worried everyone will figure out we're dating. And, you know, that he's actually an intern there."

Steve looked thoughtful. "Peter's classmates still don't believe him?"

"Nope," you shook your head, grinning slightly. "They all think he's making it up."

Bucky chuckled again. "Poor kid."

Steve tilted his head curiously. "What’s the plan, then? Are you two just going to ignore each other?"

You sighed, setting your phone back down on the desk as you looked at Steve seriously. "Honestly? I have no idea. Peter’s a little nervous."

Bucky gave you a playful smirk. "Well, it's about time the kid stepped up. I mean, he's Spider-Man, he can handle a few high school kids."

Steve nodded in agreement. "Buck's right. Peter’s faced much worse. A field trip can't be that scary."

You smiled slightly, glancing back down at your phone as Peter's next text popped up. "You'd be surprised."

Bucky leaned back again, smirking knowingly. "You’re both being way too dramatic. I say just act normal. Who cares if people find out? You've been dating for a year."

"That's what MJ said," you replied thoughtfully. "Maybe I should just show up and embarrass him."

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That's your father's influence talking."

You flashed a grin, leaning forward eagerly. "Speaking of Dad—"

"Nope," Steve interrupted quickly, pointing at the textbook. "Lesson first, gossip later."

You groaned dramatically, slumping back again. "Fine."

Steve turned back toward the whiteboard again, writing quickly as he resumed. "Alright, moving on. Now, the invasion began in the early hours—"

"Wait!" you suddenly interrupted, lifting your hand in the air.

Steve turned back again, eyes narrowed. "What now?"

You smiled sweetly, fluttering your lashes playfully. "Can I bring Peter lunch when his class comes next Friday? Like, surprise him?"

Bucky nodded approvingly, clearly entertained by the idea. "I think that's an excellent plan."

Steve gave you both a stern look, though you could see amusement hiding behind his eyes. "That's something you should ask your mom or dad."

You pouted dramatically. "But you're my favorite uncle, Steve."

"Hey!" Bucky protested loudly, placing a hand over his heart with mock hurt. "I thought I was your favorite uncle!"

Steve chuckled, crossing his arms. "Nice try, Y/N, but I'm still not falling for it."

You grinned cheekily, shrugging your shoulders lightly. "Worth a shot."

Bucky smirked, giving you an amused nod. "I'll talk to your dad for you. I'm always up for helping embarrass the kid."

You beamed at him. "I knew you were my favorite."

Steve groaned quietly, shaking his head again. "Alright, enough distractions. Back to Normandy."

You sighed dramatically again, leaning your chin on your palm with a small smile. "Alright, Uncle Steve. Back to Normandy."

Bucky chuckled, giving Steve a playful smirk. "Better make this interesting, pal, or else she's definitely texting Parker again."

Steve rolled his eyes, finally giving up and laughing softly. "You two are going to be the death of me."

You smiled innocently, eyes sparkling with amusement. "We know. But you still love us anyway."

Steve smiled softly, his voice warm as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I suppose I do."

---

"Uncle Bruce? Have I ever told you that you're my favorite teacher?" you asked sweetly, giving him your most convincing smile as you leaned eagerly across the lab table.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his glasses sliding down his nose as he peered skeptically over them. "Ah, yes, Y/N. I believe you mentioned that just last week when you wanted help avoiding Steve's history lesson."

You laughed softly, shrugging innocently. "Well, this time I really, really mean it."

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head lightly as he placed down the tablet he'd been holding. "Alright, what's going on?"

You sighed dramatically, propping your chin in your palm. "Peter's class is coming here next Friday for a field trip."

Bruce looked thoughtful, nodding slowly. "Ah, that's right. Tony mentioned something about that."

You perked up immediately, sitting straighter. "Dad talked about it?"

"Well, mostly just to warn everyone," Bruce said with an amused smile, taking a seat across from you. "Something about trying not to embarrass Peter too much."

You groaned, dropping your head onto your folded arms. "Ugh, I know! He keeps saying we should just act normal, but—"

Bruce tilted his head curiously, smiling warmly. "But you're worried about embarrassing him?"

"Or maybe myself," you admitted sheepishly, peeking up at Bruce through your fingers. "I don't know. The whole class will be here, and they don't even believe Peter actually interns here. Let alone that we're dating."

Bruce chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair comfortably. "Teenagers can be brutal, huh?"

“Exactly!” You agreed. “Uh, wait, actually I don’t know. The only experience I have is Peter telling me about classes and Mean Girls. Do girls really make Burn Books?”

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head lightly. "I think that's more Hollywood drama than reality, Y/N. At least, I hope so."

You sat up a little straighter, eyes wide with genuine curiosity. "See, that's exactly why I'm worried! I'm totally clueless about how high school works outside of movie clichés and Peter's crazy stories."

Bruce gave you a reassuring smile. "You’re smart, Y/N. I'm sure you'll navigate it just fine. Plus, you've got Peter. He's probably more nervous than you are."

You sighed dramatically, sinking down slightly in your seat. "Yeah, he's pretty worried. I keep telling him it'll be fine, but deep down, I'm just as nervous."

Bruce tilted his head thoughtfully. "Why don't you just be yourself? Your relationship with Peter isn't a secret among the Avengers. You've got nothing to hide."

"But it's different," you argued, fiddling nervously with a pen on the table. "I mean, it's one thing for the team to know. But an entire class of high schoolers? That’s scary."

Bruce chuckled softly, adjusting his glasses again. "Trust me, most of them will probably be too busy being star-struck by Stark Industries to notice much else."

You gave a half-smile, eyes flicking up to meet Bruce’s. "You really think so?"

He nodded reassuringly. "Absolutely. Teenagers aren’t all that complicated—most of them are too wrapped up in their own worlds to pay close attention."

You exhaled softly, leaning back with a little more ease. "I guess you're right."

Bruce smiled warmly. "Of course I am."

You smiled sheepishly, biting your lip in thought before glancing up again. "Do you think it’d be weird if I just... showed up? You know, say hi, maybe give Peter lunch, see how he’s doing?"

Bruce grinned knowingly, leaning forward slightly with amusement in his eyes. "I think that sounds very sweet. Peter would appreciate it, even if he’s embarrassed at first."

You laughed lightly, your face brightening with relief. "Yeah, well, a little embarrassment never killed anyone, right?"

Bruce chuckled again, shaking his head. "Definitely not. And, frankly, you might actually enjoy it."

You smirked mischievously. "Maybe just a little."

He leaned back again, crossing his arms over his chest comfortably. "Just be prepared for some teasing from Tony afterward."

You groaned playfully, rolling your eyes dramatically. "Ugh, Dad's already been dropping hints. Like, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ Which isn't comforting at all, considering it's Dad."

Bruce laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I think Tony’s probably the worst person to go to for dating advice."

"Tell me about it," you muttered dryly, smiling fondly. "Mom tried to give him a crash course on subtlety the other day. It went about as well as you'd expect."

Bruce grinned warmly. "Your mom is a saint for even trying."

You chuckled, nodding enthusiastically. "I know, right?"

Bruce paused thoughtfully, giving you a gentle look. "Seriously, Y/N, don't overthink it. Peter cares about you. His classmates might be surprised at first, but they'll get used to it quickly. Trust your instincts."

Your smile softened, comforted by his sincerity. "Thanks, Uncle Bruce. I needed to hear that."

He smiled back softly. "Anytime. Now, do you still want to help me with these calculations or are you too busy plotting your field trip takeover?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes slightly. "I think I've done enough plotting for one day."

Bruce chuckled warmly, pushing the tablet toward you gently. "Alright then. Let's get back to work."

You nodded eagerly, reaching for the tablet with newfound confidence. "Right. Work first, world domination later."

Bruce grinned playfully, shaking his head. "You've definitely spent way too much time around your father."

You smirked mischievously, eyes sparkling. "Guilty as charged."

He sighed in mock despair, though his eyes shone with affection. "The world isn't ready for two Stark geniuses."

"Probably not," you replied with a dramatic sigh, then flashed a bright smile. "But that's their problem."

Bruce laughed heartily, pushing his glasses back up his nose again. "Yeah, it definitely is."

You smiled warmly, picking up your stylus and focusing back on the calculations. Bruce was right, after all—you had Peter, and you knew that was what really mattered.

---

During lunch, you sat in the common kitchen eating a sandwich. Your phone was propped up against your water bottle as you pretended to watch it while in reality, it was filming.

You had set up a prank in your head while Steve went on about whatever battle he was talking about, and while making lunch, you put your idea into action. Now, you just had to wait for Sam and Clint to get back from going over the training room schedules.

A few minutes later, you heard familiar footsteps and quickly sat up straighter, looking innocent as you pretended to watch your phone. Sam and Clint walked into the kitchen, mid-conversation.

"All I'm sayin' is, why do you get first dibs on Wednesdays?" Clint complained, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. "Maybe I like to train mid-week too."

Sam raised an eyebrow at Clint as he opened the pantry. "Because, Barton, last time I gave you Wednesday, you used your slot to watch reruns of 'Golden Girls.'"

"Hey," Clint pointed defensively, "those ladies are legends, and you know it."

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, silently pressing record on your phone. "Sounds intense, guys," you teased, making sure you sounded nonchalant.

Clint looked over at you, shaking his head with a grin. "You have no idea, kid."

Sam smiled at you warmly as he grabbed some chips. "How was your lesson with Steve?"

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. "He spent two hours telling me about the Battle of Normandy. Again."

Clint groaned sympathetically. "Oof, you okay? Need medical assistance?"

You laughed lightly, waving your sandwich at him. "I survived, thanks. Barely."

Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head as he started to walk towards the cabinet to grab a bowl. You held your breath, waiting eagerly for what would happen next.

Right on cue, the cabinet doors flew open, and a burst of confetti exploded outward, showering Sam and Clint in bright, glittery colors.

Sam jumped back with a yelp, dropping the bag of chips. "What the hell—"

Clint let out a high-pitched, startled squeak, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stumbled away from the sparkling confetti shower. "Holy—"

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it back anymore, tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you captured their shocked, glitter-covered expressions on camera. "Oh my god, your faces!"

Sam turned slowly, still blinking confetti out of his eyes. He shook his head, pointing at you accusingly. "You are evil, Y/N Stark."

Clint brushed glitter from his hair, eyes wide in disbelief. "Seriously, kid? Glitter?"

You shrugged innocently, giggling uncontrollably. "Well, technically it's biodegradable confetti, but yeah."

"I don't even wanna know how you pulled that off," Sam muttered, shaking confetti off his shoulders with an annoyed expression. "Did Tony help you with this?"

You grinned mischievously. "Nope. All me. Consider it payback for your air horn prank last week."

Sam groaned dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh, c'mon, that wasn't even my best work!"

Clint was still laughing softly, brushing sparkles from his sleeve. "She got you good, Wilson."

Sam scoffed, pointing at Clint's glitter-covered shirt. "You don't exactly look untouched yourself, Barton."

You giggled again, ending your recording as you spun around happily in your seat. "This footage is gonna look amazing at the next family movie night."

Clint narrowed his eyes playfully at you. "You're lucky we love you, kid."

"Seriously," Sam agreed, finally breaking into a smile. "I oughta put glitter in your training gear."

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. "Sam, you wouldn't."

Clint grinned evilly, leaning over and whispering conspiratorially, "Don't give him ideas, kid."

You smirked playfully, standing up and putting your plate in the sink. "I'll be ready. Bring it on."

Sam shook his head, chuckling softly as he grabbed another bowl, cautiously opening another cabinet. "At least let me have lunch without another attack."

You held your hands up innocently, giving him your sweetest smile. "I'm out of glitter bombs. For now."

"Why do I not believe you?" Clint asked skeptically, side-eyeing you as he finally sat at the table with his water bottle.

"Because you're smart," you teased, winking at him as you started walking toward the kitchen door. "Better watch your backs!"

---

“Can’t you teach me Latin instead? Latin is cool,” you said to Natasha, leaning your elbows on the kitchen island dramatically. “You promised you would when you pretended to be Dad’s assistant. Or… whatever happened.”

Natasha sighed, rolling her eyes affectionately as she set down her mug of tea. “Y/N, for the last time—I was undercover, not just pretending. And I distinctly remember saying maybe. Besides, you're already learning Russian.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “Da, da, ya znayu. Yes, yes, I know. Russian is fine, but I think Latin would be more fun.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, folding her arms and giving you a skeptical look. “Fun? Y/N, Latin is literally a dead language.”

“Exactly!” You pointed at her excitedly. “Dead languages are cool, Natasha. Think of how impressive it’ll sound when I can insult Clint without him even knowing it.”

Clint turned his head quickly from his spot across the kitchen, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, Stark Junior?”

You grinned sweetly, fluttering your eyelashes innocently. “Nothing, Uncle Clint. Love you!”

Clint narrowed his eyes suspiciously, slowly returning his attention to his sandwich. “Yeah, sure you do.”

Natasha chuckled softly, shaking her head as she returned her focus to you. “Look, Y/N, as entertaining as it sounds, Russian is actually useful. Latin—not so much.”

“Useful?” You scoffed playfully, leaning back slightly on your stool. “Nat, I already speak fluent Spanish and Chinese. I literally don’t need Russian. Did you know Chinese is gonna be the most spoken language by 2050? So, really, teaching me Latin would at least be interesting.”

Natasha tilted her head, looking mildly impressed despite herself. “You’ve really done your research on this, haven’t you?”

You nodded enthusiastically, smiling confidently. “See? Genius. I rest my case.”

Bruce chuckled softly from across the room, glancing up from his own notes. “She’s got you there, Natasha. You might want to reconsider.”

Natasha shot Bruce an amused glare before sighing softly, shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. “You really won’t let this go, will you?”

“Absolutely not,” you replied immediately, beaming brightly.

She shook her head again, giving you a reluctant smile. “Fine. How about this? You ace your Russian exam next week, and I’ll teach you some Latin. Deal?”

You perked up immediately, eyes sparkling. “Deal! Wait—exam? Since when do we have exams?”

Natasha smirked knowingly, sipping her tea calmly. “Since right now.”

You groaned loudly, slumping forward dramatically. “Ugh, betrayal.”

She laughed lightly, reaching over and ruffling your hair affectionately. “You’ll survive. Now, stop complaining and study. Latin’s waiting for you.”

You grumbled softly under your breath, sitting up straighter and nodding reluctantly. “Fine. But when I ace it, you better be prepared to teach me every Latin insult known to mankind.”

She rolled her eyes, lips quirking up slightly. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” you smiled brightly again, grabbing your notes dramatically off the counter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an exam to crush.”

As you hopped off your stool, Clint gave you a teasing grin. “Hey, when you learn all those insults, teach me a few so I can use them on Stark, yeah?”

You smirked mischievously at him, giving a playful wink. “Oh, definitely.”

Bruce chuckled softly again, shaking his head fondly. “I think you two underestimate Tony’s ability to insult in any language.”

Natasha smiled knowingly, eyes glinting with amusement as she watched you head toward the elevator. “He does have an impressive vocabulary.”

Clint sighed dramatically, finishing off his sandwich. “Great. Looks like I’ll have to learn Latin too, just to keep up.”

You grinned from the elevator, waving your notes cheerfully at him. “Don’t worry, Clint! I’ll give you a discount on lessons!”

The elevator doors closed on Clint’s amused laughter and Natasha’s fond shake of her head. You leaned back against the wall, flipping through your Russian notes with renewed determination. The promise of Latin—and a wealth of creative insults—awaited.

---

You were in your lab going over your Russian notes when Peter entered, backpack slung over one shoulder. You looked up from the tablet immediately, giving him a bright smile. "Hey, you made it!"

Peter chuckled softly as he dropped his backpack by the door, coming over to lean against your lab table. "Yeah, finally. Subway was packed, and some guy spilled coffee all over my shoes. So, great afternoon."

You bit your lip sympathetically, glancing down at his slightly stained sneakers. "Aw, Pete. I'll clean them up for you later."

He smiled gratefully, looking down at your notes curiously. "Is this Russian? I thought Natasha already said you're fluent."

"I am," you sighed dramatically, leaning your head back against the chair. "But apparently Nat thinks my Russian still needs work. Something about ‘too much slang’ and ‘not enough proper grammar.’"

Peter laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Well, she's probably right."

"Not helping," you muttered playfully, poking his side with your stylus. "I'm bribing Nat with my language prowess so she'll finally teach me Latin."

"Latin?" Peter asked with surprise, lifting his brows. "Why?"

You gave him a cheeky grin, eyes sparkling mischievously. "So I can insult Clint without him understanding me, obviously."

Peter laughed again, leaning a little closer. "I thought Clint was pretty used to insults by now."

"Yeah," you agreed with a grin, nudging his shoulder gently. "But I bet he doesn't know many in Latin."

Peter smiled warmly at you, his eyes softening as he watched you continue scribbling notes. After a moment, you noticed him staring and tilted your head curiously.

"Everything okay?" you asked softly, reaching out and gently touching his hand.

Peter nodded, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. "Yeah, it's just—I guess I'm still a little nervous about the field trip next Friday."

You softened immediately, putting your notes aside and squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Pete, it's gonna be fine. I promise."

He sighed anxiously, running a hand through his messy curls. "Yeah, I know. It's just weird, you know? Flash was giving me crap again today, and everyone else just thinks I'm lying about my internship."

You frowned slightly, reaching out and tugging Peter gently towards you until he moved around to sit on the stool beside yours. "Well, Flash is an idiot. And honestly? Who cares what everyone thinks? You're amazing, Peter. Let them doubt. Next week, you'll prove them all wrong."

Peter smiled softly, relaxing slightly as he met your reassuring gaze. "Thanks, Y/N. You're the best."

"Obviously," you teased lightly, nudging his arm again with a playful smile. "But, um, speaking of next week—I sort of had an idea."

He lifted a brow, his expression wary but amused. "Should I be scared?"

You laughed, shaking your head quickly. "No, I promise! Nothing embarrassing—well, maybe slightly embarrassing—but in a cute, sweet, romantic kind of way."

Peter chuckled quietly, rolling his eyes with affection. "That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

You grinned sheepishly, leaning closer to him excitedly. "What if I brought you lunch? Like, showed up during your tour, surprised you in front of your class?"

Peter stared at you, eyes wide with mild panic. "Wait, Y/N, I—I mean—"

You bit your lip softly, suddenly nervous. "Unless that's too much. We don't have to. I just thought it'd be nice—"

"No!" Peter quickly interrupted, placing a gentle hand on your arm, voice softening immediately. "No, Y/N. I like the idea. I really do."

You raised your eyebrows skeptically, watching him closely. "Are you sure? You kind of look like you just swallowed a spider."

He made a face at the analogy, chuckling nervously. "It's just—you know, people are gonna freak out. And Flash is definitely gonna say something stupid."

You smirked, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, I hope he does. Then I can watch him shrivel under the power of my infamous Stark glare."

Peter laughed softly, visibly relaxing now as he shook his head with amusement. "You really have spent too much time around Tony."

You flashed a proud grin. "Can't help it. Stark genes."

He smiled warmly at you, eyes lingering fondly as he squeezed your hand gently. "But seriously, Y/N. I'd love for you to stop by. And screw whatever Flash thinks."

You grinned happily, excitement bubbling up in your chest as you leaned forward, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips. "It's a date, then."

Peter smiled shyly, cheeks turning bright pink as he squeezed your hand tighter. "Yeah, definitely."

Just then, footsteps echoed in the hallway, and you both turned toward the door as Tony strode in, a pizza box balanced in one hand, and the other covering his eyes.

“I’m giving you 15 seconds to get situated from whatever teenage shenanigans you two were up to. I better not see any clothing articles on the floor—”

"Dad!" you groaned loudly, cheeks immediately flushing. You quickly jumped away from Peter, nearly stumbling off your stool in embarrassment as you hurriedly fixed your hair. "We were literally just talking!"

Peter awkwardly cleared his throat, face equally flushed as he stared down at the floor, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "Uh, hi, Mr. Stark."

Tony finally lowered his hand from his eyes, giving both of you a deeply amused look as he walked further into the lab. "Relax, kiddos. Just making sure. Can't be too careful, what with teenagers being teenagers and all."

"Dad, seriously," you mumbled, trying to fight the burning embarrassment still flooding your cheeks. "I'm pretty sure the last thing on our minds is doing anything weird in my lab. With you literally two rooms down."

Tony smirked slightly, placing the pizza box on the counter beside you. "Hey, I don't judge. Hormones are unpredictable."

"Oh my God," you muttered, covering your face with your hands, hoping the ground might spontaneously open and swallow you whole. "Why are you like this?"

Peter laughed nervously, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced between you and Tony. "Um, sir, we—we were really just talking about the field trip next week."

Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow, glancing sideways at Peter. "Sure, Pete. You don't have to worry about me, though. I trust you. Mostly."

You let out an exaggerated groan, slumping dramatically against the lab table. "Please, Dad. For the love of Thor, stop talking."

Tony chuckled deeply, flipping the pizza box open casually. "Speaking of the field trip," he started, pulling out a slice, "I've been thinking about how we should handle this whole thing."

You sighed softly, finally looking up at him with a wary expression. "Handle it?"

Tony nodded slowly, taking a casual bite of his pizza. "You know, introductions, awkward teenage social dynamics, maybe a strategically embarrassing slideshow detailing Peter's intern duties—"

"Mr. Stark!" Peter interrupted quickly, looking mortified. "Please don't."

You shook your head vigorously, narrowing your eyes firmly at Tony. "Absolutely not. Dad, you promised you'd behave. No embarrassing Peter, remember?"

Tony pouted dramatically, sighing deeply as he looked between the two of you. "You're no fun at all. You know how much prep I've already put into this presentation?"

Peter paled visibly, shifting anxiously on his stool. "Presentation?"

Tony smirked mischievously, leaning forward slightly as he took another bite. "It's titled 'Peter Parker: Spider Intern or Spider Imposter?' Thought it had a nice ring to it."

You groaned again, burying your face in your arms on the lab table. "Peter, I'm so sorry."

Peter chuckled nervously, shaking his head as he glanced over at you. "It's fine. I mean, how bad could it really be?"

Tony grinned widely. "Oh, kid, famous last words."

"Dad," you finally lifted your head again, giving him a pleading look, "can we please just have a normal field trip? Without your involvement? At all?"

Tony raised an eyebrow, looking dramatically offended. "No involvement? I'm hurt, Y/N. This is literally Stark Industries. Emphasis on the Stark."

"Exactly," you pointed out firmly, crossing your arms. "Industries. Not Tony Stark's Personal Embarrassment Tour."

Peter nodded quickly, clearly hopeful you’d convinced him. "Please, Mr. Stark. I promise I'll make sure my classmates behave."

Tony tilted his head thoughtfully, still chewing his pizza. "Hmm. Alright, Parker. I'll consider scaling back my incredible plans. But only because you're looking at me like a kicked puppy."

Peter relaxed visibly, sighing in relief. "Thank you."

You let out your own relieved breath, reaching over to squeeze Peter's hand gently. "You okay?"

He nodded slightly, squeezing your hand back as he gave you a small smile. "Yeah, thanks. Just, you know, mild panic attack."

You chuckled softly, giving him an affectionate look. "I promise, it'll be okay. We can handle Dad."

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically, finishing off his pizza slice. "I'm literally right here."

You grinned cheekily at him, shrugging your shoulders. "We know."

Tony chuckled lightly, shaking his head fondly at you both. "Alright, alright, I get it. I'll behave." He turned his attention back to Peter, pointing a stern finger in his direction. "But you'd better make sure those high school gremlins don't touch anything. Or breathe on anything expensive. Especially Flash."

Peter nodded quickly, looking relieved but still a bit nervous. "Yes, sir."

Tony sighed dramatically again, reaching for another slice of pizza as he shot you both a teasing smirk. "Honestly, I'm pretty sure running an Avengers-level security detail was less stressful than hosting a bunch of teenagers."

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. "Relax, Dad. It'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say," Tony grumbled playfully, giving you an affectionate smile. "You're not the one dealing with liability paperwork."

Peter smiled slightly, visibly calmer now as he relaxed next to you. "I promise, Mr. Stark, we'll be on our best behavior."

Tony smiled knowingly, pointing at him dramatically. "Good. Because if not, I'm blaming you directly, Parker. And then—"

"Tony," Pepper's amused voice suddenly cut in from the doorway. You all turned to see her leaning against the frame with a fond expression. "Don't threaten Peter. He's nervous enough."

Tony grinned sheepishly, shrugging at his wife with a playful pout. "Hey, someone’s gotta keep the kid on his toes."

Pepper rolled her eyes warmly, walking toward you and Peter with a reassuring smile. "Don't listen to him. You'll both do great next week."

You smiled gratefully at her, relaxing further. "Thanks, Mom."

Pepper gently squeezed your shoulder, giving Peter a comforting look. "It'll be fun, Peter. And don't worry, Tony will behave himself."

Tony scoffed loudly, crossing his arms indignantly. "I'm literally standing right here. You people act like I'm the teenager."

You smirked cheekily, tilting your head. "Well, Dad—"

He quickly held up his hand, shaking his head firmly. "Don’t. Finish. That. Thought."

Pepper laughed lightly, patting Tony's shoulder affectionately. "Come on, Tony. Let's leave the kids alone."

He sighed dramatically, moving to follow her but turned at the doorway to give you both a mock-stern glare. "Door stays open, kids."

"Dad!" you groaned again, flushing furiously as Tony chuckled and finally followed Pepper out, the door staying conspicuously wide open.

You sighed deeply, slumping slightly as you turned to look at Peter. "Sorry again. He's… a lot."

Peter laughed softly, relaxing completely now as he smiled warmly at you. "I’m used to it. Besides, I think your dad's threats of embarrassment kinda prepared me for this stuff."

You grinned gently, leaning toward him again. "So, still excited for Friday?"

He gave you a nervous but sincere smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah. As long as you're there, I'll be fine."

You felt your heart flutter warmly, squeezing his hand again as you leaned in, gently pressing your lips against his again. This time, without any interruption from Tony.

Peter smiled softly against your lips, pulling back slowly and meeting your gaze warmly. "Thanks, Y/N. For everything."

You smiled gently back at him, your eyes full of affection. "Anytime, Pete."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly. "Honestly, compared to being Spider-Man, dealing with your dad isn't so bad."

You laughed, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. "I'll remind you that you said that next Friday."

He sighed dramatically, grinning playfully. "Great. Can't wait."

You smiled warmly, knowing that despite Tony’s teasing, next week really was going to be great—because you'd be together, and that was what mattered most.

---

“Did May sign the permission slip? It’s due today!” Ned asked Peter as they walked down the hallway to Mr. Harrington’s class.

“Yeah, barely,” Peter laughed nervously, tugging his backpack higher onto his shoulder. “She got home late from her shift at the hospital, but I practically shoved the pen in her hand this morning.”

Ned chuckled, shaking his head knowingly. “Man, I still can’t believe we’re going to Stark Industries. Like, the actual Stark Industries. You think they’ll show us the Iron Man suits?”

Peter smirked, glancing over at Ned with amusement. “Probably not the real ones. Knowing Mr. Stark, he’ll probably have holographic decoys or something.”

“Oh, totally,” Ned agreed excitedly. “Wait, do you think the Avengers are gonna be there? Y/N did say the team all lives there.”

Peter bit his lip nervously, glancing around to make sure no one overheard them as they walked. “Yeah, I know. And that’s kinda what I’m worried about. Can you imagine how Flash is gonna react if Thor casually strolls by during the tour?”

Ned laughed, clapping Peter’s shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, just let Thor pick Flash up one-handed—that’ll shut him up real quick.”

Peter chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Yeah, tempting as that sounds, I promised Y/N we’d all behave.”

“Aw, man,” Ned teased dramatically, pretending to pout. “You guys are no fun at all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter rolled his eyes affectionately, nudging Ned’s shoulder gently. “Just help me make sure MJ doesn’t instigate something. She’s been weirdly excited about this.”

Ned snorted loudly, nodding vigorously. “Dude, MJ told me she’s bringing popcorn to watch the chaos unfold. I think she’s secretly hoping Flash embarrasses himself.”

“Great,” Peter sighed, running a hand anxiously through his curls. “Just what I needed.”

“You’ll be fine, Peter,” Ned reassured gently, lowering his voice slightly. “Besides, you’re literally Spider-Man and dating Tony Stark’s daughter. Honestly, if Flash knew the truth, he’d lose his mind.”

Peter laughed quietly, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, well, let’s hope he doesn’t find out like that. Flash losing his mind is the last thing I want.”

Ned laughed again, giving Peter another reassuring pat on the back as they approached the classroom. “Relax, dude. It’ll be fine. Besides, Y/N’s coming, right? She’ll probably have your back.”

Peter smiled softly at that, nodding slowly as he walked into Mr. Harrington’s room. “Yeah, she will.”

They found their seats, and MJ looked up from her sketchbook as they joined her. “Morning, losers. Permission slips signed, or are you both gonna have to sit this one out?”

“Very funny,” Ned said dryly, showing her his slip proudly. “Signed, sealed, and delivered.”

MJ smirked, lifting an eyebrow as she glanced at Peter. “And you, Parker?”

Peter waved his permission slip dramatically, giving her a mock-serious look. “Relax, MJ, I’ve got it covered.”

“Good,” she replied casually, returning to her sketching. “Because if you missed this, I was gonna have to record Flash embarrassing himself and send it to you.”

Peter smiled faintly. “How thoughtful.”

“Always,” MJ replied without looking up.

The bell rang, and Mr. Harrington quickly stood, adjusting his glasses and collecting the slips eagerly. “Alright, everyone! Permission slips, hand them in now, please! Stark Industries awaits!”

Peter handed his slip to Mr. Harrington, heart thudding slightly in his chest as he felt reality sinking in again. As Mr. Harrington counted the slips, Flash loudly leaned toward Peter from his seat.

“Better be careful, Parker,” Flash whispered mockingly, a smug grin plastered across his face. “You wouldn’t wanna embarrass yourself in front of Tony Stark by pretending to be his intern, would you?”

Peter sighed deeply, not even bothering to look over. “Thanks, Flash. Really appreciate the advice.”

Flash scoffed arrogantly, crossing his arms as he leaned back. “Just looking out for you, Parker.”

MJ shot Peter an amused, knowing glance, mouthing silently, “Ten bucks says he cries.”

Peter stifled a laugh, relaxing slightly. Maybe Ned was right—Friday wouldn’t be so bad. Especially since he had you.

---

Meanwhile, at the tower, you were currently scribbling equations onto the large whiteboard in your lab, muttering softly to yourself as you worked through a particularly challenging formula.

“You know, most teenagers prefer sleeping in, Y/N,” Rhodey’s voice suddenly teased lightly from the doorway.

You spun around, smiling brightly as you spotted him leaning casually against the frame. “Yeah, but most teenagers aren’t Stark geniuses.”

He chuckled softly, stepping into the lab and glancing at your equations curiously. “Impressive as always. New project?”

“Sort of,” you admitted sheepishly, tapping your marker against your chin thoughtfully. “Peter and I were talking about his web-fluid yesterday, and I think I found a way to improve its tensile strength.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Tony’s gonna be thrilled. Speaking of Peter, how’s he feeling about Friday?”

You sighed softly, leaning your back against the table. “Honestly? He’s nervous. Like, really nervous.”

Rhodey smiled knowingly, tilting his head sympathetically. “Poor kid. High school drama, huh?”

“Exactly,” you replied with a small laugh, shaking your head slightly. “It’s just… it’s frustrating. He’s incredible, you know? But he still worries what people like Flash Thompson think.”

Rhodey nodded understandingly. “Well, Flash Thompson’s an idiot.”

“That’s what I said!” you exclaimed immediately, grinning widely.

Rhodey laughed warmly, squeezing your shoulder gently. “Look, just remind Peter that he’s got nothing to prove. He knows who he is. You know who he is. That’s all that matters.”

You smiled softly at that, feeling warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, Uncle Rhodey. I’ll make sure to remind him.”

He smiled back warmly, eyes gentle. “You two are good for each other, Y/N. You’ve always balanced each other out.”

You blushed slightly, nodding shyly. “Yeah, we do.”

“Alright,” Rhodey stepped back with an affectionate grin, “I better get to that meeting. Just wanted to check on you.”

You smiled warmly, giving him a grateful look. “Thanks, Uncle Rhodey.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” he replied gently before disappearing back into the hallway.

You turned back toward your equations, mind drifting again toward Peter and Friday. Despite all your reassurances, you knew exactly why he was nervous. Peter had always preferred blending in quietly, and dating Tony Stark’s daughter certainly wasn’t the way to keep a low profile.

But you’d made a promise to yourself—you would be there for him. No matter how awkward, how nervous, or how many snarky comments Flash made. Peter was worth it. Besides, you thought with a soft smile, you could handle a bit of embarrassment. Especially if it meant making sure everyone else knew just how amazing Peter Parker really was.

Smiling gently to yourself, you turned your attention back to your calculations. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

---

Soon, Friday arrived and the bus to Stark Tower was overwhelmed with chatter and excitement.

"Oh my god, we're literally almost there!" Ned practically bounced in his seat, gripping the seat in front of him excitedly. "I'm actually going to see the lab where Iron Man makes his suits."

MJ rolled her eyes slightly, flipping casually through a book she'd brought along. "Please don't faint when you meet Tony again, Ned."

Ned frowned, looking mildly offended. "I didn't faint last time, MJ. I just got a little… dizzy."

Peter chuckled nervously from beside them, fingers fidgeting anxiously in his lap as his leg bounced rapidly. "Guys, please try not to draw too much attention today? Please?"

MJ lifted her gaze to Peter, arching an eyebrow skeptically. "You're dating the daughter of a billionaire superhero, Parker. I'm pretty sure attention is inevitable."

Peter groaned quietly, sinking slightly lower in his seat. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Flash loudly cleared his throat from across the aisle, leaning over with a smug smirk plastered on his face. "Parker, remind me—do interns at Stark Industries actually get to meet anyone important, or do they just spend the whole time fetching coffee?"

Peter sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Flash, I've told you a million times—I'm an intern. I work in an actual lab."

Flash snorted dismissively. "Yeah, sure you do. We'll see about that."

"Ignore him," MJ muttered calmly, returning her attention to her book. "He's just jealous because his dad couldn't buy him an internship there."

Ned snickered softly as Flash huffed indignantly, turning away again.

Peter's phone buzzed suddenly, and he quickly glanced down, seeing your name light up his screen. He smiled slightly, quickly opening your message.

You: Hey Pete! Just checking in—are you still alive? Ned didn't faint yet, right?

Peter grinned, quickly typing a reply.

Peter: Barely hanging on. And Ned’s still conscious. For now.

You: Good. Can't wait to see you.

Peter's heart fluttered at that, fingers hesitating over the screen before he sent back his message.

Peter: Me too. Miss you.

"Aw, Peter's blushing," MJ teased flatly, smirking without looking up from her page.

Peter flushed deeper, quickly pocketing his phone and stammering awkwardly. "I—uh—I'm not—"

"It's cute, man," Ned reassured, giving him a gentle nudge. "Besides, you're gonna be fine. Y/N will make sure Flash shuts up."

Peter sighed softly, leaning back against his seat. "Yeah. Hopefully without giving him permanent emotional damage."

MJ shrugged nonchalantly. "Either way, it's a win for me."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head as the bus finally pulled up in front of Stark Tower. The entire class erupted in excited chatter, students pressing against windows to get a better look at the imposing glass building.

Mr. Harrington stood from the front of the bus, trying to speak loudly over the chatter. "Alright, class! Remember, this is a rare and special opportunity. So please—please—try to behave yourselves."

Flash scoffed loudly from his seat. "Relax, Mr. Harrington. I'm sure Parker here can use his imaginary connections to keep us in line."

Peter bit his lip, clenching his fists tightly to prevent himself from saying something he'd regret. Thankfully, MJ was quick to respond.

"Hey, Flash," she called dryly. "Maybe Stark Industries will have an opening in the mailroom for you after graduation. Aim high."

The class laughed quietly as Flash’s face turned red with embarrassment. Peter gave MJ a grateful look, smiling slightly.

They filed off the bus and gathered at the entrance, Mr. Harrington attempting to count heads. Peter’s nerves spiked again as he glanced up at the glass doors. He swallowed anxiously, realizing in just moments, the quiet corner of his life he’d worked so hard to keep separate was about to collide spectacularly with his classmates.

"Relax, Peter," Ned murmured reassuringly, patting his shoulder. "You got this."

Peter smiled weakly, nodding slightly. "Thanks, Ned."

MJ looked up from her book again, giving him a tiny smirk. "If all else fails, just have Tony Stark kick Flash out of the building."

Peter laughed softly, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Good idea."

Before he could reply further, the front doors opened, and Peter's heart skipped when he saw Happy Hogan step through.

"Welcome, Midtown," Happy said loudly, in his usual deadpan voice. "My name is Happy Hogan. I'm head of security here at Stark Industries. I'll be taking you to the conference room, and we'll begin the tour shortly."

Flash's eyes widened, whispering excitedly to his friends, "That's Stark's security guy! You know he's gotta know Iron Man personally."

Peter smiled slightly at Happy, trying to catch his eye. Happy's gaze finally landed on Peter, giving him a small, knowing nod.

"Keep up, people," Happy said impatiently, already turning around and leading the class toward the elevators.

Peter felt the butterflies in his stomach grow heavier with every step they took. His breathing quickened slightly, heart pounding anxiously in his chest as he glanced at Ned, whispering nervously, "This is it. Oh god."

Ned squeezed his shoulder again reassuringly, giving Peter an encouraging smile. "You're gonna be fine, Pete. Just breathe."

MJ smirked faintly as she walked beside them, glancing sideways at Peter. "You look like you're about to faint, Parker."

Peter forced himself to chuckle, nodding weakly. "Yeah, no kidding."

Finally, they reached the massive conference room, and Happy gestured inside impatiently. "Sit down and don't touch anything. We will be passing out badges that you will need during the tour. There are different levels for different roles in the company, and badges are never reprinted unless lost. Because apparently I’m the only here who takes security seriou—”

“Ah, son of Hogan!” Thor boomed, standing in the conference room door. “You wouldn’t mind going out and getting more Pop-Tarts, would you?”

Happy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, visibly counting to ten before turning slowly to face Thor. "Thor, we've discussed this. I'm working."

Thor smiled broadly, completely unfazed. "Ah, yes, Son of Hogan, but this is an emergency. You see, I ate all the strawberry ones, and now Banner refuses to share his."

Happy sighed deeply again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thor, please—just wait until I'm done here."

Thor's eyes drifted curiously to the classroom full of wide-eyed teenagers, offering them an enthusiastic wave. "Greetings, young scholars! Welcome to Stark's domain!"

Flash’s mouth fell open in shock, eyes wide as he grabbed his friend's shoulder. "Dude, it's literally Thor!"

Peter shrank slightly in his seat, cheeks flushing as he fought the overwhelming urge to bury his head in his arms. Ned elbowed him excitedly, whispering, "This is already the best day ever!"

MJ's smirk deepened as she leaned closer, murmuring softly, "At least Flash finally shut up."

Peter chuckled weakly, glancing nervously back at Thor, who had taken it upon himself to stride confidently into the conference room. Happy followed quickly, irritation clear on his face.

"Thor, I swear, if you break something—" Happy muttered sharply.

"Nonsense," Thor boomed cheerfully, placing his hands confidently on his hips as he smiled warmly at the stunned class. "These fine young Midgardians deserve the full Avengers experience."

Happy groaned softly, rolling his eyes upward in defeat.

Flash finally found his voice, practically vibrating in his seat. "Mr. Thor, sir—do you think we could, uh, maybe see your hammer?"

Thor chuckled heartily, shaking his head good-naturedly. "I'm afraid Mjolnir is resting securely, but perhaps another time!"

Mr. Harrington cleared his throat nervously, stepping forward to address Thor with an awkward smile. "Well, thank you for the unexpected introduction, Mr. Thor. We, uh, appreciate the warm welcome."

Thor beamed brightly, clapping a heavy hand onto Mr. Harrington’s shoulder, nearly knocking the teacher off balance. "Of course! I bid you farewell, small ones. Enjoy Stark's sanctuary!"

With a final dramatic wave, Thor exited the conference room, leaving a stunned silence behind.

Happy exhaled deeply, glancing around the room again. "So that's Thor. Please, no more interruptions. As I was saying before our surprise guest—badges. You'll each receive one based on your level of clearance."

He began passing out badges, placing them carefully onto the table as he spoke. "Blue badges grant general access for today. Do not lose these, do not trade them, do not sell them online. Trust me, we'll know."

Flash eagerly grabbed his badge, practically cradling it in awe as he turned to whisper excitedly to his friends. "Guys, this is legit Stark tech!"

MJ rolled her eyes slightly, carefully clipping her badge onto her shirt. "It's literally a laminated card, Flash."

Flash scowled at her, but Ned cut in excitedly before he could reply. "Hey, Peter, your badge is different. Yours is red!"

Peter flushed, awkwardly reaching out to take his badge from Happy, who gave him another subtle, reassuring nod. "Yeah, uh—it's an intern badge. It gives me access to the labs."

Flash's eyes widened again, looking sharply at Peter. "Wait—Parker actually has a legit badge?"

Peter sighed tiredly, clipping the badge onto his hoodie. "Yeah, Flash, that's what I've been trying to tell you."

Flash narrowed his eyes suspiciously, clearly skeptical but momentarily at a loss for words. Ned grinned proudly, nudging Peter excitedly. "Told you they'd freak."

Peter smiled weakly, glancing anxiously toward the doorway as Happy finished handing out badges and returned to the front of the room.

"Alright, people," Happy continued in his deadpan voice, "we have a lot to cover. I'll be taking you through the lower-level labs, public spaces, and exhibits. You'll be staying together and not touching anything unless explicitly instructed."

Mr. Harrington quickly nodded, his eyes wide with mild panic as he gestured toward the class. "Yes, yes—everyone, please listen carefully to Mr. Hogan."

Peter took a slow, steadying breath, trying to quell the anxiety that bubbled within his chest. MJ leaned slightly toward him, murmuring dryly, "Relax, Parker. You've survived alien invasions. You can survive a high school field trip."

Peter let out a shaky laugh, nodding weakly. "Yeah, you're right."

Happy motioned impatiently, waving everyone toward the door again. "Alright, follow me closely. We're heading down to the exhibit hall first."

Peter stood slowly, falling into step beside Ned and MJ. Flash followed closely behind, loudly whispering to anyone who would listen, "I bet we'll get to meet Tony Stark himself."

Peter's pulse quickened nervously at the mention of Tony, stomach twisting anxiously at the thought of just how close his carefully separated worlds were becoming. MJ glanced at him knowingly, giving a subtle smirk.

"You know," she murmured casually, "if Flash annoys Stark enough, maybe he'll ban him from the building."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, let's hope so."

They reached the elevators, and Happy quickly keyed in a security code, herding the group inside. "No pushing, please."

The elevator descended smoothly, opening into the exhibit hall. The entire class gasped, excited murmurs filling the air as they took in the massive display cases of Stark tech, holographic screens detailing various inventions, and impressive Avengers suits lining the walls.

Ned’s mouth fell open, eyes wide with awe. "Peter, this is insane!"

Peter smiled faintly, glancing around nervously. "Yeah, it's pretty cool."

Happy cleared his throat impatiently again, gesturing toward the displays. "Feel free to look around. No touching the glass. You break it, you buy it, and trust me—none of you can afford it."

Flash immediately moved toward the nearest Iron Man suit, practically pressing his nose to the glass as he marveled at it.

MJ leaned toward Peter again, speaking quietly. "You know Flash is gonna touch something eventually, right?"

Peter smiled slightly, nodding in resignation. "Yeah, probably."

“Spider-Man has his own display!?” Flash exclaimed, practically rushing toward the exhibit. He pressed his hands against the glass excitedly, ignoring Happy’s warning glare.

"Dude," Ned whispered to Peter, trying and failing to hide his grin, "That's you!"

"Shh!" Peter hissed nervously, glancing around quickly to ensure no one overheard. "Not here, man."

MJ chuckled quietly from beside them, arms crossed as she casually took in the spectacle. "So, this is what a secret identity crisis looks like."

Flash’s voice rang out loudly again, clearly trying to impress his small gathering of friends. "I mean, Spider-Man’s cool and all, but he's no Iron Man."

Peter felt his face flush slightly, resisting the urge to say something back. Ned, noticing his friend’s tense expression, quickly nudged Peter gently.

"Just breathe, dude," Ned whispered reassuringly, eyes sympathetic. "He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to."

Peter sighed softly, smiling weakly at Ned. "Yeah, you're right."

Flash continued his monologue to anyone who would listen, motioning dramatically to the display. "Spider-Man's alright, sure, but he's probably just some random guy who got lucky. Stark Industries just felt bad and threw him a bone."

"Wow," MJ deadpanned softly, eyebrows raised as she looked at Peter pointedly. "Are you gonna tell him how you single-handedly stopped a flying bird guy and an army of drones, or should I?"

Peter bit back a laugh, shaking his head nervously. "No, MJ. Please, no."

Meanwhile, Happy loudly cleared his throat again, clearly irritated. "Hey! Thompson, right? Keep your hands off the glass."

Flash pulled his hands back immediately, looking sheepish but quickly regaining his confidence. "Sorry, sir. Just admiring Spider-Man’s, uh, impressive suit."

Happy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled."

The class snickered softly at Flash’s embarrassment, and Ned leaned closer to Peter, whispering excitedly, "Oh man, I wish Y/N were here. She'd totally roast him right now."

Peter chuckled softly, nerves easing slightly at the mention of you. "Yeah, I know. She's definitely better at handling Flash than I am."

MJ smirked faintly, eyes sparkling with amusement. "You mean scarier."

"That too," Peter admitted with a slight laugh, shoulders relaxing a bit more.

Happy guided them further into the exhibit hall, pointing out various pieces of technology as the class followed excitedly behind. Ned eagerly snapped photos with his phone, whispering excited commentary to Peter, who smiled and nodded distractedly, mind clearly elsewhere.

They stopped again in front of a sleek glass display featuring the nanotech suit Tony wore during the battle against Thanos. The entire class gasped softly, and even MJ looked up from her book, clearly impressed.

"This," Happy announced seriously, motioning toward the display, "is Mr. Stark’s most advanced suit to date—fully integrated nanotechnology. It saved his life multiple times."

Flash stepped forward again, looking star-struck. "Is this the actual suit Iron Man wore?"

Happy sighed softly, nodding reluctantly. "Yes. And before you ask, no, you can't touch it."

Flash stepped back quickly, holding his hands up innocently. "Just checking."

"Wow," Ned breathed softly, glancing at Peter excitedly. "Dude, you've literally helped Mr. Stark build stuff like this. That's insane."

Flash overheard Ned's comment, quickly scoffing dismissively. "Oh, come on, Leeds. Stop believing Parker’s ridiculous fantasies. Like Tony Stark would ever let him near something important."

Peter felt his jaw tighten slightly in irritation but forced himself to remain silent, refusing to engage. MJ, however, tilted her head calmly, offering Flash a dry, unimpressed look.

"You're really embarrassing yourself right now," she stated bluntly, returning her attention casually to her book.

Flash opened his mouth to respond, clearly flustered, but Happy quickly interrupted before he could.

"Alright, moving on!" Happy called loudly, gesturing impatiently toward the next exhibit. "We still have a lot to see."

Peter felt a tiny bit of relief as Flash was forced to follow along silently, though his anxiety only grew as they continued deeper into Stark Tower. With every passing moment, they were closer to crossing paths with the Avengers—and, of course, with you.

The group turned the corner, approaching another expansive hall. Happy motioned toward the collection of Captain America’s shields mounted on the walls.

"And here," Happy said flatly, "you'll see the various prototypes and completed designs for Captain America's shield—vibranium alloy, nearly indestructible, and incredibly dangerous when wielded by literally anyone else."

The class laughed softly, admiring the impressive display. MJ glanced casually at Peter, raising an eyebrow with mock seriousness. "Cap's still your favorite Avenger, right?"

Peter chuckled nervously, shrugging slightly. "Uh, I dunno… they're all pretty cool."

Ned rolled his eyes dramatically, nudging Peter again. "Come on, dude. We all know your favorite Avenger."

MJ smirked knowingly. "Y/N doesn't count."

Peter flushed bright red immediately, stammering awkwardly. "I—I mean—she’s not technically an Avenger, so—"

"Uh-huh," MJ replied flatly, returning her focus calmly to the displays.

Flash scoffed softly from behind, overhearing their conversation. "Please. Like Parker even knows Y/N Stark. He probably doesn't even know what she looks like."

Peter's cheeks grew even redder, fists clenching nervously at his sides. Ned quickly placed a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder, shaking his head slightly.

"Just ignore him," Ned murmured softly, eyes sympathetic.

MJ rolled her eyes dramatically, glancing back at Peter calmly. "Seriously, Parker, you need better taste in friends."

Peter smiled weakly, trying not to let Flash’s words get under his skin. But as the tour continued, he felt increasingly anxious, dreading the inevitable moment you’d show up and his carefully guarded secret would be spectacularly shattered.

The class moved forward again, following Happy toward another part of the exhibit hall. Ned continued chattering excitedly, pointing out different displays to Peter, who smiled and nodded distractedly, heart racing anxiously in his chest.

As Happy stopped once more in front of a display case showcasing Hawkeye's various trick arrows, Flash loudly cleared his throat again, arms crossed smugly.

"Honestly," Flash announced loudly, addressing the entire class dramatically, "I'm surprised Stark even has this many Hawkeye arrows on display. I mean, he's basically useless compared to literally anyone else."

Peter frowned slightly, jaw tightening again in annoyance. He knew Clint well enough to appreciate just how skilled and important he truly was.

MJ, however, remained unimpressed, tilting her head calmly toward Flash. "You know Hawkeye could probably take you down with a single paperclip, right?"

Flash scoffed arrogantly, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right. The guy shoots arrows for a living. Big deal."

From just behind Flash, a familiar voice suddenly spoke, casual but amused. "Actually, paperclips are a little boring. Give me some dental floss and a rubber band—now that's interesting."

Flash turned quickly, eyes wide with shock as he realized Clint Barton himself had silently walked up behind him, a mug of coffee in hand and a relaxed, amused smile on his face.

"Oh—um," Flash stammered awkwardly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as the entire class watched eagerly. "I—I didn’t mean—"

Clint chuckled softly, taking a casual sip of his coffee. "Relax, kid. No offense taken."

MJ smirked faintly, clearly entertained by Flash’s embarrassment. "Nice save, Flash."

Clint turned his gaze casually toward Peter, eyes sparkling knowingly. "Hey, Pete. Good to see you."

Peter flushed immediately, suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on him. He quickly waved nervously, voice slightly strained. "Uh, hey, Clint."

Flash stared wide-eyed, completely speechless now, as Clint simply nodded, clearly entertained. "Enjoy the tour, kids. Try not to break anything."

With that, Clint casually continued down the hallway, leaving stunned silence behind him.

MJ looked pointedly at Flash, raising an amused eyebrow. "Still think he's useless?"

Flash remained silent, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he quickly averted his gaze.

Peter exhaled slowly, heart still pounding anxiously in his chest. He glanced nervously toward the door, knowing that with Clint’s appearance, it was only a matter of time before the others arrived—and before you showed up and inevitably turned his entire world upside down.

And that moment came sooner than expected. As Happy led the class to the end of the exhibit hall, Vision phased through the wall, looking politely inquisitive as he hovered just slightly above the ground. "Ah, Mr. Hogan. I need to know where there’s extra sugar. Y/N asked for tea, and I'm 0.05 grams short."

Happy took another deep, exhausted breath, closing his eyes briefly in annoyance. "Vision, you're literally a supercomputer. Can’t you calculate your way to the pantry?"

Vision tilted his head thoughtfully. "I did, indeed. However, the pantry appears to have been relocated to accommodate Thor’s snack preferences. This requires manual intervention."

From the back of the group, Flash practically squeaked, whispering excitedly to the person beside him, "Holy crap, that’s Vision! Actual Vision!"

MJ glanced sideways at Flash, deadpan as always. "You sure? Might just be some other floating, vibranium-infused android phasing through walls."

Flash glared at her, crossing his arms tightly. "Shut up."

Peter swallowed nervously, feeling Ned elbowing him excitedly in the side. "Dude, this is literally the coolest day of my entire life."

"Yeah," Peter mumbled, feeling anxiety bubble up again at the mention of your name. His heart pounded quicker, wondering if this was the start of your inevitable appearance.

The elevators at the end of the hall opened as Wanda walked out. “Vis, you didn’t need to come all the way down here for sugar. I had found a new bag underneath the sink right when you left.”

“Yes,” Happy said, “thank you, Wanda. And Vision, I doubt Y/N would notice a difference if you were 0.05 grams short.”

Vision tilted his head thoughtfully, completely unfazed by the class of teenagers staring at him. "I suppose. But as she tells me, I make it perfect every time. I'd rather not disappoint her."

Wanda smiled softly, gently placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Trust me, Vis, Y/N will survive a slightly imperfect cup of tea."

From somewhere behind Peter, Flash whispered excitedly to his friend, voice shaking with awe. "Dude—Scarlet Witch too? This is literally the best day of my entire existence."

MJ glanced sideways, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "I'm glad witnessing you reach the peak of your existence is just as disappointing as I imagined, Flash."

Ned elbowed Peter again, practically bouncing in place. "This is insane, Pete! Wanda, Vision—who's next? Black Panther? Captain Marvel?"

Peter chuckled nervously, shifting anxiously on his feet. "Let's hope not."

Happy sighed deeply, giving Vision and Wanda a pointed look. "Alright, could you two maybe move this conversation somewhere else? I'm trying to give an educational tour here."

Vision nodded politely, still hovering just slightly above the ground. "Of course, Mr. Hogan. My apologies. We shall return upstairs."

"Thanks," Happy muttered flatly, clearly counting down the seconds until his tour guide duty ended.

Wanda turned her attention curiously to the class, smiling warmly as she noticed Peter. "Oh, Peter! Hi. How's the tour going?"

Peter flushed again immediately, awkwardly waving at her while feeling every single pair of eyes in the room shift to stare at him. "Uh, hi, Wanda. It's going good, thanks."

Flash stared wide-eyed at Peter, visibly baffled. "Wait—Parker knows Wanda Maximoff? What?"

MJ didn't look up from her book, lips quirking slightly. "If you'd listened to literally anything Peter said in the last two years, Flash, this wouldn't be surprising."

Flash opened his mouth to argue, cheeks flushed, but Wanda simply smiled gently, clearly amused by the drama she'd accidentally caused. "Well, I'll let you get back to it. Have fun, everyone."

With a polite nod, Wanda and Vision left quietly, leaving another stunned silence in their wake.

Mr. Harrington took a shaky breath, clearly overwhelmed by the day's surprises. "Well, this is certainly more exciting than I anticipated. Mr. Hogan, should we continue?"

"Please," Happy agreed impatiently, already walking ahead. "Next up is our robotics lab. Follow closely."

As the class began moving again, Flash stepped quickly beside Peter, clearly desperate for answers. "Okay, Parker, what's going on? First Clint Barton, now Wanda Maximoff knows you? How?"

Peter shrugged awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I mean—I told you, I work here. I'm an intern."

Flash shook his head skeptically, narrowing his eyes. "No way. There's gotta be something else."

MJ sighed dryly, clearly losing patience with Flash's stubborn disbelief. "Yeah, Flash, it's almost like Peter has an actual life outside of school. Wild concept, I know."

Flash huffed irritably, quickly walking ahead of them with a muttered, "Whatever."

Ned snickered softly, grinning at Peter triumphantly. "Finally! Flash has no idea what's coming next."

"Yeah," Peter chuckled weakly, heart racing anxiously again as he glanced around nervously, half-expecting you to pop out at any moment. "I'm terrified."

MJ smirked knowingly, nudging him gently. "Relax, Parker. This is honestly the best entertainment I've had in weeks."

They entered the robotics lab, a spacious room filled with advanced machinery, holographic interfaces, and several scientists and engineers quietly working at various stations.

Flash immediately rushed toward a particularly impressive robotic arm on display, eyes wide with awe. "Whoa, check this out! Do you think it's remote-controlled or something?"

Happy shot Flash an annoyed glare. "No. And again, Thompson—don't touch."

Flash quickly withdrew his hands, sheepishly stepping back again.

Peter lingered nervously near the doorway, fingers twitching anxiously at his sides. He glanced around the familiar lab, memories of working alongside you and Tony flooding his mind.

"Peter!" Bruce's cheerful voice suddenly called from across the room, causing Peter to jump slightly. Bruce walked over quickly, smiling warmly as he adjusted his glasses. "Good to see you, kid."

The class immediately quieted again, eyes once more shifting curiously toward Peter.

Peter flushed again, offering Bruce a shy, awkward wave. "Hi, Dr. Banner."

Bruce chuckled lightly, gently squeezing Peter's shoulder reassuringly. "You nervous?"

Peter forced a small laugh, scratching his neck nervously. "A little."

Flash stared open-mouthed, clearly unable to process yet another Avenger casually acknowledging Peter's existence. "This is not happening."

MJ smirked faintly, casually flipping another page in her book. "Honestly, Flash, your denial at this point is almost impressive."

Bruce glanced curiously at Flash, tilting his head slightly. "Is everything alright?"

Ned eagerly jumped in before Flash could respond, grinning broadly. "Flash just can't handle the fact that Peter actually interns here. He's been convinced Peter's lying for two years."

Bruce raised his eyebrows, clearly amused as he glanced back at Peter. "Really? Two whole years, huh? That's dedication."

Peter smiled weakly, shrugging again. "Yeah, it's been… interesting."

Bruce chuckled again, patting Peter reassuringly on the shoulder. "Well, don't let them get to you. You're brilliant, Peter."

"Thanks, Dr. Banner," Peter murmured shyly, cheeks pink again.

Flash stood completely silent, glaring at the floor in embarrassed frustration. Ned and MJ exchanged amused looks, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding.

Bruce smiled warmly again before giving Happy a quick nod. "Alright, I'll let you guys get back to the tour. Enjoy yourselves."

As Bruce returned to his workstation, Mr. Harrington cleared his throat nervously, trying to regain control. "Thank you, Dr. Banner. Class, shall we keep moving?"

Flash walked ahead quietly, clearly still stewing in confusion and embarrassment. MJ smirked triumphantly, looking pointedly at Peter. "See, Parker? Told you today would be entertaining."

Peter chuckled softly, still anxious but slightly less tense now. "Yeah, you're definitely right about that."

---

Lunch finally rolled around as the group was led to the mess hall, which was filled with at least a dozen small restaurants and cafes. The students murmured excitedly, marveling at the sprawling array of choices.

"No way," Ned breathed in awe, looking around eagerly. "They literally have everything. Pizza, sushi, burgers… is that a taco stand?"

Peter chuckled softly, his nerves easing slightly as he watched his friend practically vibrate with excitement. "Yeah, Mr. Stark doesn't really do subtle."

MJ raised an amused eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Gee, I couldn't tell. It's not like we've spent all morning touring through his personal Disneyland."

Flash scowled slightly from across the table, clearly still irritated by the earlier embarrassment. He crossed his arms defensively. "Big deal. My dad's company cafeteria has pretty much all the same stuff."

MJ tilted her head calmly, unimpressed. "Yeah, but I'm guessing your dad's cafeteria isn't visited by literal superheroes."

Ned snorted quietly, quickly covering his mouth as Flash's face reddened again with annoyance.

Peter shifted anxiously in his seat, scanning the room carefully. He could feel the familiar flutter of nerves again, anticipation building in his chest. He knew you'd be coming by—he just wasn't sure when.

"Dude," Ned whispered, leaning toward Peter eagerly, eyes darting around the bustling space. "Where's Y/N? She said she was bringing you lunch, right?"

"Yeah," Peter admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Maybe she's running late. Or forgot."

MJ rolled her eyes, clearly unbothered as she calmly continued sketching in her notebook. "Parker, you're literally dating the human equivalent of a supercomputer. She didn't forget."

Peter flushed faintly, smiling shyly. "Yeah, you're right."

From nearby, Flash turned sharply, overhearing the tail-end of the conversation. He leaned toward them, voice thick with disbelief and mockery. "Wait, hold up. Did you just imply Parker's dating Y/N Stark?"

Peter swallowed nervously, looking away quickly. "Uh—"

MJ calmly met Flash's skeptical glare. "Do you need a dictionary to understand basic English, Thompson? I thought it was clear."

Flash scoffed loudly, folding his arms with an arrogant smirk. "That's hilarious, even for Parker. There's no way Stark's daughter would look twice at him."

Peter clenched his fists tightly beneath the table, irritation flickering in his eyes. Before he could reply, a familiar voice rang out clearly across the crowded mess hall.

"Peter!" your voice called happily from near the doors. Peter's head snapped up quickly, and he felt his heart skip anxiously as you stepped through the busy cafeteria, smiling brightly and holding two bags in your hands. "Sorry I'm late! Dad wouldn't stop talking about something I was working on, and—"

Your voice trailed off when you noticed everyone staring at you, a hush of surprised whispers quickly spreading through the crowd. You hesitated slightly, your cheeks burning as you realized the entire Midtown High class was openly gaping at you—Flash included.

Peter swallowed nervously, heart hammering in his chest as he slowly stood up, forcing a shy, awkward smile as he walked toward you. "Hey, Y/N."

Your eyes softened immediately at the sight of him, relaxing visibly as your lips curved into a gentle smile. "Hey, Pete."

Flash stared open-mouthed, frozen in shock, his voice coming out as a stunned squeak. "No freaking way."

You glanced sideways at Flash, arching an unimpressed eyebrow at his disbelief before turning your attention fully back to Peter. You held out one of the lunch bags, offering a sheepish smile. "I brought your favorite sandwich from Deluca's. And some cookies Wanda and I made last night."

Peter relaxed slightly, unable to suppress his shy grin as he gently took the bag from you. "Thanks. You're the best."

You smiled warmly, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. "Obviously."

Behind him, Ned coughed pointedly, grinning eagerly as he waved at you. "Hi, Y/N!"

You chuckled softly, stepping around Peter and walking over to greet Ned and MJ warmly. "Hey, Ned. MJ."

MJ nodded calmly, lips quirking faintly. "Nice entrance."

You laughed softly, glancing around the cafeteria again with mild embarrassment. "Yeah, that wasn't exactly intentional."

Flash finally found his voice again, sputtering incredulously. "Hold up. You're seriously dating Parker?"

You glanced over at Flash, raising your eyebrows calmly. "You say that like it's surprising. We've been dating for a year."

Flash gaped openly, completely baffled. "But—but he's Parker! How?"

MJ tilted her head casually, voice dry and deadpan. "Generally, Flash, people date because they like each other. I know, shocking concept."

Peter flushed faintly, gently nudging your side as he leaned in closer. "I'm so sorry."

You grinned mischievously, eyes sparkling playfully as you glanced back at Peter. "Why? This is kind of fun."

Ned chuckled softly, shaking his head fondly. "You're terrifying sometimes, Y/N."

MJ smirked knowingly, still sketching calmly in her notebook. "That's why I like her."

You laughed lightly again, quickly leaning in to press a gentle kiss against Peter's cheek, making his blush deepen even further. "Anyway, enjoy your lunch. I'll see you after the tour?"

Peter nodded shyly, smiling softly at you. "Yeah, definitely."

Flash opened his mouth again, clearly still confused, but Happy suddenly appeared near your shoulder, arms crossed impatiently. "Alright, kids. As amusing as this drama is, lunch break's almost over. Finish eating, and we'll continue the tour."

You smiled sheepishly, giving Peter one final, affectionate glance. "See you soon, Pete."

Peter smiled warmly, heart fluttering softly as he watched you walk away. "See you."

As you disappeared down the hallway, Flash shook his head, muttering softly, "This is literally the weirdest day of my entire life."

MJ didn't look up from her book, casually replying, "Glad I was here to see it."

Ned grinned broadly, happily returning to his sandwich. "Me too."

Peter sighed quietly, finally relaxing fully into his seat again. He carefully opened the lunch bag you'd brought, smiling fondly when he saw his favorite sandwich and cookies neatly packed inside.

"You good, Parker?" MJ asked calmly, glancing up from her book briefly.

Peter smiled softly, feeling warmth spread through his chest as he nodded gently. "Yeah, I'm great."

From across the table, Flash silently stared at Peter for several more moments, clearly processing everything he'd witnessed before finally clearing his throat awkwardly. "So, um—do you, like, know Tony Stark, then?"

MJ rolled her eyes slightly, shaking her head with a faint sigh. "Flash, seriously."

Peter chuckled softly, finally feeling a little more confident. He glanced calmly toward Flash, shrugging lightly. "Yeah, Flash. I work with him pretty regularly."

Flash sat back heavily in his chair, looking thoroughly humbled. "Wow. That's… that's really cool."

MJ smirked faintly, muttering quietly enough for only Peter and Ned to hear. "And it only took two years to get through to him."

Peter smiled shyly, shaking his head slightly. "Better late than never, right?"

Ned chuckled warmly, raising his sandwich slightly in a mock-toast. "To Peter Parker—Stark Industries intern, Spider-Man, and boyfriend of Y/N freaking Stark. Dude, your life is insane."

Peter laughed softly, feeling a content warmth spread through him as he took a bite of his sandwich. "Yeah. It definitely is."

---

The rest of lunch passed quickly, and soon Happy returned to gather the students again. He stood at the head of the table, hands on his hips, clearly eager to finish his unofficial tour guide duties.

"Alright," Happy announced gruffly, looking around impatiently at the group. "Lunch break's over. Everyone, up. We're heading up to the R&D floors next."

Ned quickly stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth, scrambling to his feet eagerly. "R&D floors? Oh, man, I can't wait to see that!"

MJ calmly put away her sketchbook, casting Peter an amused look. "Try not to pass out from excitement, Leeds."

Flash lingered quietly near the back of the group, clearly still subdued by the earlier revelations. He offered Peter a small, somewhat awkward nod of acknowledgement as he passed by, clearly at a loss for how to handle the newfound information.

Peter smiled faintly, feeling slightly bad for Flash despite everything. He offered a small, friendly nod back before following the group toward the elevators.

As they gathered around the elevator, Ned practically bounced in place. "Dude, the R&D floors must be where all the top-secret stuff happens, right? Like experimental suits and nanotech?"

Peter chuckled quietly, nodding slightly. "Yeah, Mr. Stark keeps most of his really cool inventions there."

Happy ushered them inside impatiently, quickly pressing the button for one of the upper floors. "Stay close, please. And for the love of everything, do not touch anything."

The elevator doors opened, and the class stepped out into a large, open area filled with workstations, holographic projections, and advanced machinery. Several engineers moved around busily, immersed in various tasks and experiments.

Ned stared wide-eyed, quickly glancing at Peter in excitement. "This is so freaking cool!"

MJ arched an eyebrow slightly, looking mildly impressed despite herself. "I'll admit, this actually is impressive."

Flash stayed quiet, eyes carefully scanning the room, clearly wary of embarrassing himself further.

Happy cleared his throat, motioning toward one of the larger workstations. "Here at Stark Industries, our engineers develop cutting-edge technology daily. Everything from advanced energy solutions to prototype armor upgrades are created in this very room."

From the far side of the room, Tony Stark himself suddenly appeared, clearly engrossed in conversation with a technician. The class collectively froze, whispering excitedly as they recognized him.

"Dude," Ned whispered loudly, grabbing Peter's arm excitedly. "That's literally Tony Stark. He's right there!"

Peter smiled slightly, feeling his face flush again. "Yeah, Ned. I've seen him before."

Flash watched nervously, clearly intimidated. "Wow, it's really him. Like, Iron Man himself."

MJ sighed softly, rolling her eyes. "Congratulations, Flash, you have functioning eyes."

Tony glanced up briefly, eyebrows raised slightly as he noticed the group of teenagers staring at him. His lips quirked faintly in amusement as he spotted Peter, stepping closer casually.

"Peter," Tony greeted calmly, eyes sparkling knowingly. "How's the tour going? Still alive?"

Peter smiled weakly, scratching his neck shyly. "Barely, Mr. Stark."

Flash stared wide-eyed, completely silent again, visibly stunned.

Tony turned slightly, addressing the group with an amused smirk. "Hello, Midtown students. Hope you’ve been treating Peter nicely. I’d hate to revoke your guest privileges."

Peter bit his lip nervously, quickly shaking his head. "They're fine, Mr. Stark. Really."

Tony nodded casually, glancing back at Flash knowingly. "Good. Because someone around here owes my daughter an apology."

Flash flushed brightly, quickly looking away in embarrassment.

MJ smirked faintly, clearly entertained. "Nice going, Thompson."

Tony chuckled lightly, patting Peter gently on the shoulder. "Anyway, I’ll leave you all to it. Try not to break anything expensive."

"Yes, sir," Peter murmured quietly, cheeks flushed but unable to hide a small smile.

Tony gave a casual wave, already moving back toward his workstation. "Enjoy the rest of the tour."

As Tony walked away, Flash looked toward Peter sheepishly, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Hey, um—sorry for… you know, everything."

Peter smiled faintly, shrugging lightly. "It's fine, Flash."

MJ arched a calm eyebrow, offering Peter an amused glance. "You're too nice, Parker."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah, probably."

Happy cleared his throat impatiently, motioning toward another workstation. "Alright, moving along. Lots to see, people."

They soon made their way to the Avengers gym. Through the soundproof glass they could see Natasha practicing her shooting, Bucky cleaning his metal arm, Steve hitting a boxing bag, and Sam and Clint preparing their own weapons.

“—well, Tony supposedly improved my exploding arrows.”

“Yeah, well he also upgraded Redwing.” Sam countered.

Clint narrowed his eyes at the mention of Redwing. "Look, Wilson, we all know Tony loves his robots, but arrows take precision and skill."

Sam scoffed, checking over his wrist controls with a confident smirk. "Oh, please. You can’t even hit a target without your fancy exploding arrows."

Clint frowned, quickly grabbing an arrow and notching it firmly. "I bet I hit my mark faster than you can get that toy of yours airborne."

Sam grinned sharply, raising his wrist confidently. "Deal, Barton. Count of three?"

"You're on," Clint shot back, aiming carefully at the target. "One... two... three!"

He fired the arrow, watching proudly as it sailed perfectly into the bullseye. But nothing happened. The arrow simply embedded itself, utterly anticlimactic.

Sam laughed loudly, shaking his head. "Well done, Barton. That’s impressive."

Clint stared incredulously at his arrow. "What the—these were fine yesterday! Stark must’ve given me defective ones."

Bucky snorted softly from nearby, polishing his metal arm casually. "Pretty sure Tony doesn't make anything defective."

Clint shot him an annoyed glare. "Yeah, well, I guess today’s his first."

"Watch and learn," Sam said confidently, activating Redwing from his wrist pad. The drone immediately sprang to life, hovering briefly in the air—before suddenly sputtering out with a pitiful beep and dropping uselessly to the ground.

Bucky raised an amused eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Problem, Sam?"

Sam stared open-mouthed at Redwing, quickly fiddling with the controls in frustration. "Aw, come on, not you too! Redwing was perfectly fine this morning!"

Clint rolled his eyes, quickly grabbing another arrow from his quiver, carefully examining it with suspicion. "Maybe the lab just had a glitch or something."

Steve paused his boxing practice, turning to watch them curiously. "You sure you two aren’t doing something wrong?"

Clint scoffed, rolling his shoulders irritably. "I've literally been doing this for decades, Steve. I think I know how to shoot an arrow."

"Alright," Sam announced, tapping at his controls again with determination. "Let's try this again."

"Second time’s the charm," Clint agreed dryly, pulling back his bowstring confidently. "Ready, Wilson?"

"Do it," Sam replied sharply, flicking his wrist pad once more.

Clint released his arrow just as Sam activated Redwing again—and chaos immediately erupted.

The arrow exploded dramatically with a loud pop, showering Clint in a thick cloud of bright, glittery red powder. At precisely the same moment, Sam’s wrist pad burst open, coating him in an identical sparkling mess.

Clint yelped loudly, stumbling backward as glitter settled over his hair, clothes, and face. "What the—oh, no, no, no! What is this stuff?"

Sam sputtered furiously, shaking his wrist uselessly and only spreading glitter further across his shirt. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me—Stark!"

Bucky started laughing immediately, clutching his sides as he watched Clint frantically try to wipe the glitter off, only succeeding in smearing it deeper into his clothes. "I stand corrected. Maybe Tony does make defective gear—on purpose."

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. "You two might wanna clean that up before—"

"Too late," Natasha chimed in smoothly from across the room, carefully reloading her weapon with an amused smirk. "I warned you both about letting Thor and Loki visit Y/N."

Clint stopped his frantic glitter-rubbing, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Natasha. "Wait. You knew about this?"

She shrugged innocently, lips twitching upward. "Maybe."

Sam groaned dramatically, dropping his head back in annoyance. "Great. Loki glitter."

Natasha nodded knowingly, offering a small, sympathetic smile. "Sorry, boys. But I did warn you—multiple times."

Clint threw his hands up in exasperation, sending a fresh cloud of glitter into the air. "Why do we keep trusting Y/N when Thor and Loki are involved? Have we learned nothing?"

Bucky smirked faintly, leaning back comfortably in his seat. "Apparently not."

---

Outside the soundproof glass of the gym, Peter’s entire class stared in wide-eyed disbelief, clearly stunned by the spectacle they'd just witnessed.

Ned turned slowly toward Peter, whispering in awe. "Dude, that was the single greatest thing I've ever seen."

Peter shook his head slightly, trying not to smile as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah. Definitely a Y/N special."

Flash blinked rapidly, clearly still processing everything. "Wait, hold on. Y/N did that?"

MJ raised an eyebrow calmly, clearly entertained. "If you'd ever actually met her, you'd know that's practically her signature."

Peter chuckled softly, finally relaxing slightly as he nodded. "Yeah, she’s, uh... really into glitter-based revenge."

Flash let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head again. "This day just keeps getting weirder."

MJ smirked slightly, lips quirking upward in amusement. "Best day ever."

---

Inside the gym, Clint desperately tried wiping glitter from his face again, glaring toward the window suspiciously. "I swear, if Y/N is out there filming this—"

Bucky laughed again, shaking his head fondly. "Oh, I'm sure she’s got at least three different angles recorded by now."

Sam groaned loudly again, slumping down in defeat. "This glitter’s never coming off, is it?"

Natasha shrugged lightly, clearly unbothered. "Loki’s magic glitter? Probably not for days."

Steve smiled faintly, turning back to his boxing bag with an amused shake of his head. "Maybe next time, you'll both think twice before messing with Y/N."

Clint sighed dramatically, glaring down at his glitter-coated clothes. "Lesson officially learned. Never again."

Bucky chuckled knowingly, leaning back comfortably. "We both know that's a lie, Barton."

---

Happy turned from the gym window with an exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples tiredly. "Alright, kids, show's over. Let's move along before they decide to drag us into this glitter war."

Peter smiled faintly, glancing back once more at the glitter-covered scene inside the gym before following Ned and MJ down the hallway.

Flash walked quietly beside him, clearly still processing everything he'd witnessed. After a long moment, he finally spoke, voice hesitant. "Hey, Parker? Uh, your life is really weird."

Peter laughed softly, nodding gently. "Yeah. You have no idea."

Ned grinned broadly, nudging Peter playfully. "Best day ever, man. Best. Day. Ever."

MJ sighed dramatically, casually flipping open her sketchbook again. "Let's hope glitter removal isn't contagious."

Peter smiled warmly, finally feeling fully relaxed for the first time all day. Despite the chaos and embarrassment, he had to admit—today was definitely turning out better than he'd expected.

---

Back in your lab, you sat back happily, giggling softly as you watched the live footage on your tablet—Sam and Clint still frantically rubbing at the endless glitter.

Tony walked casually into the room, raising an eyebrow knowingly when he noticed your mischievous expression. "Let me guess—glitter?"

You grinned innocently, turning your tablet around to show him proudly. "Magic glitter. Loki’s specialty."

Tony laughed warmly, shaking his head fondly. "Nice touch, kid."

You beamed proudly, giggling again as you glanced back at the glitter-filled chaos. "Best prank yet."

Tony chuckled softly, squeezing your shoulder gently. "Just promise you'll give them a break tomorrow?"

You tilted your head thoughtfully, smirking slightly. "We'll see."

Tony smiled fondly, rolling his eyes warmly. "Alright, evil genius. I’ll leave you to it."

You grinned mischievously again, settling back comfortably in your chair. "Thanks, Dad."

As Tony walked away, you returned your attention happily to the glittery chaos on your tablet, already mentally planning your next prank. Life in Stark Tower was certainly never boring—and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#mcu!peter parker x stark!reader #mcu!peter parker x reader

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yasministration · 8 months ago

Text

Bed side drawer - Peter Parker

summary: when Tony finds a box of condoms in Peter's bed side drawer, he doesn't expect Peter's girlfriend to walk into the room, causing an awkward interaction. a/n: my toxic trait is that i always imagine tasm!peter even tho it's in the avengers universe 0.6k wc

When Peter walks into his bedroom, the first thing his eyes lay on is the box of condoms in his mentor's hand. Tony Stark smirks from where he sits on his mentee's bed, drinking the cup of coffee Aunt May had so graciously prepared him. Peter's eyes go wide, flickering between his open bed side drawer and his mentor, and he dives across the room to get the box from him. Peter nearly hits his head against the wall when Tony tosses the box in the air, catching it in his hand when it falls down again. Peter's face flushes red as he scrambles back up, straightening his bed sheets where he haphazardly landed on them, mouth gaping open. Peter can hear you laughing with his Aunt May in the living room about another one of May's stories. She always had to tell you about the stories of how smitten he was with you, an attempt for your relationship to last forever. He needs to get that box before you walk in because that was not the situation he imagined you'd meet Mr. Stark in. He refused to let it happen.

Peter tilts his head to the side with desperate eyes, begging "Please give me those Mr. Stark." Tony grins teasingly, saying "You know these only work when there are two people involved, right?" Peter doesn't have time to react before the door to his room opens again and you walk in, saying something about the story Aunt May had told you before your eyes land on the older man in the room, prompting you to go silent. Oh no, Peter thinks. Tony quickly's eyes quickly scan you where you awkwardly stand in the doorway, and the obvious mortification that settles on your face at the realisation of who he is.

"Oh."

"Oh." Tony's tone is suggestive, and completely different from yours. He stands up from Peter's bed, slowly making his way across the room to you. His eyes flicker between you and Peter, the box of condoms still in his hands as you shoot a hand out in front of you, smiling nervously and saying "Hi, I'm y/n." in a lowsy attempt to ignore the box laying in the man's hand, eyes glancing down to it a couple of times. Tony shakes your hand, introducing himself, before asking "And who might you be y/n?" Gulping, you glance between your boyfriend, whose face has flushed a dark shade of red, and the avenger standing in front of you. "I'm Peter's girlfriend." You state, eyes widening as Tony puts the box of condoms in your hand.

"There are two people involved then..." You hear him mutter under his breath, but it's nothing as embarrassing as Aunt May walking into the busy room and observing the situation, attention immediately caught by the box of condoms that you throw at your boyfriend in a panic. The box hits Peter's chest and falls on the floor, and neither of you make a move to pick it up whilst you smile awkwardly at May, who follows Tony out of the room. You huff when they walk out, turning around to dig your head into Peter's chest in humiliation. Your boyfriend hugs you close, rubbing a hand on your back, and he's happy you can't hear Tony say "That girl seems too sweet to be having sex with your nephew." or his Aunt May's scoff of "Yeah until you come back home after a night with your friends and hear everything through those walls. She really knows how to talk dirty."

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angelltheninth · 6 months ago

Note

You know how guys have the happy trail? What do you think the MCU men's is like?

Gonna tell you something Anon, I love it when guys have that. It's cute and attractive.

Pairing: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Thor, Loki, James “Logan" Howlett, Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner, Tony Stark, Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, suggestive, body worship, teasing, muscles, established relationship

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Probably one of the most attractive things on guys. At least to me. Other than strong hands.

Steve keeps himself very neat, not really because of you, not at first, it's just a habit that he still has from his army days. That being said he didn't miss the way you look at him when he does it. He knows you're looking so he takes his time.

Bucky is a bit more clumsy with it since losing his arm. His new one is good but it's cold on his skin when he needs to groom himself and be nice. But... maybe you can give him a hand when he needs it.

Clint doesn't bother with it much because he doesn't have much of a visible happy trail. It is there when you really look or run your hand down his abs. That being said he doesn't quite see why you like it so much, it's just body hair.

Thor never quite cared to keep himself overly well groomed or to cut down on any body hair. When he tried his hair grew back rougher, which you can feel as you touch his stomach. To him it was never something he had to think about, besides you like it.

Loki brags about how good he looks. Every part of him, even the happy trail which he always keeps well maintained. As he gets ready for bed he might take it slower, to give you time to look.

Logan has always been covered in a lot of rough, bushy hair and his happy trail is no different. For him it's like a path that you can follow as you kiss his body. In fact he has referred to it as that numerous time, making you blush at the implications.

Remy often gets asked if his hair is red everywhere, and yes it is. He chuckles when he tells you that you should check for yourself. Despite how he may seem he does keep himself well trimmed, from his belly all the way down.

Kurt does have a bit more hair there and it's quite soft and fluffy. It's one of the rare parts on his body that's not as cold as the rest of him. But it is quite dark, almost black in contrast with his blue skin.

Tony wants you to look at him as he gets changed. He wears his pants a bit lower when he knows he can work from home. Seeing you ready to kiss every inch of him won't make work easier.

Peter has a happy trail but it's a bit sparse. He doesn't have much body hair on his belly and is a bit ticklish when you touch him there. It's one of his weaknesses so he always blushes when you do it.

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urdreamydoodles · 4 months ago

Note

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

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thollandsgirl2013 · 4 months ago

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Hi! Can I request a Peter Parker X Stark! reader and she wants to try on Pete’s spidery suit and web shooters and he thinks she looks really good in it so he kisses her and Tony comes in and thinks they’re doing some weird type of role play?❤️

Hello there! I had so much fun writing this one! I'll probably say it turned out to be one of my favourite fics. Thanks for requesting! Hope you enjoy reading it too.

----------------©®©®©®©®----------------

𝐒𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐔𝐩, 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐩

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → Fluff, Humor, Slight Spice, Making Out, Overprotective! Dad! Tony, Embarrassment, Light Suggestiveness.

Summary → You blackmail Peter into letting you try on his Spider-Man suit. It fits too well, leading to making out—and Tony walking in.

"Pleeeaaase, Pete?" You whined, leaning over his desk with the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

Peter didn’t even look up from his notes, his pen gliding across the page. "Nope."

You groaned dramatically, throwing yourself back onto his bed. "Why not?! I'm the one who worked on half of your suit!"

"Keyword: half," Peter quipped, turning his chair slightly to smirk at you. "Mr. Stark did the heavy lifting, and, oh yeah—it’s my suit."

You sat up on your elbows, pouting. "That’s not fair! I bet it would look so cool on me."

"It’s not about looking cool, babe," he said, finally turning to fully face you. "It’s dangerous tech, Y/N. The suit has all kinds of built-in features, and I don’t want you accidentally webbing yourself to the ceiling or activating instant-kill mode."

You rolled your eyes. "As if I don’t know how the tech works! I built most of it with Dad. I probably understand the suit better than you do."

Peter gave you an unimpressed look. "That’s debatable."

Frustrated, you crossed your arms. If begging didn’t work, it was time for drastic measures. You sat up, narrowed your eyes at him, and smirked. "Fine. You leave me no choice."

Peter arched a brow. "Uh-oh."

You stood up, placed your hands on your hips, and announced, "No kisses for a month."

Peter froze. "Wait. What?"

You grinned, seeing his reaction. "Yep. No kisses. No sex. No cuddles. No cute little nose nuzzles. No hand-holding. No forehead kisses. Nothing."

His jaw dropped. "That’s—That’s cruel and unusual punishment!"

You fake-sighed, placing a hand over your heart. "Well, if my boyfriend refuses to let me try on the suit that I worked on, then I guess I have no choice but to take extreme action."

Peter looked genuinely distressed now, running a hand through his curls. "That’s so unfair. You can’t just—"

"And!" You interrupted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You’re so ungrateful! I spend hours helping you upgrade that thing, and you won’t even let me try it for five minutes?" You dramatically turned away, placing a hand over your forehead. "Oh, the betrayal!"

Peter groaned loudly. "Ugh! Fine! "

You immediately spun around, grinning. "Wait, really?"

He gave you a deadpan look. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just—just don’t break anything, okay?"

You let out an excited squeal, doing a little happy dance before rushing over to grab the suit from where he pulled it out of his closet. "This is the best day of my life!"

Peter crossed his arms, watching you with a defeated sigh. "You’re ridiculous."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately, yes."

You snickered before holding the suit up in front of you, inspecting it. The fabric was smooth under your fingers. "Ooooh, I feel powerful already."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Okay, just—put it on already before I change my mind."

You nodded and started unzipping your hoodie, shrugging it off before kicking off your sweatpants. You were left in just your bra and panties when you noticed Peter had gone completely silent.

You turned to see him staring.

Blatantly.

His lips were parted slightly, his brown eyes locked onto your figure as if he had just seen the most captivating thing in the world.

You smirked. "Pete."

No response.

You snapped your fingers. "Peter Parker, my eyes are up here."

He blinked rapidly, his face immediately flushing. "I-I wasn’t—! I was just—!"

You crossed your arms, tilting your head playfully. "Just what?"

"Admiring my girlfriend," he admitted, looking sheepish but utterly smitten.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide your grin. "Uh-huh. Sure, Romeo. Now turn around."

Peter huffed dramatically but turned his back to you. "You act like I haven’t seen you in less."

"Yeah, well, you don’t get to ogle while I’m trying to be Spider-Woman for the day," you quipped, stepping into the suit.

As soon as you pulled it up over your shoulders, it felt huge. The fabric sagged, the arms hung loosely, and the legs were way too long. "Oh my God, Peter, your body proportions are so weird."

He laughed. "Hey! I have a perfectly normal body proportion, thank you very much."

You pouted, looking down at yourself. "It’s so baggy! Ugh, I look ridiculous."

Peter turned around, smirking. "You could always take it off."

You shot him a look. "Nice try." Then, you pressed the spider emblem on your chest.

Immediately, the suit shrank.

The fabric adjusted perfectly to your body, molding to every curve, every inch of your skin. Your stomach, chest, legs—everything was snug.

Peter stopped mid-breath.

His eyes traveled from your legs to your ass to your chest, and suddenly, his Adam’s apple bobbed. "Uh…"

You turned to the mirror, blinking. "Oh. Damn."

The suit hugged you perfectly. The fabric stretched in all the right places, highlighting every dip and curve of your body. Your ass? Amazing. Your boobs? Fantastic.

Peter made a strangled noise.

You turned to him with a smirk. "You okay there, bug boy?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Then, without a single word, he took two long strides forward, cupped your face, and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a peck. No, Peter devoured you, his lips molding against yours hungrily. His hands found their way to your jaw and waist, pulling you against him as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, melting into him as he pressed you against the wall. His hands started wandering—one settling on your jaw, tilting your head up, while the other slid down to firmly grab your ass.

You gasped into the kiss, breaking apart for just a second. "P-Peter—"

"You look so hot in my suit," he mumbled against your lips, kissing you again, voice breathless and desperate.

You giggled between kisses. "I knew it!"

Peter groaned, nipping at your bottom lip as his hands squeezed your ass. "Not fair," he muttered, moving down to your jaw, leaving soft kisses.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I mean, if you wanna keep making out with me in your suit, I’m not stopping you—"

Then.

The door opened.

"Ay, kid, I need Y/N for a sec—WHAT THE HELL?!"

You and Peter immediately froze.

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open, looking horrified.

You and Peter were practically glued together—your arms around his neck, his hands on your ass, both of you looking like deer caught in headlights.

Tony blinked. "What. The. Actual. Fuck."

"Dad!" You yelped, shoving Peter off you.

Tony raised his hands, shaking his head rapidly. "Nope. Nope. Nope. I do not wanna know why you’re in the Spidey suit and sucking face with Spiderling. I do not wanna know what kinda freaky roleplay stuff you two are into."

You turned bright red. "IT’S NOT—"

"Oh my God," Tony muttered, rubbing his temples. "I need bleach. No, I need therapy. I need Pepper."

Peter, looking about five seconds away from fainting, squeaked out, "M-Mr. Stark, I—I swear—"

Tony pointed at him. "You. Out."

Peter blinked. "But… this is my room—"

Tony turned his glare up to maximum dad mode, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Peter swallowed hard. "I'm out."

And with that, he bolted straight out of the door.

"You. Family meeting. Now."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Kill me now."

Tony sighed, mumbling to himself as he walked away. "Why couldn't she date a nice, normal guy from down the street?"

From the hallway, Peter called out, "I am a nice, normal guy!"

You groaned again. "Oh my God, Peter, shut up!"

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

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psychoticfemmm · 7 months ago

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Hia! Can you do another Peter Parker x Stark! Reader, I absolutely loved your last one. Could the plotline be along the lines of : Tony walks into your room and finds you and Peter asleep cuddling after you snuck him in the night before. Maybe the whole team gets involved and starts taking photos for blackmail 🤣 Thank you!

Caught in the Act

pairing: Peter Parker x stark!reader

summary: read the request

The sunlight streamed through your bedroom curtains, falling perfectly on the two of you. Peter Parker’s arm was draped over your waist, his face nuzzled into your neck. His warm breath tickled your skin, and you groaned softly, stirring from your sleep.

The events of the night before were hazy but thrilling: a whispered phone call, Peter scaling the side of the Avengers Tower, and an impromptu movie marathon that ended with the two of you tangled up in each other’s arms.

Peter shifted in his sleep, his nose brushing against your collarbone. A soft hum escaped him, and you smiled, reaching up to lightly ruffle his messy curls.

“Good morning, lovebirds.”

The unmistakable voice of Tony Stark shattered the moment.

Your eyes snapped open, and your heart dropped. Standing at the foot of your bed was your dad, his arms crossed and an expression caught between amusement and absolute mortification.

“D-Dad?!” you stammered, sitting up abruptly. Peter groaned at the sudden movement, blinking himself awake.

“Morning, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled sleepily before realizing where he was and who was standing there. His eyes went wide, and he bolted upright. “MR. STARK! I—uh—this isn’t what it looks like!”

Tony raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Really? Because it looks like Spider-Boy snuck into my daughter’s room and decided to cuddle his way into trouble.”

“Dad, it’s not like that!” you protested, though your flushed face said otherwise.

“Oh, so it’s worse,” Tony quipped, cutting you off. “Got it. And by the way, the entire team is outside, loving this.”

Your jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” Tony replied smugly. “Because if I have to suffer through this, everyone else does too.”

Right on cue, the door creaked open, and Steve Rogers stepped in, his phone out and snapping a picture. “Morning, kiddos. Cute couple pose, by the way.”

“STEVE!” you yelled, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at him.

Natasha followed, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Aw, I remember young love. You guys were adorable—until Stark called us in for backup.”

“Seriously?” Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh, it’s not just us,” Natasha added as Thor poked his head in.

“Why was I not informed of this bonding moment?” Thor boomed, grinning. “Ah, Spider-Man and Stark’s offspring. A powerful duo!”

“Can you all get out?!” you shouted, grabbing another pillow.

“Not until I get my blackmail photo,” Natasha teased.

Peter tugged you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You know, if this keeps up, I might have to climb out the window.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you muttered back, glaring at the group.

Bruce finally showed up, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “Tony, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I like to think I’m setting the bar,” Tony said smugly.

Finally, the team filtered out, laughing and bantering as they went. Tony lingered for a moment, fixing Peter with a look. “You’re lucky I like you, Parker. But if I catch you sneaking in again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter stammered.

As the door shut, the room finally fell silent. You let out a sigh, flopping back onto the bed. Peter lay beside you, covering his face with his hands.

“Well,” you started, “that went about as horribly as it could’ve gone.”

Peter groaned. “They’re never going to let me live this down. Your dad is probably going to build a tracker for me now.”

“Probably,” you teased, rolling onto your side to face him.

He peeked at you through his fingers, his face still flushed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted with a grin.

Peter leaned in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You know, we could’ve avoided all of this if you hadn’t convinced me to stay the night.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I convinced you? Last I checked, you were the one who said, ‘But I can’t leave you now, you’re too cute when you’re sleepy.’”

His cheeks turned redder. “Okay, fine. Maybe I did say that.”

You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his. “Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me later.”

Peter’s breath hitched, but before he could respond, you pulled back, smirking. “Now, get up, Spider-Boy. We’ve got breakfast to deal with—and probably a million jokes from the team.”

“Great,” he muttered, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “But next time, we’re sneaking into my room. May wouldn’t call the Avengers on us.”

“Deal,” you replied, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door.

#peter parker x stark!reader #Peter Parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #marvel mcu #fanfiction #the avengers #marvel #Peter Parker x avenger!reader

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lumosflairr · 13 days ago

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 - 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑

summary: your father - Tony Stark, catches you and peter in a heated moment

warnings: making out, suggestive comments and jokes.

word count: 1.4k

The kitchen was filled with late morning sunlight and the smell of espresso pods you forgot to toss out. You were barefoot, hair still damp from your shower, wearing a tank top and some pajama shorts as you stacked clean dishes into upper cabinets.

“Okay, okay, but hear me out,” Peter said, leaning against the counter behind you, voice animated and a little breathless from excitement, “you know that scene in Return of the Jedi, when Luke walks into Jabba’s palace all calm and mysterious, like—totally owning the place?”

You smirked as you shoved another mug into its place and turned to glance over your shoulder. “Yeah?”

Peter nodded so fast his curls bounced. “Okay, so during the mission yesterday—remember the guys we were tracking near the docks? I did that exact walk. I’m serious. Hoodie blowing in the wind, full hero entrance. I even had my hood up like a cape. I felt so cool.”

You stifled a laugh. “And what happened?”

“I tripped over a box,” he muttered quickly, then went right back to grinning. “But before that? I was just like Luke. Big time.”

You closed the cabinet door and turned to face him fully now, drying your hands on a dish towel as you leaned against the kitchen island. Peter was wearing one of your dad’s oversized hoodies that you’d technically claimed a few months ago, but somehow Peter always ended up in it when he slept over. It was baggy on him, sleeves swallowed his hands, and the neckline hung just a little too wide on his collarbone.

Adorable.

He continued rambling, hopping slightly from foot to foot, like his brain couldn’t keep still. “Anyway, then it reminded me of that Clone Wars episode where Anakin and Obi-Wan—well, mostly Anakin—did this thing where they were totally outnumbered but somehow used, like, a cargo crate as a distraction. Which—fun fact—I used yesterday. I webbed a shipping crate, swung it into the alleyway—took out two guys. No lightsabers needed.”

You stepped forward slowly, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much.

Peter didn’t even notice at first, still caught up in his own whirlwind. “And then there was this part where I was hanging from the side of the scaffolding, and it was so Empire Strikes Back. Like, the whole dangling vibe. I was even humming the theme—”

You reached him in three slow steps and gently cupped his jaw.

He paused mid-thought, lips parting slightly in surprise. “Oh.”

You tilted your head, staring at him with a soft look, your thumbs brushing along his cheekbones.

“You’re so adorable, y’know that?”

Peter blinked, then let out a short, sheepish laugh. “Little ole me?” He joked, his smile plastered wide across his face

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

His hands hovered for a moment before they found your waist, fingers curling slightly, grounding himself in the moment. He kissed you back, deepening it a little with a quiet hum, noses bumping slightly before he smiled against your lips.

Peter was almost breathless, whispering “I think my brain just short-circuited.”

You grinned at him. “You know you love it.”

“Yes, yes I do.”

He kissed you again, longer this time—sliding his hands down to your hips as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The pace quickened, not heated but steady, full of that dizzy sort of affection that comes with knowing each other inside out.

Peter’s tongue traced your bottom lip, and you let him in, your fingers tangling in the ends of his hair. He chuckled into the kiss, clearly enjoying the way your hands tugged just a little.

You gasped slightly when he flipped you around and your lower back hit the counter edge. “Peter—”

“Shhh,” he teased, already kissing along your jaw as his hands gripped under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly onto the marble. You settled there with a breathy laugh, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

He leaned forward, pressing himself between your legs, his hands rubbing up and down them like second nature. Your hands were in his hair again, tugging, pulling, deepening the kiss.

He kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

“Hey kiddo, have you seen my—”

“What. The. FUCK.”

Your head snapped to the doorway to be met with none other than your father - Tony Stark. His eyes were shot wide, his jaw slightly slacked with his eyebrows halfway up to his hairline. Peter shot up with his eyes full of terror. You didn’t breathe. You both didn’t move a single muscle.

“Peter.” Tony spoke, his eyes remained wide before bringing a finger up as he shut his eyes, his hand shaking as he tried to remain semi-calm. “Get your hands off of my daughter this very instant or so help me-“

Peter’s voice cracked as he scrambled back. “Mr. Stark! I—I wasn’t—It’s not what it looked like—well, actually it was, but not—not in a bad way! We were just…kissing..” Peter finished his sentence with his head hanging low, eyes peaking up at your father who your sure would’ve lit on fire if he could.

Tony stepped inside the room slowly, hand already pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Is this…is this real? Is this my life? On the counter we eat on? Seriously? That’s where I butter my English muffins, Parker!”

“Dadddd,” you groaned, sliding off the counter in shame, even though Peter’s hands had long left your legs.

Tony held up a hand. “No. Nope. I don’t want to hear the defense. I’m invoking my right as a traumatized parent to not know what the hell was about to happen in my kitchen.”

“We were just kissing! We weren’t gonna have se—” you started.

“NOPE,” Tony barked, hands flying into the air. “Nope! That’s it. I need to pour bleach into my ears and gorge my eyeballs out now.”

Peter looked like he was two seconds from crying. “Sir, I wasn’t trying to disrespect your—your kitchen, or your muffins, or your daughter, or—”

Tony’s eyes narrowed like lasers. “Kid. You were halfway to second base on a marble slab I eat toast off of. In MY tower. With MY daughter.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter squeaked. “It’s just—she kissed me! And then the Force kind of took over and—”

“Are you seriously referencing Star Wars?” Tony was about to blow while he pointed his finger at Peter once again, which your boyfriend reacted with lowering his head like a lost puppy.

You covered your face with your hands. “This is literally the worst day of my life.”

Tony turned to you, eyes wide. “Worst day? I just caught Spider-boy sucking face with my daughter while she was on the damn kitchen counter! I win. I win that one.”

You dropped your hands with an exasperated sigh. “We weren’t doing anything bad, Dad! It was just kissing.”

Tony raised both hands and began pacing like he was about to deliver a TED Talk. “Oh, just kissing, she says. Just a casual little makeout session on my food-prep surface. What’s next? Foreplay in the suit garage? A quickie by the arc reactor? Where does it end?!”

Peter turned bright red. “I swear I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t planning to—”

“Planning,” Tony echoed, stopping dead in his tracks snapping his head directly at him. “There was planning involved?”

Peter looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “No! I mean, not like—not planning planning, I just meant—”

Tony waved him off. “Kid, I’m two seconds from installing a laser turret in this kitchen that auto-targets your face.”

“Okay, that seems extreme,” you muttered.

Tony pointed at you, all dad fury and caffeine deprivation. “You don’t get to talk right now, Starklette. You looked like you were seconds away from giving me grandkids on a marble countertop.”

You blinked. “Did you just nickname me Starklette?”

Peter coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Was that a laugh? Are you laughing? Is this funny to you?”

Peter shook his head furiously. “No. No, sir. I am so stressed I might throw up.”

“Good,” Tony muttered. “Let that guilt marinate.”

He walked back toward the counter, stared at it for a moment, then grabbed his untouched mug, only to realize the coffee inside had gone cold. He sighed deeply, like the universe personally betrayed him, and headed to the fridge.

“I need a drink. And it’s only 11AM,” he mumbled, opening the fridge door like it had wronged him. “Where’s the mimosa stuff—FRIDAY, make me something that tastes like forgetting.”

Peter looked at you, wide-eyed and whispering. “Should I leave before he starts building a Peter-proof panic room?”

You smirked, nudging him. “You’re fine. He’s just dramatic.”

Tony yelled from across the room, “I heard that, Starklette.”

Peter turned to him, trying one last time. “Mr. Stark, sir, I—I really do love your daughter. I’m not trying to hurt her. I’d never do that.”

Tony paused, standing still for a beat longer than necessary.

He took a sip of his orange juice and stared straight ahead and said dryly: “Cool. Love her from six feet away. Preferably from another borough.”

Peter gave a tight smile. “Copy that.”

You shook your head, grabbed Peter’s hand, and started pulling him toward the door. “Come on, Spider-Boy. Let’s get out of blast radius.”

“Bye, Mr. Stark,” Peter called, voice high and nervous.

Tony didn’t look up. “FRIDAY, make a new house rule: No boyfriends in the kitchen. Ever again.”

FRIDAY’s voice chimed politely: “Understood, boss.”

#lumosflair #fluff #x reader #peter benjamin parker #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #tom!peter x reader #tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x reader fluff #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu x reader #tony stark

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zwartexxroos · 1 month ago

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[🧸] Headcanons of Marvel Men react to you giving them a custom Build-A-Bear dressed like their superhero self:

(including Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker, Loki Laufeyson, Logan Howlett, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, and Steven Grant)

Tony Stark

"You... made me a plush Iron Man? Seriously?"

Acts all cocky at first, but you can see the soft smile creeping in.

Places it right on his workshop desk like a trophy.

Sometimes talks to it while working.

Lowkey proud and posts it on social media with the caption: "Someone special made this. Eat your heart out, world."

Steve Rogers

Stares at it for a long moment, heart swelling.

"You made this for me?"

Gets so flustered he can't stop smiling

Places it neatly on his nightstand, and if you tease him, he just clears his throat and says: "It's good to have reminders of people who care."

You'll catch him glancing at it more than once.

Bucky Barnes

Blinks at it like: "You got me a bear... with a metal arm?"

Picks it up, turning it around and poking the little plush arm with a smirk.

"Looks just like me, huh?"

Keeps it on his bed, and if anyone teases him, he'll straight-faced say: "My emotional support bear. You got a problem?"

Peter Parker

Absolutely loses it, pure sunshine grin.

"You built a Spider bear??? For me?? I'm framing this!"

Hugs it immediately and definitely shows it off to Ned and MJ like a proud dad.

Sleeps with it the first night

Probably names it something cute like Spider-Bear Jr.

Loki Laufeyson

Looks at the little horned plush and lets out a soft chuckle.

"A miniature version of myself? You've got good taste."

Pretends to scoff a first, but he's deeply touched.

The bear is always sitting on his bookshelf or desk like a tiny prince.

Use magic to make the bear nod or wave at you when you enter the room.

Logan Howlett

Holds it awkwardly, staring at the little bear with its tiny claws.

"…You made me a bear that looks like me?"

Grumbles about it, but you catch him resting it on his nightstand, where it stays forever.

When you’re not around, he probably mutters at it: “They got a weird way of showing they cares.”

Charles Xavier

His face lights up with genuine delight.

“You thought of this for me? That’s adorable.”

Places it somewhere close, like on his desk or the shelf in his study.

Will definitely tell others about the gift like a proud boyfriend: “They made me a little Xavier bear, can you believe that?”

Erik Lehnsherr

Raises a brow at the Magneto-themed bear.

“You’ve got a twisted sense of humor.”

But the way his fingers linger on the helmet and the small detail of the cape says it all — he loves it.

Keeps it somewhere safe, maybe in his study, and if you ever visit, he’ll always point at it with a soft smile: “I never thought I’d look good in fluff.”

Steven Grant

Literally gasps, wide-eyed: “Is that me? In plush form??”

Over the moon. Hugs it and even gives it a name like “Little Stevie”

Sleeps with it, puts it on his desk at work, and shows it off to anyone who will listen.

“I’ve never had anything this thoughtful before... I’m gonna treasure this forever, you know.”

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m00ngirl777 · 4 months ago

Note

Can I request a oneshot with that trend where girlfriends go sit in their boyfriends laps while they're gaming or studying, it has so much potentiallllll for fluff and smut

If This Was a Movie

Peter Parker x reader

REQUEST

“Man, I can’t, I gotta study, I told you, I gotta do well on these midterms… I’ll hang out next time, have fun buddy,” With that he hanged up, and grabbed the stack of books, papers and his bag, when he heard a knock on his door.

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you.

Summary: Sitting on peters lap, he’s busy AF, college peter, you go visit him in Boston , he’s so happy to see you but it’s midterms week, but you haven’t seen each other so you can’t keep your hands off, so then you find yourself in this situation, in the library, he’s studying like crazy, coffee and food runs for your boy, sitting on his lap, and you can’t help but tease him until he’s had enough pent up frustration from all the stress of his first midterms and not seeing you, so he lets it out on you when he grabs your hand and drags you to the old literature section because no one in the engineering building is going near there, and fucks his frustrations out on you against the Jane Austen collection. Sue me babe.

A/N: hi so, as I was writing the summary, that scene from YOU, literally came to me, where joes like, youre not wearing a bra blahblahblah, if this was a movie id grab you and wed go a it at the stacks, or smth along that, hence the title, anyways enjoyyyyy. again I am sososososo very sorry I took nearly three months to answer this request, I don't know why I am the way I am, I sorry. anyways hope you love it, thxx for reading, love u, byeeee. xoxo. -N.

p.s. my requests are open my loves<333 but I might take three months to answer :( SORRY

TW: SMUT, RAW, NO PROETECION BABES.

WC: 2008

- - -

“Hey man…yeah…yeah… I-I know… but I gotta… g-uh…yes… mhm,” Peter really wanted to end the call, don’t get him wrong, for the first time in his life he felt like finally he fit in, even if he didn’t, college treated him different, he didn’t only matched, but surpassed the intelligence of his peers, accompanied by great humility which for the first time gained him respect instead of a shove, or a push, or a basketball to the head, or his lunch on the floor, the teachers encouraged him, as faithful as he was to you, and as uninterested as he was in in any other, he felt a little taller anytime a girl would smile, or giggle, or blush at him, something he had never known. He still had Ned at his side, but he was also very pleased at his new friends, the guys that were on football scholarships, that had urged him endlessly to join the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity, and how they would, what felt to him, beg him to come to endless parties, and hang outs and so on. He was cool, he was respected, he was wanted, he was admired, and if he didn’t study for the upcoming midterms he would also be very fucked.

As wonderful a boy as Peter is, this type of attention can get to anyone's head, because for the first time in his life, people cared, not that he was Spider-Man, but that he was Peter Parker, he wasn’t failing, god knows hes too smart for that, he simply could not afford to fail anything or he would fail the course.

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you.

“Peter?”

He pulled you in the tightest hardest hug you've ever felt, you instantly wrapped your arms around him, hands traveling to his, of course shaven head, it was an initiation ritual, it was more a buzzcut now anyway.

“Miss me, baby?” He nodded hysterically, face buried in your neck, as he pulled you in the dorm, shutting the door, he couldn’t let go of you.

He pulled away to kiss you, cupping your face, moving his lips against yours with a familiarity unmatched. You spent about five minutes against the door, Peter whispering the sweetest nothings into everywhere he kisses, I love you for your neck neck and jaw, gorgeous and beautiful for your cheeks, I missed you into your mouth, and a combination of all for your ear, temple and forehead. You kept scratching the back of his head, caressing his neck, touching him, telling him with your hands everything he was saying with his words, your hand went down to his sweats, pulling on the waistband to reach for him, but before you could get a grip he gently pulled your wrist away and let out a soft groan, head on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong baby?” You cupped his face.

“I gotta…study,”

“Awww, you gotta study baby?,” He nodded against your neck getting closer to your chest.

“You… you can stay here… or,”

“No way, I’m studying with you,” It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just knew he’d get nothing done, still he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you, so here you were, in the mostly empty library, attempting to study.

“Peter, why are you so stressed? You're probably the smartest guy here…like… I remember seeing a lesser version of this in highschool, and I was in none of the AP’s, you totally got it,” You were practically sitting on his lap, your hand caressing his neck.

“I know… I really don’t want to fail,” He said, concentrated on the problem.

“You won’t,” You kissed his cheek before getting up, grabbing your bag.

“Baby, where are you going?” Damn those puppy eyes.

“I swore I saw a coffee shop just outside, want anything?”

“Coffee, just regular,”

“‘Kay, I’ll be back,”

Soon you where back with a caramel latte, and a cold brew with cream. Peter thanked you and let you back in his lap, and in an attempt to adjust yourself you ended rubbing down on him.

“Y/n,” He grasped at your hip to keep you from moving more, which led you to relax back into him, biting your lip softly when his thigh ended up being nuzzled between yours, slightly pressing on your core, just enough to want more.

“Sorry,” Your cheeks flushed slightly as you sipped your coffee, feeling the cool bittersweetness aid the heat you were starting to feel.

He nodded, and went back to concentrate on his problems, equation after equation, number after number, variable after variable, just never ending engineering stuff your history lit majoring brain didn’t even want to begin to understand. He kept mumbling the problems quietly, going over them as he wrote, it always turned you on how smart he is, even in highschool with way simpler material it impressed you, watching him know made your mouth dry.

“Did you like your coffee?” You asked going to sip it.

“Yeah, its nice, thank you babe…” He answered in automatic, and it still made you giddy, very softly grinding down on his thigh with the excuse of adjusting yourself, you were really trying to cut him so much slack. It wasn’t his fault that you showed up unannounced in his midterms week, you’ve just missed him so much, and you needed him so bad, but he really needed to get this done, so you took deep breaths, and settled on sitting down on the cushioned booth, your thighs over Peter’s, leaning against him in a way that wasn’t too constricting, and your fingers playing with the very short hair at the back of his head, placing the softest kiss every other minute along his jaw, or neck, or face.

Peter was trying to be grateful you were being understandingly loving, and tried to concentrate on studying, with your warm thighs over his, your arm around him, your hands on him, the combined natural scent you had, the smell of your growing slick, and your perfume, clouding him, he was really trying, but he was also excruciatingly hard.

“Wanna see something?” Peter asked, a little fed up.

“Uh… sure, yeah,” You let him grab your hand and a little forcefully drag you into the book shelves, going through one after the other, until you were at a dark little corner, dust settled in a full collection of Jane Austen, the first, united edition, you were in between probably the only two shelfs of classic literature in this multiple story library.

“Oh my god… how old are these copies? Is this what you wan-” He turned you around and shoved you against the shelves, kissing you with a sickening hunger, so different from the softer initial kiss you had shared, “You are… the only person… here… that gives… a crap… about those…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, jerking, as he grinded against your inner thigh, your hands would usually pull at his hair, but right now you could only scratch his scalp, which he still very much enjoyed.

“Hmm, baby please… please,” He whined in your ear, as he rutted against your thigh, and how could you deny him, your needy, frustrated boy, that missed you so very much.

“Shh, yes… yes whatever you want Peter… shh,” You didn’t know what you were about to do, but you knew you had to be quiet, you whispered in his ear as you cradled his head, he picked one of your legs up, and his other hand went between your legs under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your panties, as he kissed your jaw and neck, he pushed the panties to the side, and massaging your bud, wanting you to get as wet as possible, his mouth on yours, swallowing any moans that were a little too loud.

Effortlessly, he lifted you up wrapping your legs around his torso, hands on his neck and shoulders, as he freed himself, giving a couple jerks before aligning his member to you, biting your sweater to prevent him from crying out, one of his hands went under your sweater, massaging your breast as he kissed your neck and whispered sweet nothings to you, perfectly still, letting you start to rock against him if you needed it.

“I love you so much baby, I’ve missed you so much,” Peter had dreamed for weeks of seeing you again, he’d figure you’d come visit, you’d never stay at a frat house, so of course you'd book the nearest lush hotel you could find, and he’d make love to you all night long, in a fresh big bed, he’d imagine that, and other scenarios very similar to that, sometimes he just asked for you to send him a voice note of your day and that along with the polaroids you had sneaked into his bag with a couple of your panties would be enough for him to satisfy himself in these two months he’s been in Boston. Never would’ve he imagined this scene, where he grabbed the shelves, fingertips and nail beds white as he started to drill into you, breathing hard, slam after slam, leaving you to do nothing but take it, as you clung to him, face on his neck, letting out the smallest of whimpers, that just fueled him to pistol even harder into you.

You felt everything, how his length reached the deepest inner most part of you, stimulating the nerve endings, making you feel the tingles all the way to your chest, his pelvis, lined with hairs not as kept as usual due to the lack of need, rubbing you with every thrust, his desperation and way he fucked you, like he’d die if he didn’t feel the walls of your pussy around him right this moment, feel how they clench around him when he makes you come, theres nothing he wanted more, but you were absolutely cockdumb, no words, no actions, no will in your body, you just felt your pussy and how it was being fucked raw.

He bit down harder on the sweater to stop himself from moaning and grunting in this library as he stilled inside you, very deep withing you, feeling how his warm spend pumped inside you, like gasoline, fuelling your quiet mewls, even more when he rubbed you until you came so he’d feel that perfect extra pressure as he finished coming, almost as soon as him, leaving you both breathless, shaking, and frozen.

“Peter…what the fuck…” You leaned your forehead o his shoulder, breathing hard, baffled by what you just did.

“I know… I know…fuck,” He breath out softly as he pulled away, making you whine, he put you back down and readjusted your underware, then pushed himself back in his pants, “fuck, I’m sorry, I-I ju-”

“Shh, it’s okay…” You ran fingers through your hair, trying to re-adjust yourself, starting to feel soaked from your combined spends, knowing there was no way you could just go back and sit down to keep studying.

“I’m gonna go back to my hotel… you should finish studying and you can come by later… yeah?” You cupped his face placing a soft kiss on his mouth and cheek, he nodded, wanting to be around you, but knowing he needed to finish this.

“Okay… yeah, I’ll just finish with the guide,” He said, but made no effort to move.

“I love you, I’ll see you later, Pete,” You kissed his cheek, pushing him away gently to walk him back to his table.

“Yeah, I love you too,”

#peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker angst #mcu #marvel #spiderman #peter parker #tom!peter parker x reader #shifting realities #stark!reader #one shot #fluff #smut #reader insert #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

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sunshine-lux · 27 days ago

Text

Clueless (v.)

summary: harry osborn is as smart as he is charming and that seems to be ruffling a special someone's feathers!

pairings: Stark!reader x MCU!peter parker, gwen stacy x MCU!peter parker, Stark!reader x harry osborn

warnings: angst, miscommunication (oops), f!reader, none that i can think of other than that!

word count: 9.4k

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The headline was still burning into her eyes: “Next Gen Power Couple?’ Y/N Stark & Harry Osborn Spark Dating Rumors After Glitzy Gala Appearance”

Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed in a hoodie that wasn’t hers (probably Peter’s, not that she’d admit it), staring at the pictures of the gala on her tablet while her friends gathered around her room like they were strategizing for war.

MJ was pacing with a juice pouch in hand, Ned was half buried in a pile of pillows on the floor, and Peter… hadn’t said much. He sat in the desk chair, hands clasped between his knees, brows furrowed.

“No offense,” MJ said, turning sharply to point at Ned, “but if anyone leaked Y/N’s powers, it’s you. You’re too friendly. You probably said something dumb at a Comic-Con.”

Ned gasped. “Excuse me? I would never! You’re the one who made her a custom Tempest Funko Pop. Maybe someone saw it.”

Peter looked up. “Guys, come on. Nobody here leaked anything.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, exasperated. “Which is why this makes no sense. How does he know? I haven’t even seen Harry Osborn since that stupid summit. And now he’s back and suddenly throwing around hints and doing interviews like he’s my PR manager?”

“He’s been suspiciously smooth,” MJ said, narrowing her eyes. “Like… media trained Bond villain smooth.”

Just then, the door opened with a soft knock. Tony walked in with Pepper trailing behind, holding a tablet.

“I ran the Osborn kid’s record,” Tony said, tossing the tablet to Y/N. “It’s clean. Squeaky. Too squeaky, honestly. Graduated from a top-tier boarding school in California back in June. Spent the summer hopping through Europe. Won two lacrosse championships, three state science fairs, a robotics thing in Tokyo, and was apparently on the cover of Forbes Next last year.”

“He’s like evil Peter,” Ned whispered.

“Hey!” Peter snapped, offended.

“He’s not evil,” Pepper said thoughtfully. “Just well-groomed. And possibly trying to charm your daughter.”

Tony muttered, “He can try.”

Y/N scrolled through the file on the tablet, her stomach turning. There was nothing. No red flags. No PI receipts. No spy tech orders. Nothing to explain how Harry knew.

“So what now?” MJ asked. “We just wait for him to drop another cryptic one liner on the morning news?”

“No,” Y/N said, eyes hard. “Next time he says something like that… I’ll make sure he tells me what he knows.”

Peter shifted in his seat. “Just—be careful, okay?”

Y/N didn’t answer. But her fingers sparked faintly against the edge of the tablet.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Later that evening, the group had moved to the tower’s living room — a cozy sprawl of mismatched throw pillows, glowing screens, and the half finished remnants of takeout containers. The TV played reruns of Love Island in the background, mostly ignored except for MJ who kept pausing her phone scrolling every time a dramatic sound cue hit.

Y/N was curled up on one end of the couch with her legs tucked under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Ned sat on the rug, enjoying a bag of chips. MJ was lying sideways across the armrest, casually stalking Harry Osborn’s Instagram like it was a crime scene.

“Okay,” she said, swiping up. “His grid is too curated. Like… look at this. Who just posts a dumb picture with an artsy caption and gets 78k likes? It’s like he thinks being rich gives him permission to post dumb philosophical captions with thirst traps.”

Ned leaned over. “What’s it say?”

She tilted the screen toward them. “‘You can’t outrun your shadow. But sometimes… you can dance with it.’ And it’s just a picture of him standing in front of a sunset. Shirtless.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s kinda funny actually.”

Then, without missing a beat: “No but yeah, who’d post something dumb like that and get thousands of likes?”

Both MJ and Ned turned to look at her. MJ raised an eyebrow.

Ned grinned. “you literally captioned your last post ‘say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset ’ and it was just a picture of you on the balcony before the gala.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s different. That’s a Taylor Swift lyric...”

“Uh-huh,” MJ said dryly. “Tell that to your twelve fan accounts.”

“Thirteen,” Ned corrected, showing her his phone. “One of them just posted an edit of you and Harry. Y/N Osborn era incoming.”

Y/N groaned and sank into the cushions. “I hate the internet.”

“You are the internet,” MJ said, scrolling again.

Peter tried to laugh along, but it came out awkward and quiet. His eyes flicked to the screen MJ was holding, where Harry’s shirtless photo was still open. He looked away fast, jaw tightening.

Despite the jokes, the mood was still weird. Uneasy. Everyone could feel it.

Peter sat nearby, scrolling through memes but clearly not paying attention. Every time Y/N shifted, he glanced up. Like he was trying to read her thoughts.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed.

She frowned, swiping open the message — and froze.

From an unknown number: So what’d you think about the interview? Gotta give 'em some insight on the new it couple. 😉

Her stomach dropped.

“I got a text…” she said slowly.

Peter perked up instantly, trying to get her attention. “You got a text!!!” he shouted, mimicking the Love Island alert voice with over exaggerated excitement.

Y/N side eyed him but a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

MJ sat up straighter. “Wait—from who?”

Y/N tilted her phone so they could see.

Ned leaned over the couch. “Osborn?! No way. That’s so weirdly flirty. He totally wants you.”

Peter frowned. “She doesn’t want him. So who cares.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, she reread the message, thumb hovering uncertainly over the keyboard.

“Should I reply?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“YES,” MJ and Ned said in unison.

Peter looked like he was chewing glass. “I don’t think—”

“Let’s see what his game is,” MJ cut in. “We’ll play it smart.”

Y/N hesitated a moment longer, then typed:

You sure know how to get attention. Was that whole thing planned?

A beat. Then another buzz.

You caught me. I figured a little chaos would get you to text me.

Ned gasped. “He’s so smooth it’s infuriating.”

Another ping.

Let’s talk in person. I think we’d both rather skip the small talk.

Y/N stared at the screen. “He wants to meet.”

MJ snatched the phone. “He’s deflecting. He’s not answering your question at all.”

“Which means he knows something,” Ned said. “He’s dodging, but he wants you to follow up. Classic bait.”

Peter crossed his arms. “You don’t have to go. You know that, right?”

Y/N glanced at him, something unreadable flashing in her eyes.

“Yeah. But maybe I should,” she said softly. “If he knows something—anything—I need to find out how.”

MJ handed the phone back. “Then text him back and set it up.”

Ned gave her a very serious nod. “Y/N, this man wants you so bad. You could probably get a confession out of him and a dinner reservation in SoHo if you play your cards right.”

Peter scoffed quietly. “Yeah, because this is definitely the guy we should all trust right now.”

Y/N ignored him. Her fingers flew over the screen as she texted back:

Fine. Tomorrow after school. Neutral ground. You pick.

The message sent. Now all they had to do was wait.

Outside, the city buzzed on — and somewhere out there, Harry Osborn was already planning his next move.

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The school day dragged, but the final bell was a sweet relief. Y/N strolled out of Midtown with Ned at her side, the late afternoon sun casting gold light across the pavement. She had her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. Ned, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m just saying,” he said, hands waving as he walked backwards in front of her. “You’ve got this in the bag.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You think?”

“Uh, yeah. Y/N. Stark. Literally you. He’s already texting you flirty nonsense, making you the talk of the gala, dropping hints—he’s obsessed.”

“I think he’s just playing a game.”

“Then play it better,” Ned grinned. “You’ve got the power of girlhood and great sarcasm on your side. Just lean into your girly mystique or whatever. He’ll fold. Watch.”

She laughed under her breath. “Harry Osborn doesn’t fold, Ned. He practically invented the game.”

“Right,” Ned said, smirking. “But you broke his nose once. That’s gotta count for something.”

Y/N snorted. “Punched. Not broke.”

“Still,” he said. “You live rent free in his head. Just flirt a little, ask the right questions, maybe toss your hair and —boom. Answers.”

They were halfway down the block when a familiar voice called out behind them.

“Hey—wait up!”

Peter jogged to catch up, winded despite the short distance, his bag thudding against his back. His hair was messy and his sweatshirt slightly askew, but he wore that easy smile she’d seen a million times.

“What are you two up to?” he asked, falling into step on Y/N’s other side.

“Y/N has a date,” Ned said, far too casually. “Very mysterious.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—what?”

“It’s not a date,” Y/N cut in, rolling her eyes. “I’m meeting Harry. After school. For a totally casual not-date where I try to figure out how he knows about my powers and whether or not he’s been stalking me, remember?”

Peter slowed down slightly, his expression darkening. “You’re seriously going?”

She gave him a look. “Yeah. I said I would.”

“To Harry Osborn?”

Ned frowned. “You literally saw her text him yesterday, dude.”

“I thought you were kidding,” Peter said, turning back to Y/N. “What if it’s a trap or something? You don’t know him, Y/N/N. He could be dangerous.”

Y/N stopped walking. “You think I can’t handle a coffee with some rich kid?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You’re acting like I’m helpless,” she said, crossing her arms.

“I’m acting like I care,” Peter snapped, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re walking into a sketchy situation alone and brushing it off like it’s no big deal.”

Ned glanced between them, then slowly took a very strategic step back.

“I’m not alone,” Y/N said. “I’ve got a tracker. FRIDAY’s monitoring my vitals. And my dad knows where I’ll be. This is controlled.”

Peter looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words.

“I’m not doing this to make you mad,” she added, softer now. “I just want answers.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair. “You’re seriously trusting him?”

“I’m not. That’s the point.”

Silence stretched between them for a second. Just long enough to feel uncomfortable.

Ned clapped his hands once. “Anyway! I’ll, uh… see you later! Y/N, good luck with your super spy girl mission.”

He practically bolted across the street, leaving the tension simmering.

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Y/N nodded. “I will.”

And for a moment, she thought maybe that was it — that he’d leave it there.

But then he said quietly, “I don’t like him.”

She gave him a tiny smirk. “Noted.”

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Y/N spotted him instantly.

Harry Osborn didn’t blend in. Not here. Not anywhere, probably.

He sat at a small outdoor table on the sidewalk, black sunglasses pushed up into his hair, one leg crossed casually over the other. He looked like he was born to be in front of the cameras — tousled, expensive, infuriatingly relaxed. There was a cup of something steaming in front of him and a second one waiting, untouched.

She slowed her steps.

Okay. Just a conversation. Get answers. Figure out what he knows. Maybe zap him a little if he gets too smug.

“Hey,” she said as she reached the table.

Harry looked up, smile curling. “I was starting to think I’d been ghosted.”

Y/N gave him a flat look. “Please. I’m not that polite.”

He laughed, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Relax, Stark. No hidden cameras. No secret microphones.”

She slid into the chair, studying him carefully. “So… this is casual Harry now? No gala lighting, no pressed suits?”

“I’m full of surprises.” He pushed the second cup toward her. “Matcha with almond milk and a little bit of vanilla. Still your order?”

Y/N hesitated. “How do you know that?”

Harry just sipped his coffee, eyes dancing. “You’d be surprised what people remember.”

Her fingers tapped the paper cup, electricity pulsing faintly through her nerves.

“Is that what this is, then?” she asked. “ a trip down memory lane? Or are we gonna talk about the weird, cryptic things you’ve been saying since the gala?”

Harry tilted his head, playing innocent. “Weird and cryptic is subjective.”

“You said I looked electric. Then you told the media we had 'chemistry' and that girls with lightning in their eyes were your type.” She leaned forward slightly. “That doesn’t sound subjective. That sounds intentional.”

He smiled again, slower this time. “Maybe I just meant you’re intense. Striking. Kind of hard to look away from.”

“Right,” she said, unimpressed. “Try again.”

Harry tapped a finger to his cup. “Why don’t you tell me, Stark? Do you have lightning in your eyes?”

Y/N stared at him for a beat too long. She could feel the buzz under her skin. Not just her power — this electric, impossible tension between them.

He knows.

He knows, and he’s not afraid of it.

“I think you’re messing with me,” she said finally, leaning back. “You’re bored and rich and weirdly charming and this is just some game to you.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not a game. Not really. I just… remember things. I notice things. Especially when they almost fry my retina at a tech summit.”

Y/N blinked. “I didn’t think it was anything more than just a punch.”

“It was way more than just a punch. Hard to forget the girl who nearly gave me a heart attack in front of twenty MIT donors. To be fair, I was being annoying.”

“You said my project looked like a Fisher-Price toy.”

“It was bright orange.”

“It was custom Stark tech,” she snapped.

“Still ugly.”

A beat of silence.

Then—unexpectedly—Y/N laughed. She tried to fight it, to smother it in a scowl, but it escaped anyway.

Harry grinned, victorious. “There she is.”

“God, you’re the worst,” she muttered, sipping her drink.

“You’ve said that before.”

“And I meant it then, too.”

A moment passed, lighter now. Still tense, but… different. Balanced.

Harry studied her, quieter now. “You don’t have to be so on edge, you know. I’m not trying to blackmail you. I’m not dangerous.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “See, dangerous people always say that.”

“Touché.”

She glanced down at her drink, then back up. “So what do you want?”

Harry’s smile turned softer. “Maybe just a conversation with someone who doesn’t care about my last name.”

Y/N blinked.

That… was not what she expected.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed.

It was Ned.

Ned🤠: bro are you still alive?!

Ned🤠: is he cute in daylight or was it just the suit and low lights?

She snorted and tucked her phone away.

Harry watched her, amused. “Friends keeping tabs?”

“Something like that.”

He stood suddenly, brushing nonexistent lint from his jacket. “Walk with me?”

She hesitated.

Then stood.

Just a conversation, she reminded herself.

Just information.

Even if it felt like walking into a storm.

They walked in step without speaking at first, the cool wind tugging playfully at Y/N’s hair, the city around them starting to blur into late-afternoon golden hour.

“I don’t think we’ve done this since we were, like… ten,” Y/N said eventually, glancing at him. “Walked somewhere together without security or screaming.”

Harry hummed. “You mean back when I was an insufferable little gremlin and you had braces and a right hook?”

She side-eyed him. “Are you not still like that?”

“You got me.” He smirked.

They turned a corner, the sidewalk opening up into the edge of a quiet park. There weren’t many people around. Just a couple kids on swings and someone walking a tiny dog in a sweater.

Harry slowed, then motioned to a bench beneath a bare tree. “Sit?”

Y/N nodded.

They dropped into the bench. Silence again. But this one wasn’t tense. It was… easy. Familiar in a weird way. Like falling into an old rhythm she didn’t realize she still remembered.

Harry leaned back, eyes flicking up at the branches above them.

“You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “my dad used to talk about you all the time. You and your dad.”

Y/N glanced over, startled. “Seriously?”

“Mm. He liked the idea of us — the next generation. Stark and Osborn 2.0.” He gave a half-smile. “Didn’t matter that I was in California. He’d still call me after some gala or tech expo and be like, ‘Y/N Stark presented her own AI prototype today. Why can’t you be more like her?’”

Y/N snorted. “Oh god. That’s horrifying.”

Harry laughed. “Right? I resented you so hard. But I also… I don’t know. I think part of me looked up to you. You were always just… blazing through everything. Untouchable.”

She looked away. “I didn’t feel that way.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, nudging her gently with his shoulder, “you hid it well.”

They sat there for a moment, watching the shadows grow longer.

Then Harry’s tone shifted.

“That’s the thing, though,” he said, voice lower now. “You think you’re hiding it. But I saw it. The way your eyes shifted to a dark electric blue. The way your fingertips sparked and after the punch it all went back to normal. Like you had to let the energy out.”

Y/N froze.

He turned to look at her, not smiling now. “I’ve known for a while, Stark.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the bench.

“But,” he continued, calmly, “I haven’t told anyone. I won’t.”

She studied him carefully, heartbeat thudding. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “What would I gain from it? Shock value? Attention? Money? I get enough of that.” A pause. “I figure if someone’s carrying something that heavy, the least I can do is let them carry it in peace.”

Y/N stared.

“You haven’t said anything.”

Harry met her gaze evenly. “Because it’s yours. Not mine.”

Something about that — about him — made her chest ache a little. Like there was something sharp and hollow buried just under his smirk.

He dropped his eyes, fiddling with the edge of his cup. “You know… I used to have a crush on you.”

She blinked. “What?”

He grinned. “Back when we were kids. It’s true what they say — boys are mean to girls they like. I was the worst.”

“You were,” she agreed.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “That was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.” He glanced sideways at her. “Trust me.”

And somehow… she did. At least a little.

She let her guard drop — not fully, but enough to exhale.

“You’re lonely,” she said quietly, not a question.

Harry didn’t flinch. “Everyone in my life wants something. Image, deals, status.” He paused. “You didn’t care when I had nothing. That stuck.”

Y/N said nothing.

“So,” he added, smile tilting again, “if pretending to flirt with the Stark girl keeps the vultures off my back? If I get to piss off your little boyfriend in the process? Not a bad deal.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Objectively,” he agreed.

But he wasn’t joking anymore. Not fully.

She could feel it. Beneath the charm and the chaos and the little glint in his eye — he wasn’t doing this for clout. Not really. He wanted something real. And he saw that possibility in her.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, standing and tossing the empty cup in the nearby trash.

As she stood too, Harry turned to face her.

“See you soon, Stark.”

And then, with a wink that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he walked off — leaving Y/N standing in the middle of the quiet park, her thoughts sparking like static in the autumn air.

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Y/N sat cross-legged on the rolling stool, elbows braced against the lab table, her fingers absently fiddling with a spare tools. The prints in front of her blurred into nothing — her thoughts still stuck on the conversation at the park.

Across the lab, Tony stood at the touch display wall, flipping through security footage and diagnostics. He hadn’t said much since she told him.

“So let me get this straight,” he finally said, turning around. “Osborn. As in boarding school golden boy, Harry Osborn.”

Y/N nodded once.

“Has known about you since you were 13.”

Another nod.

Tony folded his arms, stepping closer. “How sure are you he hasn’t told anyone?”

“I’m sure,” Y/N said quietly.

Tony didn’t respond right away. His expression shifted — not angry, but something taut in the lines of his face. Concern, maybe. Or disappointment.

“You know…” he started, voice lower now. “There was a time I thought Steve Rogers would never lie to me. That we were on the same side. That friendship meant something unbreakable.”

Y/N looked up.

“Then Sokovia happened. And Berlin. And he didn’t even blink before choosing Barnes over everything we built.” He paused. “People change. Even the ones who meant something to you once. Especially them.”

“Harry’s not Steve,” Y/N said, more defensively than she meant to.

“No, he’s not. But that’s my point. You don’t know who he is now. He was gone for years. California, Europe, countless of trips around the world. Who knows what circles he ran in. You don’t owe him anything.”

“I’m not saying I do.”

Tony exhaled, his voice softening. “I’m just trying to protect you, honey. You’ve got this whole world ahead of you. Powers, pressure, headlines... You don’t need some rich boy wildcard stirring the pot.”

Y/N stared at her hands, then said quietly, “One day, the world’s gonna find out about me. I know that. But it won’t be because of him.”

That — for some reason — settled something in Tony. He didn’t like it, but he accepted it.

He let out a slow breath, then nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he passed. “Okay. I’ll run background again, just in case. But… I trust your gut, kid.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

As he reached the door, it slid open before he could press the panel. Peter stood there awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh, can I talk to Y/N for a sec?”

Tony shot Y/N a look, then Peter an even longer one. “Just don’t blow anything up, okay?”

“We’ll try,” Peter said.

Tony shook his head with a small smile and disappeared down the hall.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as Peter stepped inside. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying with Gwen or whatever?”

Peter shrugged, edging closer. “It’s Love Island Monday.”

She blinked, then huffed a small laugh. “Right.”

They stood in silence for a second. And then—

“How’d it go?” Peter asked.

Y/N tilted her head. “Huh?”

“You know. Your whole… mission. With Harry.”

“Oh.” She looked back down at the table. “Fine.”

Peter waited.

Y/N sighed. “He knew. He’s known for a while. He said he wouldn’t tell.”

Peter stiffened. “He’s known?”

She nodded. “Said he noticed… little stuff. I shocked him when I punched him. Didn’t take much for him to put two and two together.”

Peter’s jaw clenched. His thoughts were racing — none of them particularly rational.

So Harry Osborn had been watching her? Studying her? That was weird, right? Like weird rich boy behavior. Not cool. Not… normal.

Peter wasn’t jealous. He just didn’t trust the guy. Rich, charming, annoyingly perfect smile — textbook womanizer. Yeah. That’s what this was.

“He said,” Y/N added, eyes flicking down, “that he used to have a crush on me when we were kids.”

Peter blinked. “He what?”

Y/N’s eyes snapped up. “Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Peter said, voice cracking slightly. “I just didn’t know that was… on the table.”

“It’s not. It was a long time ago.”

Peter looked at her. Really looked. “Do you really trust him?”

She nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

His shoulders softened, the fight draining out of him.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I trust you. More than anyone.”

She didn’t expect that. The way he said it — like it was easy, like it was obvious — it knocked the air from her chest.

Peter reached for her hands, holding them carefully between his. Their fingers tangled without thinking.

They stayed like that, suspended in the warmth of it, in everything unspoken but deeply known.

And then—

“Miss Stark,” FRIDAY’s voice chirped through the ceiling, “Love Island has just begun. Would you like it on the common room screen?”

Y/N didn’t look away from Peter, but a soft laugh slipped out anyway.

Peter grinned. “I guess we should go.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said. “We should.”

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The glow of the Love Island intro pulsed across the room, all pink neon hearts and sparkly bikinis. Peter and Y/N sat side by side on the massive couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced between them, feet tucked under throw blankets.

Peter tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth, snorting. “I don’t think I’d last a day on this show.”

Y/N turned to him, amused. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“I don’t know… cameras everywhere. Confessionals. People fighting over you. Public voting. It’s like The Hunger Games but with fake tans.”

She laughed. “You’re too much of a loverboy to handle it.”

Peter grinned. “I wouldn’t like to see another guy trying to take my girl.”

Her smile slipped for just a second.

Because he said it like a joke. But his voice had gone a little quieter, and he was still looking at her — really looking — and suddenly, the warmth in her chest felt dangerous.

The air shifted. For a moment, neither of them looked at the screen.

But then Peter’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.

He leaned forward to check it, and Y/N forced herself to breathe again.

He smiled. Soft. Familiar.

It was a text from Gwen.

Y/N turned back to the screen, her pulse racing.

Right. Gwen. The actual girl. The one everyone saw. The one he chose.

A quiet ache started to thread through her ribs.

“She says hi,” Peter said gently, phone still in his hand.

Y/N didn’t look away from the screen. “Tell her I say hi back.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just looked at her for a moment longer.

Then, in that sweet, awkward Peter way, he tried to bring her back.

“I still think you’d win this show,” he said. “You’d break the fourth wall like a champ. The whole country and villa would fall in love with you.”

She laughed — soft but real. “Please. I’d be voted off in a week.”

“No,” Peter said, almost too serious. “You’d win.”

And the way he said it — like it wasn’t about the show at all — made her chest tighten.

So she just smiled. Leaned back. Let the episode play. Let herself exist in the comfort of him, even if it couldn’t mean what she secretly wished it did.

Even if her heart kept whispering: this doesn’t feel like friendship anymore.

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The group had claimed the corner table in the library — tucked between the science section and a dusty window that barely let in light. The quiet hum of other students working or whispering hung in the air, but at their table, a different kind of energy was brewing.

Peter’s sneaker nudged Y/N’s under the table.

She nudged back.

Then again — a little firmer this time. A challenge.

He bit down a grin, eyes still focused on the open physics worksheet in front of him. Y/N, pretending to read her book, raised an eyebrow without looking up, her foot sliding boldly along his ankle.

MJ groaned and dropped her pen. “Okay, I’m literally trying to do my calc homework, and you two are playing rom-com footsies. So gross.”

Y/N laughed, not bothering to deny it. Peter went red but didn’t stop.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “My foot slipped.”

“Sure it did,” MJ said dryly, hiding her smirk.

“Anyway,” Y/N said, leaning back in her chair and twirling her pen. “I was telling you guys about Harry.”

MJ perked up. “Oh right. What happened?”

Y/N shrugged. “We got coffee. Walked. Talked. He—uh—knows.”

“Knows what?” Ned asked, biting into a granola bar.

Peter glanced at Y/N, already tense.

“…About me,” she said. “The powers.”

Ned choked a little. “Wait—how? Has he been stalking you?”

“No! He just…knew. He brought it up. Kinda subtle at first, but then not at all.”

MJ’s eyes narrowed. “That’s sketchy.”

Peter’s pencil snapped in half.

They all looked at him.

He didn’t even blink. “He said he has a crush on her.”

Y/N blinked. “Had a crush. Past tense. It was, like, years ago.”

Peter muttered, “Yeah, right.”

The silence that followed was loaded.

MJ slowly leaned across the table. “Parker. You good?”

He didn’t respond — just doodled aggressively in the margin of his worksheet.

Y/N’s lips twitched. “You sound…off.”

“I just don’t trust that guy,” Peter mumbled.

“He was actually really chill,” Y/N said. “He promised not to tell anyone. And he hasn’t.”

MJ sat back, arms crossed, watching Peter trying to swallow his jealousy. Then her face lit up.

“You should invite him to the football game.”

Peter and Y/N both snapped their heads toward her.

“WHAT?!”

“Shhh!” the librarian hissed from across the room.

Ned looked thrilled. “Yes! I wanna meet him. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

Peter scoffed. “He’s, like, a whole college guy. Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s hanging out with juniors?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You hang out with me and I’m technically a senior.”

“That’s different,” Peter grumbled. “We’re friends.”

“Right,” MJ said under her breath, smiling into her notebook.

Y/N shot her a look. “I mean… I can ask him. But no promises.”

Peter said nothing, just stabbed his pencil into the spiral binding of his notebook.

Under the table, Y/N nudged his foot again — softer this time. He didn’t nudge back.

Which only made her smirk.

Because that? That was a very Peter Parker sulk.

And she kinda loved it.

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Dinner had come and gone. Her hair was still a little damp from her shower, and she was curled up in a hoodie, legs crossed on her bed, staring at her phone anxiously.

Finally, she tapped the contact.

HARRY OSBORN

It rang once.

Twice.

“Miss me already?”

His voice was smug and silk-smooth through the speaker. She could practically hear the grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, already smiling. “You wish.”

“Stark, I always wish.”

She scoffed. “Okay, Romeo. Relax.”

There was a pause, then his voice again — low and amused. “So? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to ask if you’d come to my school’s football game this Friday.”

Another pause. Then:

“You asking me out, Stark?”

“In your dreams.”

“Frequently.”

Y/N groaned, flopping backward on her bed. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, still charming.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “My friends want to meet you.”

“Oh, so you’re talking about me to your friends now? Isn’t that what girls do when they have a crush?”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Wait, wait,” he said through a chuckle. “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice. That easy charm. The unbothered confidence.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“Of course,” he said, softer now. “I’m always down to see you outside the city lights. Maybe I’ll even bring a sign. Team Stark.”

Y/N laughed again. And this time, it was real.

They hung up a few minutes later, and she stared at her phone for a beat before tossing it onto her comforter.

Her face burned.

He had a way. He always had. Even as a kid, he got under her skin — smug and quick and impossible to ignore. And now? With the height and the bone structure and the voice?

She groaned, dragging a pillow over her face.

Y/N let herself fall back onto the mattress with a groan. She stared at the ceiling again, arms flopped to her sides, heart beating faster than she cared to admit.

“He’s charming,” she muttered. “And smart. And objectively hot. This is doable.”

She said it out loud like it would make it more real.

“Yeah. If I try—if I really try—I could fall for him. Maybe I just need to give it time.”

There was a part of her that didn’t fully believe it. The part that still turned its head every time Peter Parker laughed. But she ignored that voice.

For now, she was doing the right thing. The reasonable thing.

Wasn’t she?

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“Wait, so what’s the plan for spirit week?” Ned asked, balancing his tray as he flopped down into their usual corner table in the cafeteria.

“I think it’s pajama day tomorrow?” Y/N said, twirling her fork in her salad, distracted.

“Thank God,” MJ muttered. “Finally an excuse to wear slippers to calc.”

Peter snorted. “You don’t need an excuse. I saw you in fuzzy socks with Birkenstocks last week.”

“That was a fashion statement.”

“Sure,” he said, smirking.

The group dissolved into easy laughter—easy for everyone except Y/N, who was very aware of the empty seat beside her. Gwen's.

She hadn't even realized she was waiting for her until—

“Sorry!” Gwen’s voice rang out as she slid into the seat beside Peter, breathless and beaming. “Leadership ran long. Everyone’s freaking out about the rivalry game. The marching band wants their own half time show now and everyone’s too scared to say no to them. I swear it’s like I’m the only one with a functioning brain.”

“That’s because you’re literally running that place,” Peter said, eyes warm as he looked at her. “You joined, like, last week and they already treat you like you’ve been there forever. You’re amazing.”

Y/N blinked.

Her fork paused mid-air.

He used to say stuff like that to her.

“You’re so smart, Y/N/N.”

“You always make things better.”

“Of course you fixed the generator, you’re brilliant.”

She shook it off. Shrugged. Forced a smile. “Speaking of high school chaos,” she said, a little too brightly. “I talked to Harry last night.”

All three of them turned toward her.

Ned perked up. “Harry Osborn?”

“Yeah,” she said, stabbing her lettuce. “He’s coming to the game on Friday.”

“No way,” Gwen gasped. “Harry Osborn is coming to our football game? Like—our high school football game?”

Peter groaned under his breath. “Not you too…”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. Her heart stuttered.

She tried not to overthink it, but of course she did.

Great. He DOES like her. He’s annoyed because she’s excited.

But before her thoughts could spiral further, Gwen leaned forward, eyes wide. “No! I just meant… like, I knew he had a thing for Y/N!”

Y/N blinked. “Wait, what?”

“At the gala! You two were totally giving something. And then the photos came out? And his interview?” Gwen clapped her hands. “That boy totally has the hots for you.”

Ned gasped dramatically. “Are we witnessing a love triangle?”

“Oh my god, no,” Y/N laughed, feeling her face heat up. “It’s not like that. He just likes messing with people.”

MJ was watching Peter now, like she was watching a kettle about to boil over.

“He had a crush on you, though, right?” she said casually. “Like, way back?”

Y/N hesitated. “When we were kids.”

“Iconic,” MJ said, grinning. “Man’s playing the long game.”

Peter made a face. “Oh, c’mon.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Gwen asked.

Peter shrugged, tone tight. “I don’t know. He’s like… a womanizer. And rich. And bored. I just don’t think we should be, like, throwing Y/N/N at him and hoping for the best.”

“Throwing?” Y/N repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Relax,” MJ said, eyes twinkling. “He’s just being protective.”

“I am not—” Peter stopped. Rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just—he’s sketchy, okay? I don’t totally trust him.”

“Jealousy is such an ugly color on you, Parker,” Ned teased.

Peter’s face flushed pink.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered. “I’m just… being logical.”

“Totally,” MJ said, biting back a smile.

Y/N tilted her head, trying to read him. He wasn’t looking at her. Just picking at his sandwich like it had personally offended him.

And maybe he was just being logical.

Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t like the idea of Harry Osborn showing up and charming the hell out of everyone.

Either way… she wasn’t going to ask.

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The car ride was quiet. Too quiet.

Peter sat beside Y/N in the backseat, arms crossed, eyes trained on the window, but he hadn’t looked outside once.

Y/N could feel it before he even said anything.

“So. You and Harry Osborn?”

She didn’t even glance up from her phone. “Oh my god. Are we still on this?”

“It’s a fair question.”

She sighed. “Is it?”

“You guys are starting to hang out. You’re calling him charming now. You’re clearly texting.”

“He is charming,” she said, casually. “That’s like public knowledge.”

Peter scoffed under his breath. “Right. And that’s all it takes, huh?”

Y/N looked up, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” He cut himself off. Shook his head. “Forget it.”

“No, say it,” she pushed, voice sharp. “You clearly want to.”

Peter turned to her, jaw clenched. “I just didn't realize you were the kind of girl who throws herself at the first guy who gives her attention.”

Y/N blinked. Her stomach dropped.

“Wow,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “That came out wrong.”

“No, I think it came out exactly how you meant it.”

Peter looked away. “He’s shady, Y/N/N. He shows up out of nowhere and suddenly he’s flirting with you, knowing about your powers, giving interviews about you—”

“He hasn’t told anyone,” she snapped.

“Yet.”

She turned fully now. “Why do you even care so much?”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Then act like it! Stop making me feel like I’ve done something wrong by talking to someone else.”

“I’m making you feel like that?” Peter shot back. “You’ve been hanging off his every word and I’m the bad guy?”

She glared. “No. You’re acting like some jealous ex-boyfriend and it’s exhausting.”

He flinched. “I’m not—”

“Not what? Not jealous? Not pissed off that another guy is wanting to spend time with me?”

Peter’s face tightened. “I just don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“Neither do you!”

They were both yelling now.

In the front seat, Happy shifted uncomfortably, glancing at them through the rearview mirror.

Y/N was fuming. “What happened to ‘I trust you more than anyone’, huh? You said that like two nights ago.”

Peter’s expression hardened. “Yeah, well, two nights ago you weren’t throwing yourself at Osborn like some kind of groupie.”

She stared at him, mouth falling open.

Her voice was deadly quiet. “Pull over.”

“Y/N—” Happy tried, but she cut him off.

“I said pull over!”

Peter looked at her like she was crazy. “What are you doing?”

She leaned forward. “Happy, take him wherever he wants to go. I’m walking.”

“Come on, don’t be dramatic—” Peter started, reaching for her arm.

“No. You don’t get to say something like that and then tell me I’m being dramatic.”

Peter’s voice lowered, bitter. “Of course. Run away, just like you always do.”

Y/N opened the door. “Screw you, Parker.”

“Enjoy the walk, princess.”

She slammed it behind her without another word.

Peter stared after her, jaw clenched, heart pounding. Happy said nothing.

The silence in the car was deafening.

Finally, Happy muttered, “You’re an idiot.”

��⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N stormed into the Tower, her platforms hitting the floor like gunshots. She barely registered the swipe of the doors closing behind her, too busy replaying every word Peter had just said in the car. Her face was flushed with anger, chest tight.

Tony was at the kitchen counter adding creamer to his mug, casual in a worn Black Sabbath tee, a coffee half made in front of him. He looked up as soon as he heard the elevator hiss open.

“Whoa. What the hell, kid?” he said, dropping the knife. “Happy called. Said you made him pull over in the middle of Queens and walked home. You wanna explain that to me?”

Y/N tossed her bag onto the island and leaned against the counter, jaw clenched. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Peter and I just got into a fight.”

Tony raised both brows, crossing his arms. “Must’ve been one hell of a fight if you ditched a private driver for the sidewalks of New York in those shoes.”

She stared at the floor. “He was being an ass.”

“Well, that’s new,” Tony muttered. “What about?”

“The Harry thing.”

Tony sighed. “Right. Osborn Junior. Not exactly my first choice for your after school activities either.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Oh my god, not you too.”

“Hey, I’m just saying.” He shrugged. “The kid's got more red flags than a Hydra reunion. You’ve been through a lot. Last thing you need is some spoiled rich boy with perfectly tousled hair and unresolved daddy issues screwing with your head.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m not dating him.”

Tony gave her a look. “You’re defending him like you are.”

She glared at him.

“I trust you, Y/N,” he said, gentler now. “I do. But maybe Peter’s got a point. I think he’s coming from a place of concern. We don’t really know Harry. Hell, I’m not even that friendly with Norman!.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, grabbing her bag again. “You sound just like him.”

“Whoa—hey, don’t do that,” Tony said, stepping around the counter. “Don’t twist this. I’m not picking sides.”

“You kind of are,” she snapped, already heading toward the door.

Tony followed her, his tone shifting. “Y/N/N. Where are you going?”

“I just need air.”

“You just walked twenty blocks, how much more air do you need?”

She didn’t answer.

“Hey,” he called, more serious now. “Be careful. Alright? You’re not bulletproof yet.”

Y/N paused at the elevator, not turning around. “I’ll be fine.”

The doors opened.

Tony frowned, watching her go. “Call me if you’re not.”

She didn’t respond. The doors closed, leaving him alone in the silence of the kitchen.

He stood there for a long second, running a hand down his face before muttering under his breath, “God, she’s really mine.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The café was calm in that late-afternoon lull — no crowd, just the occasional customer tapping away on a laptop or scrolling through their phone. Y/N sat at the corner table by the window, picking at the edge of a paper napkin, eyes downcast.

MJ was behind the counter, apron on, cleaning a coffee machine that didn’t actually need cleaning. She kept glancing over, clearly trying not to seem obvious about how much she wanted to talk.

“MJ,” Y/N whispered, trying to catch her attention.

MJ glanced around. “Girl, I’m on the clock,” she mouthed dramatically, before returning to restacking biscotti with intense purpose.

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her seat.

The bell above the door jingled. Y/N didn’t look up — not until she heard a familiar voice.

“Is this seat taken?”

Her eyes snapped up.

Harry Osborn, in a navy half-zip and jeans, stood beside her table, holding a drink from the counter. His smile was easy. His eyes were sharp.

Y/N blinked. “What—how did you…?”

Harry slid into the chair across from her. “Was in the neighborhood. I love supporting small businesses.”

Y/N raised a brow. “So you’re not stalking me?”

“Well,” he started. “I might’ve contacted your friend here to ask where your sad girl hideout is.”

Y/N’s head whipped toward the counter. MJ threw up her hands and said, “he asked nicely!”

“Well played, Osborn.” Y/N muttered.

Harry grinned. “I try.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes on her. “So what’s wrong?”

Y/N hesitated. “It’s stupid.”

Harry tilted his head. “Everything’s stupid until it isn’t. Try me.”

She fiddled with the napkin again. “I got into a fight. With Peter.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Over me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

Y/N sighed. “He was just being... weird. And I snapped. It got bad.”

Harry took a slow sip of his drink, watching her. “Well. I’m honored to be the catalyst for your teenage angst.”

She snorted. “Shut up.”

He leaned back, letting the charm drop just a bit — enough to show sincerity underneath. “Seriously though. I’m sorry.”

Y/N glanced at him. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Still. Sucks that he’s giving you a hard time over me. I’m just a guy who enjoys a good cappuccino and used to have a massive crush on you.”

She blinked. “Used to?”

Harry smirked. “My therapist says I’ve worked through it.”

Y/N laughed, for real this time.

From behind the counter, MJ had her chin propped on her hand, smiling softly as she watched.

Harry reached across the table, gently nudging her fingers. “For the record, I’m not trying to make your life harder. I just like talking to you. Even when you’re grumpy.”

Y/N looked down at their hands, surprised at how easy it felt — how not-weird it was, after everything.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter opened the front door of his apartment, confused. “Ned?”

Ned stood on the stoop, wild eyed and panting. “You’re not gonna believe what I just saw.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “...Aliens in the city?”

“Y/N,” Ned said dramatically, “is on a date.”

Peter blinked. “...What?”

“At MJ’s job,” Ned said, pushing past him into the apartment. “With Harry Osborn.”

Peter turned. “Wait—what?”

“I saw them,” Ned said, breathless. “Through the window. They were, like, leaning in close. Holding hands.”

Peter stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Ned said, tossing his backpack on the couch. “He had the eyes. You know. The eyes.”

Peter frowned. “What eyes?”

“You know—flirty eyes.”

Peter looked away, trying to keep his tone casual. “It’s not a date. She would’ve said something.”

“Well, maybe she didn’t think she had to,” Ned shot back. “They looked... cozy, bro.”

Peter's jaw tensed.

“They weren’t making out or anything,” Ned added quickly. “But it was very much giving first date vibes. MJ was there too, behind the counter, and she didn’t look like she was gonna stop it.”

Peter sat down on the edge of the couch, running a hand through his hair.

“You okay?” Ned asked.

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I mean, she can do whatever she wants.”

Ned eyed him. “You’re making your ‘I’m fine but internally combusting’ face.”

“I’m not,” Peter muttered.

Ned sat beside him. “Dude. Just be honest. Do you like her?”

Peter didn’t answer right away.

He just stared ahead, jaw tight, a million thoughts spiraling behind his eyes. Images of Harry and Y/N laughing together, holding hands, looking like they belonged in some perfectly filtered Instagram post.

Finally, Peter sighed, low and sharp.

“God,” he muttered. “This sucks.”

“She was holding his hand, man,” Ned said again, like he still couldn’t believe it. “Like—like the casual kind of hand-holding. Flirty and soft. Who does that unless you’re into someone?”

Peter didn’t respond.

Ned narrowed his eyes. “...Did something happen?”

Peter looked up.

“We—” He stopped. “We got into a fight. On the way home from school.”

Ned blinked. “Wait, what? You guys fought?”

Peter exhaled. “Yeah. In Happy’s car.”

“That’s like... couple behavior. You argued in Happy’s car?”

“She said I didn’t trust her,” Peter muttered.

Ned raised his eyebrows. “Well. Do you?”

“Of course I do!” Peter snapped. “She’s just—she’s being dumb. About Harry.”

Ned held up a hand. “Okay. Chill. Just... tell me the truth.”

Peter looked at him.

“Do you like her?” Ned asked.

Peter’s jaw ticked. “...No.”

Ned stared.

“Dude,” he said flatly. “You were obsessed with her after Berlin. You didn’t shut up for a week. You were all like ‘she’s so cool, she fights like Natasha, she zaps things—’”

“That was last year,” Peter cut in, defensive.

“And when Mr. Stark said he was enrolling her at Midtown? I thought you were gonna faint.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Whatever. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Ned folded his arms. “Didn’t you say Gwen was cute or whatever?”

Peter leaned back, frustrated. “Exactly. I like Gwen.”

“No, you don’t,” Ned shot back. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The Liz thing. Remember when you ignored everything and asked her to homecoming even though all of us thought you were gonna ask Y/N? You’re doing it again. Same script, different girl.”

Peter’s mouth opened—then closed again.

“You like Y/N,” Ned said, matter-of-fact. “And not in a casual way. Like in a ruin-your-life, lose-sleep-over-it kind of way.”

Peter rubbed his hands over his face. “She’s the first friend who’s a girl that I’ve ever had. It’s different.”

Ned gave him a long, slow blink. Yeah, right.”

Peter glared. “I don’t like her.”

Ned just shrugged. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude.”

Peter didn’t respond.

But the silence was louder than anything else.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The elevator dinged as Y/N and Harry stepped into the Tower.

The lights were low, city skyline glittering outside the windows. She was mid laugh at something Harry had just said when Tony’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to come home.”

Y/N froze like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. Harry, of course, didn’t flinch at all.

“Mr. Stark,” he said smoothly, offering a small salute with two fingers. “Pleasure.”

Tony looked him up and down, towel slung over his shoulder from where he’d been drying a glass. “Harry Osborn.”

“In the flesh,” Harry said with a grin. “But don’t worry, you’re not my future father-in-law. As cool as that’d be.”

Tony blinked once. “Right.”

Harry turned to Y/N, leaning in slightly. “See you at the game, love.”

He winked, then sauntered toward the elevator, not a single ounce of shame in him. The doors closed behind him with a soft ding.

Y/N let out a long breath.

Tony set the glass down. “You wanna tell me what that was?”

She shifted her weight, arms crossed over her chest. “We just... walked and talked. He was being nice.”

“He always that flirty with you?” Tony asked casually, even though there was a sharper edge buried in there somewhere.

Y/N sighed. “He’s like that with everyone.”

Tony gave a look that said sure he is, but didn’t press.

She walked over to the counter and leaned on it. “I’m sorry. For earlier. For storming off.”

Tony finally relaxed a little, watching her.

“I get it, kid,” he said. “I was your age once. Believe it or not, I was also dramatic.”

Y/N cracked a smile.

“But we’re a team, you and me,” Tony added. “And when you shut me out like that... it stings a little. I’m not against you. I just worry.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“You’re growing up. And I don’t totally love the fact that boys are a regular topic of conversation now.”

She laughed under her breath. “Me neither, honestly.”

There was a beat of silence.

Tony softened. “He’s sweet to you, huh?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

“You like him?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Tony reached over and ruffled her hair gently. “Well, just make sure whoever it is... they’re good to you. No less than that.”

Y/N leaned into the contact for a moment before pulling away with a quiet, “’Kay.”

“Now go shower,” Tony said, walking away. “You smell like teenage angst and overpriced perfume.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but for the first time that day, her chest didn’t feel quite as heavy.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tugging at his hair like if he pulled hard enough, the thoughts would all fall out of his head.

It had been hours since the fight.

He’d replayed every second of it over and over. The way her voice shook. The way she looked at him like he’d actually hurt her — because he had. The way she’d slammed the car door, the sound echoing through the city like a punch to the gut.

He shouldn’t have said those things. About Harry. About her.

But she shouldn’t have gone to him.

She always used to come to Peter when she was upset. For comfort. For advice. For literally anything. And now—

Now she went to Harry Osborn.

Peter’s stomach twisted again. He hated it. Hated that she looked so okay walking away from him. Hated that she wanted to talk to Harry instead of him.

And worst of all? He got it.

Because Peter had pushed her away. He’d snapped. Again. He didn’t trust himself to keep it together anymore — not when it came to her.

Because he knew what happened to the people Peter Parker loved.

His parents. Uncle Ben.

And now, as Spider-Man, he had more enemies than ever. More danger. More risk.

He could handle that. He could take every hit, every threat, every loss — if it meant people like Y/N stayed safe. If it meant she stayed safe.

She was trained. Strong. Genius-level smart. But even so… if anything ever happened to her because of him—

Peter closed his eyes. He wouldn’t survive it. He wouldn’t forgive himself.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand. A text from Gwen: Ugh just finished that leadership meeting. We have a day and a half to pull off a pep rally!!

He stared at it for a second. Then, slowly, he picked up the phone and hit call.

She answered after a few rings, her voice warm and familiar. “Hey, Peter. Everything okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I just—wanted to check in. I know you’ve been busy.”

“Tell me about it,” Gwen groaned. “You would not believe how intense the other members are. One guy literally made a PowerPoint about the half time for the game.”

Peter laughed under his breath. “That sounds like something Flash would do.”

“It was Flash.”

That made him laugh for real. “Right. Should’ve guessed.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, but not easy either.

“So…” Gwen said gently. “Everything okay? You sound kinda…”

“Yeah,” Peter said too quickly. “Yeah, just—tired.”

Another beat.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “You wanna go to the game together?”

Gwen blinked through the phone. “Uh… Peter. We’re all already going together. As a group?”

“No, I mean—” He scratched the back of his neck, the words foreign and stiff. “Like. Just us. As a… date.”

A moment of silence.

“Oh.” Gwen’s voice brightened. “Yeah. Yeah, of course! I’d love that.”

Peter smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Cool.”

They talked a few more minutes before hanging up. Gwen was sweet. Funny. She liked him. It would be easy. Safe.

And maybe that’s all he could afford to want.

Because Harry Osborn could give Y/N everything — money, status, safety. Peter had web fluid, sarcasm, and trauma.

He leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, fists clenched around his phone.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But at least this way… no one else would get hurt. Not really.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

taglist: @f2lix @the-faceless-bride @lovely-foxes-exe @uhmellamoanna @gyus-lvr @aomi04 @liaverse37

author's note: guys i was scared to post this one LMAO don't get mad at me!! i'm lowkey loving y/n and harry tho, idk he's kinda doing it for me. peter needs to learn how to communicate. but he won't. not really :p

i'm gonna post my clueless playlist later and you're all gonna listen and you're gonna love it!

ummm yeah! lmk what yall think so far (don't get mad at me)

Love yall!!!

#sunshinelux #mcu peter parker #mcu peter parker fic #mcu peter parker imagine #mcu!peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x you #spiderman x reader #stark!reader #marvel spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #iron dad #iron man #mcu imagine #marvel mcu #marvel spider man

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tldrthor · 7 months ago

Text

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.”

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

================================================

“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence.

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other.

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors.

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again.

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them.

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

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Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again.

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response.

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all.

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation.

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough.

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign.

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused.

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking.

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible.

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face.

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing.

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

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TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

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thealtoduck · 4 months ago

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*(Civil war era): Tony doing an interview with Peter to see if he should really make him an intern*

Tony: So Peter, where do you see yourself in 5 years?

*Peter’s brain: Don’t say ”Doing your wife”! Don’t say ”Doing your wife”! Don’t say ”Doing your wife”!*

Peter: Doing your-…

*Sees a picture of Y/n Stark on Tony’s desk*

Peter: -Son…

Tony: …?

#source: family guy #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x stark!male reader #peter parker x stark!male!reader #marvel x male reader #marvel x male!reader #x male reader #male reader #mcu x male reader #x male!reader #avengers x male reader #avengers x male!reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x male stark reader

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urdreamydoodles · 8 months ago

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MCU Characters x Reader (Part.1)

How they react when you are angry with them (Part.1)

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange & Thor Odinson

I'm back in my MCU era, thanks to Agatha All Along, so expect a lot of MCU headcanons, feel free to request those!

Tony Stark

- When you’re angry with Tony, he’s a little stunned. He’s used to being able to charm his way through things or brush issues off with a joke, but the moment he realizes you’re genuinely upset, he feels the ground shift a little. Tony’s mind races, calculating what he did wrong, and for a second, he considers ignoring the problem—but not with you. You mean too much to him, and he can’t stand the idea of pushing you further away.

- He doesn’t immediately know how to apologize, so he leans into his classic defense mechanism: humor. He’ll try to make you laugh, throwing out quips, hoping you’ll crack a smile. When that doesn’t work, he gets a little awkward, mumbling things like, “This is why I avoid real feelings, you know?” as he fumbles through an apology. He’s not used to admitting fault, but with you, he’s learning to swallow his pride.

- Tony goes all out when he realizes he needs to make it up to you. He’ll throw himself into making amends, maybe even a little too extravagantly. Expect some grand, over-the-top gesture—a private jet to Paris, a limited-edition piece of tech he’s been tinkering on, or a fancy dinner in some exclusive place with an outfit he’s bought just for the occasion. He’s not subtle, and he knows it, but he’ll do anything if it means a smile from you.

- When the big gestures don’t work, he takes a different approach. He shows up at your door, looking strangely vulnerable, with something small and meaningful. Maybe it’s a handwritten letter he’s scribbled out, confessing how much he hates it when things aren’t okay between you two. It’s raw, real, and completely unlike Tony, but he means every word. This time, he wants to show that he’s willing to put the ego aside for you.

- Once you finally let him back in, Tony wraps you in his arms and doesn’t let go. He’ll joke that he’s not letting you get mad at him again, and maybe throw in a flirty quip about “testing his limits,” but there’s something deeper there too. Being loved by you has changed him, and he’s willing to work on himself for the first time in a long time. With you, Tony’s found a softness he didn’t know he had, and he’s not going to risk losing it.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers doesn’t like conflict, especially not with you. When he realizes you’re angry, he immediately wants to address it and resolve it, hoping it won’t escalate. He tries to have a calm, level-headed conversation, but he can see that maybe it’s too soon. Steve’s patient, though; he’ll give you space if you need it, even if it pains him to let go for a while.

- While you’re cooling off, Steve takes time to reflect, replaying the situation in his mind, wondering where he went wrong. He’s his own worst critic and can be hard on himself, especially when it comes to you. He’ll try to see things from your perspective, understanding that sometimes his old-fashioned sense of right and wrong can be rigid. He’s willing to bend if it’s what’s needed to bridge the gap between you.

- When he approaches you again, he’s soft-spoken and earnest, offering a sincere apology. There are no excuses, no justifications—just him, owning up to whatever hurt you. His gaze doesn’t leave yours; he wants you to know he truly means it. And as he speaks, he promises he’ll do better, vowing to always listen to you and consider your feelings.

- To make it up to you, Steve chooses something simple but thoughtful, probably something he knows you love. It could be as quiet as a walk through your favorite park or as gentle as a handwritten note tucked into a book you’re reading. Steve understands that sometimes, it’s the little things that mean the most. He’ll give you the space to talk, letting you vent if you need to, always steady, always attentive.

- Once the air clears, Steve is more affectionate than usual, holding your hand, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, grateful to be back in your good graces. He values trust deeply and doesn’t take your forgiveness for granted. Steve knows relationships take work, and he’s fully committed to making it work with you, one respectful conversation at a time.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha doesn’t like it when things are off between you two, but she’s used to people being mad at her. Initially, she tries to shrug it off, acting like she doesn’t care, maybe even trying to ignore it. But you’re different. You’re not just anyone; you’re someone she actually trusts, and seeing you upset with her hits her hard.

- Natasha is far more comfortable dealing with enemies than emotional confrontations, so when she finally comes to you, she does it in a roundabout way. She might casually ask, “Are we good?” as if it’s not a big deal, but the nervous tension in her voice betrays her. She’s not great at apologies, so her attempt is awkward but sincere. It’s clear she’s trying, even if she doesn’t always have the words.

- To make it up to you, Natasha doesn’t go for big gestures but rather something deeply personal. She’ll take you to a place she loves—a quiet spot on a rooftop, a hidden café she discovered, somewhere she can let her guard down. She’s careful, almost shy, as she opens up a little about herself, sharing stories she rarely tells. In her own way, she’s letting you know how much she values you.

- Natasha doesn’t usually do comfort, but she’ll go out of her way to make you feel loved and safe. Maybe she’ll surprise you with breakfast or bring you something she knows you’ve been wanting. She pays attention, after all, even if she doesn’t always show it. Little by little, she’ll find ways to let you know that she’s there, committed to making things right.

- When you finally forgive her, Natasha breathes a sigh of relief, leaning in for a hug that lasts a beat longer than usual. She’s not big on words, but she’ll whisper something soft and sincere, just for you. Natasha’s fiercely protective, and after a falling-out, she’s even more attuned to making sure you feel cared for. She’ll stay close, a steady presence at your side, her quiet way of showing just how much she values you.

Bruce Banner

- When you’re angry with Bruce, he’s instantly anxious, worried he’s done something terribly wrong. Conflict isn’t his strong suit, and he’s painfully aware of his capacity for anger. He’s cautious, almost timid, when he realizes you’re upset, giving you space and time. He doesn’t want to make things worse or risk saying the wrong thing.

- Bruce spends time overthinking the situation, dissecting every detail. He questions himself, often getting caught in a loop of self-blame, wondering if he’s ever really been suited for a relationship. But even though he’s scared of confrontation, he values you too much to leave things unresolved. He wants to show you that he’s willing to work through whatever the issue is.

- When he finally comes to you, Bruce’s apology is soft, heartfelt, and a little self-deprecating. He’ll stumble through his words, not wanting to sound defensive, and there’s an earnestness in his gaze as he tries to convey just how much he wants to make things right. He’s not perfect, but he’s open to listening and doing better.

- To make it up to you, Bruce goes for something intimate and personal. He knows you appreciate small gestures, so he’ll show up with something that reflects his feelings for you—maybe a small book he thinks you’d love, or a little experiment from the lab that made him think of you. He’s shy about it, maybe a little embarrassed, but it’s his way of showing he cares.

- When you finally forgive him, Bruce visibly relaxes, wrapping you in a hug as if he never wants to let go. He’s careful, soft, and almost tentative, savoring the warmth of your embrace. Bruce cherishes the trust you give him and is deeply grateful to have someone willing to weather his insecurities. He might even joke, “You’re way too patient with me,” but the gratitude in his voice is genuine.

Clint Barton

- When Clint realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is a mix of regret and a slight laugh. He can’t believe he’s managed to mess things up this badly with you, of all people. He knows he tends to joke around a bit too much, so he tries to laugh it off at first, but when he sees how serious you are, his grin fades. He’ll look a bit awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing he’s got some work to do.

- Clint’s never been one to give big, elaborate apologies. Instead, he’ll pull you aside, speaking quietly and genuinely. He’ll admit that he messed up, explaining that sometimes he forgets to take things seriously or considers others’ feelings the way he should. It’s a simple, heartfelt apology, showing his honest side that not many people get to see.

- Once he’s apologized, Clint is all about making you laugh. He’ll start cracking jokes, doing his best impressions, and even pull some ridiculous faces just to get a reaction out of you. Clint knows humor is his best weapon, and he’s shameless about using it if it means making things right. He’s determined not to let you stay mad at him for long, no matter what it takes.

- When his jokes don’t quite cut it, Clint switches gears and puts effort into something he knows will mean a lot to you. He’s a guy who pays attention to the little things, so he’ll show up with your favorite takeout, a warm blanket, or maybe even a funny book he picked up just for you. He knows that it’s the small gestures that can speak volumes.

- After things settle down, Clint wraps you in a warm, comfortable hug, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, making you feel like everything’s back to normal. He’ll joke about how lucky he is that you put up with him, throwing in a wink, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind his words. Clint doesn’t take his relationships for granted, and he’s grateful you’re in his life, even when he messes up.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky’s heart sinks when he sees that you’re angry. He’s used to pushing people away, and now that he’s got you, he’s terrified of losing you over a misunderstanding. Bucky’s first instinct is to retreat, his mind already whispering that maybe he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you. He’ll avoid confrontation if he can, hoping things might smooth over on their own.

- But when he realizes he needs to talk to you, he’s hesitant, nervous, almost as if he’s bracing himself for rejection. Bucky approaches you carefully, speaking in a low, almost shy voice. He struggles with apologies, but he looks you in the eyes, opening up about how hard he finds it to express his feelings. He’s used to running, and being with you is the first time he’s tried not to.

- Bucky tries to make it up to you in the most low-key, thoughtful way possible. He’s not one for grand gestures, but he’ll do something meaningful and heartfelt, like leaving you a note explaining how much you mean to him or bringing you something that he knows you love. He’s nervous about whether it’ll be enough, hoping you can see the sincerity in his actions.

- When he feels things softening between you, Bucky relaxes just a little, offering his support in any way you need. He’ll stay close, maybe cooking a meal for you or sitting quietly with you, sharing a comfortable silence. He wants you to know that he’s there, without needing to say much, because he’s always believed that actions speak louder than words.

- When you finally forgive him, Bucky is beyond relieved. He’s more open with his affection, drawing you into a tight embrace, his touch lingering as if he’s afraid to let go. He knows he doesn’t have many people he can count on, but he’s grateful that he can count on you. Bucky’s still working on believing he deserves happiness, but having you in his life makes him want to try.

Sam Wilson

- Sam immediately notices when you’re angry, and his first instinct is to find out what’s going on. He’s straightforward and doesn’t like tension hanging in the air, so he’ll ask, “Alright, what did I do?” in his calm, genuine way, hoping you’ll be willing to talk it out. He’s good at reading people, but he wants to hear it from you directly.

- Sam listens intently when you explain what’s bothering you, nodding and giving you his full attention. He’s respectful and thoughtful, making sure you know he understands where you’re coming from. He’s not the type to dodge blame; if he’s at fault, he’ll own up to it right away. There’s no defensiveness, no excuses—just an honest desire to make things right.

- To make it up to you, Sam takes you on a simple, meaningful outing—something where the two of you can connect and have fun. He’s all about shared experiences, so maybe it’s a long walk, a favorite food spot, or even a small adventure he’s planned just for you. He’s careful, attentive, making sure the focus is on you and helping you feel valued.

- When things calm down, Sam offers a mix of humor and reassurance, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and promising to do better. He’ll look you in the eyes and say something like, “I don’t like seeing you mad. Tell me if I mess up again.” He’s genuine and open, showing you he wants to grow from this experience and be a better partner.

- Once everything’s back to normal, Sam goes the extra mile, making sure you’re laughing and relaxed. He’s always there to lift you up, pulling you in for a warm, affectionate hug and giving you his full, unwavering attention. Sam’s presence is solid, reassuring, and he’ll make sure you know just how much he values having you in his life.

Peter Parker (Tom H.)

- Peter’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s young, a little clumsy with emotions, and absolutely hates the idea of upsetting you. His mind starts racing, thinking of everything he could have done wrong. He gets a little panicked, maybe even rambling apologies before he knows what’s going on, hoping you’ll give him a chance to explain.

- When you tell him what’s bothering you, Peter listens carefully, nodding along with wide, earnest eyes. He’s genuinely sorry, his voice soft as he stumbles through an apology. He’s never been great at handling relationship tension, but he’ll try his best to make sure you know how much he cares and how sorry he is for letting you down.

- To make it up to you, Peter goes for something heartfelt, maybe even a bit awkward, but completely sincere. He’ll show up at your window with a little homemade gift, something quirky and thoughtful—perhaps a playlist he made just for you or a funny little gadget he put together in the lab. He’s earnest, a little shy about it, hoping you’ll see how much effort he’s putting in.

- Peter spends extra time trying to lift your spirits, using every ounce of his playful personality to make you laugh. He’ll crack jokes, do silly impressions, or even attempt a bad dance routine just to get you smiling again. He knows he’s a bit of a dork, but he doesn’t mind if it means cheering you up. Peter’s all about making you feel comfortable and loved.

- When you finally forgive him, Peter’s face lights up with relief. He’ll pull you into a warm, enthusiastic hug, holding you close and babbling about how he’s “the luckiest person in the world” to have someone like you. He’s young, optimistic, and just incredibly happy that you’re not mad anymore. To Peter, you’re his world, and he’ll always do whatever it takes to make you feel special.

Stephen Strange

- When Stephen realizes you’re angry with him, he’s a bit taken aback. He’s used to being right and doesn’t often see things from others’ perspectives, so it takes him a moment to understand the weight of the situation. His initial reaction might even be a little defensive, but he quickly catches himself, knowing that with you, he has to try harder to listen and understand.

- Stephen struggles with apologies, often trying to explain away his actions or getting caught up in technicalities. He’s intelligent and analytical, but that doesn’t always work when emotions are involved. Eventually, though, he manages to offer a genuine apology, admitting that he’s not always the easiest person to be with and that he respects you enough to take responsibility.

- To make things right, Stephen will probably use a bit of magic to create something special just for you. It might be a small charm to keep you safe, a little illusion to make you smile, or even a glimpse into some place you’ve always wanted to see. It’s his way of saying he cares, using the one skill he knows best to bring you a little joy.

- As he tries to smooth things over, Stephen is careful, more attentive than usual, and visibly trying to understand your emotions. He may not be great at expressing his own feelings, but he’s willing to try if it means keeping you close. He’ll listen to you, nodding thoughtfully, and maybe even opening up a bit about his past mistakes and how much he values you.

- Once you forgive him, Stephen is visibly relieved, though he keeps it subtle. He gives you a small smile and pulls you close, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms around you. He might even joke, “Guess I need to work on my bedside manner,” but there’s genuine affection behind his words. Stephen knows he’s lucky to have you, and he’s determined to keep learning how to love you better.

Thor Odinson

- Thor is visibly surprised when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s naturally cheerful and doesn’t take most things too seriously, so the idea that he’s done something to upset you takes him off guard. At first, he tries to brush it off with a booming laugh, but when he sees the seriousness in your eyes, his smile fades. He immediately wants to fix things, willing to do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.

- Thor is quick to apologize, his voice earnest as he promises he didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s not one to overthink things, but he’s deeply sincere, and his apologies come straight from the heart. He’ll look you in the eyes and tell you he values you and never meant to cause any harm, his words laced with the kind of honesty that only Thor can deliver.

- To make it up to you, Thor goes all out. He’ll sweep you off on a grand adventure, maybe a spontaneous trip to Asgard (or at least what remains of it), or he’ll bring you somewhere beautiful and awe-inspiring. Thor loves to celebrate life and wants to remind you of all the incredible experiences the two of you can share. His enthusiasm is infectious, and he hopes that a bit of excitement will make things right.

- As you spend time together, Thor is extra affectionate, showering you with praise and hugs. He’s genuinely sorry and makes sure you feel loved and appreciated, maybe even telling you tales of his own mistakes and what he’s learned from them. He might tease himself a bit, but it’s all to make you laugh and remind you of his dedication to you.

- When you finally forgive him, Thor’s smile lights up the room. He laughs, pulling you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet, and spinning you around. There’s nothing subtle about his relief and joy, and he’s not afraid to show it. Thor values you immensely and will do everything he can to make sure you know how much you mean to him, promising that he’ll try to be a little more mindful in the future.

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deathbyathousandspiders · 6 months ago

Text

death of a hero. ₂

mcu!peter parker x fem!stark!reader | boy in the bubble part two.

IN WHICH after getting attacked, you find out that your dad & peter have kept spider–man’s identity a secret.

author's note — highly recommend reading part one first!! this cured my writer's block !! part three coming soon!!! :)

WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) — hurt reader [physically/emotionally], swearing, mentions of blood, a flashback to homecoming, lots & lots & lots of angst.

read part one | part three here.

gif found here.

✨masterlist.✨

3.4k.

Never in your life did you think you’d be targeted and attacked, then be smiling by the end of the night. You couldn’t fight the small grin touching your lips, couldn’t stop the butterflies that numbed each wound still scarring your body.

Somehow, despite it all, Peter’s words gave you something to hold onto, something to keep you going—something hopeful. It gave you something to rewrite the painful narrative that your attacker had spat at you just an hour earlier.

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.”

“You’ve seen the unthinkable, are still going, and you think you’re weak? Impossible.”

Once you finally got to the stairs to shower, you tried to swing your leg up, immediately met with a harsh reminder of how bad your bruises would be tomorrow.

A wince parted your lips, sparking from the ache in your right hip and the direct strike it sent to the wound on your torso.

Perhaps you needed Peter’s help after all.

Taking a breath, you felt less hesitant than before to ask for help. It wasn’t like you had anything else to hide—you were tattered and torn up, topless and sticky with blood.

Besides, you were used to walking with the weight of the wounds, at this point. You cut the distance to the kitchen in a matter of slow seconds.

“Whoever attacked her tonight planned this.” Peter’s words made you pause just outside the entryway, hidden behind the wall just beyond. You blinked a bit, immediately feeling the weight of their conversation. “It wasn’t by chance, she was targeted–”

“You don’t know that—” Even as he cut Peter off, your dad’s response was cut short.

“And you don’t either!” Both of the boys in the kitchen held something urgent to their words; the same sense of urgency that laced the undertones between them all evening.

Whatever conversation you were overhearing, you knew in your bones that they didn’t want you to hear it.

Sucks for them.

Peter continued: “The way she’s acting.. Something’s off about what happened.” Your blood froze to ice at the sentence. “And I think she deserves to know why I wasn’t there to defend her tonight.”

Thick silence swelled in the room, and you suddenly feared that your racing heartbeat would interrupt it. You had to remind yourself to breathe, and remind yourself to be quiet.

As tempted as you were to step in and ask questions, you knew that whatever they were keeping from you was more likely to be discovered from where you were.

Somehow, this was something they wanted to hide from you. The secret, whatever it was, made the air around you feel slimmer and heavy all at once. It sent your thoughts into a spiral, and an urge to question the two people closest to you.

“Look, kid. I don’t blame you for what happened tonight.” Tony took words from you that you hadn’t even known how to phrase to Peter yet. It sent a twinge to your heart, draped your panic in sympathy for him.

“I know.” You could tell Peter needed to hear the words, even if he didn’t know how to admit it.

“As much as I agree with your conspiracy theories on Y/N’s attacker, I don’t know if coming clean about everything will solve this.”

Something sunk in you, deflated your spirits. It hurt that they’d hid this from you—whatever it was—and had been lying for God knows how long.

You could hear the jab in Peter’s own optimism when he spoke up again. “Then when do you plan to tell her?” At least, he was trying to come clean.

“I don’t know..” Your dad was honest, and sullen about it. It only added to your confusion.

Perhaps, they weren’t going to tell you ever. Maybe if you just revealed yourself and asked your own questions, you’d actually get somewhere.

Peeling yourself off the wall and taking a few steps into frame, both Peter and your dad were completely oblivious to you.

Despite how you stepped into view, they remained focused on the conversation, and your dad continued. “I’ll tell you what: you tell me how you’d suggest telling Y/N you’re Spider–Man, and I’ll consider it–”

The whole world stopped moving.

“Peter’s what?”

You could’ve thrown up at the realization, at how cold and hollow the room suddenly became. The secret was out, and the quick and wide eyes that fell to you told you just how vital this secret was.

Peter was Spider–Man.

Even as you stared at him, eyes as wide as his, you couldn’t shake it. Your best friend was Spider–Man, working alongside your father and found family.

The two of you held eye contact, trying to read the other. You could read the remorse and apology and panic swelling in his wide–eyed stare, but you hoped that some of the anger building in your own was silently translated regardless.

Your dad tried to clear his throat, tried to slice through the rousing tension between the two of you, but you didn’t break from it in the slightest.

“Dinner’s ready.” Tony tried to make a joke. To joke at a time like this, as if he wasn’t an accomplice. As if he wasn’t keeping this from you, arguably more than Peter had been.

It was the last straw you’d been offering, swiped from your hands and dissipating with your patience.

You scoffed, tears finally finding your eyes. The heat of them was boiled by rage, and you didn’t have the decency to hide it. “Fuck off.”

The room was too hard to stand in. You walked away, reminded of why you were even standing in the kitchen in the first place.

Pain itched its way up your priority list, but you didn’t care; finding a way up the stairs was the least of your worries. You were more concerned with how quickly you could get away.

Especially as you could hear Peter calling after you, following the path you were carving between you.

“Y/N!” He spoke your name like a plea, like it would somehow apologize for all the dirt you’d uncovered. The sound of his voice, however, only seemed to drive you further from him.

It split your heart into more pieces than you knew how to count.

You already battled the insecurity of being weak. A weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark. With all the time you spent in the compound, with your friends and family, you were one of the only powerless people among them. This whole time, you thought Peter understood.

You thought the insecurity was shared, reciprocated.

Clearly, you were wrong and an idiot. You were the only one powerless among them.

It made you feel so stupid; to see all the inside jokes tossed over your head, to see every stupid excuse he made thrown back in your face, and he had the audacity to be sorry?

Damn right, he should be.

Peter’s touch felt like sandpaper to your skin as he reached for your hand. You yanked it out, not bothering to turn around.

You tried to be strong and suck up the pain, wanted more than anything to run up the stairs and lock yourself in your room—two quick steps up the stairwell and the adrenaline wore off. You slowed your pace, fighting off the wincing, and wanting anything but to ask for help from Spider–Man.

“Y/N, please.” His voice broke, and you felt sinister to think him deserving of it. “Please, I– I wanted to tell you, I promise–“

He must’ve been surprised when you turned around, at the speed you pivoted, at how intense your expression came across, because he startled.

Your eyes held no response to the hot tears flooding from them, only holding space for the anger and hurt you didn’t have the energy to hide from him.

“Promise?” The word came out whispered, threatening to break just as his words did. “You promise, just like how we promised to tell each other everything?” You saw each stab of each word and exactly where it hit on him, especially as your voice grew in volume. “Just like how you promised I wasn’t weak, when clearly, you know damn well how ironic that is!”

Twin tears slid down the length of his face, and you caught the subtle tremble in his bottom lip that he tried so hard to hide. “Please..” Now he was the one whispering, and you wish it sounded as satisfying as you wanted it to.

“Don’t fucking sit there and act like you’re the hero here, Peter..” You couldn’t help the growl, couldn’t help the distaste inking down your body. Sure, you’d been hit with a knife just an hour prior in the evening, but you didn’t feel stabbed in the gut until now. “Don’t act like you understand shit about how I’m feeling right now!”

From just beyond, Tony started walking over, stepping quickly. “Hang on, Kid.” He cut in, stopping just a few paces behind Peter. “Don’t blame Peter for this.” His words practically turned up the heat on your burning rage. It was an effort to keep from boiling over. “I was the one who told him to keep quiet.”

The shakiest breath you’d taken all night forced its way down your throat. You finally pulled your eyes from Peter, watching your own father flinch at just how hurt you were. “No, you were the one who decided to be selfish!”

The room had never been so quiet, even the walls and the city beyond hushed to listen.

“I don’t care who you thought you were saving here, but it wasn’t me.” Perhaps rage wasn’t the word you should use to describe the venom dripping off your words. You were seething, a mixture of betrayal and downright distraught.

“I am not useless.” You felt the need to emphasize; to you, or the two faulty in front of you, no one could tell. “I may be the only powerless person in the fuck ass Avengers, but at least I’m fucking honest.”

When you met Peter’s eyes again, you almost couldn’t keep your composure. Maybe he was breaking apart just as quickly as you were, but you didn’t put in effort to hold room for an apology for him. You didn’t see the need to give one at all.

“I’m sorry..” He couldn’t bring his voice above a whisper, above the tremble shaking each breath he took. And watching the way your father’s posture craned in sympathy to it finally gave you a cue to leave. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You glanced between both of them, still ignoring the consistent stream of tears dripping off your nose and chin. “You both fucking should be.”

Holding your head high, you made your way up the stairs, pausing three steps up your trek when you heard a singular step in your direction.

“Don’t fucking follow me.”

And you didn’t look back.

The second you shut and locked your bedroom door, unshakable sobs spilled from your throat and choked you dry. You had never felt so isolated, so alone, and so pained.

Truly, you did not know how it would get better from here, and all you wanted was to be held.

You didn’t even know who you'd talk to about this. This betrayal stretched across every person you trusted, further than your eyesight.

It was stupid, and you blamed yourself, but all you wanted to do was talk to Peter.

Maybe not about it or to confront it right then, but you suddenly missed him and his support. You felt like that had been stripped away from you.

You weren't sure how to trust him anymore, let alone anyone else who hid this from you.

It didn’t help that you replayed countless upon countless interactions—with your father, with Ned, and with Peter Parker Spider–Man himself.

It reminded you of the last time you were mad at Peter, three years prior.

At the Washington Monument.

You remember him flaking on the academic decathlon, and flaking the night before. You were upset because he was obviously hiding something and he wouldn’t tell you what.

“You promised we’d hang out tonight.” You remember calling after him, walking half the length of the hotel hallway after him, too. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week!”

Peter was a pro at walking backwards, then and now, and as you always knew him to be. Even as you knew him as a klutz, even as it led him to keep walking away from you. “I’ll be back soon. I promise!”

It felt unfair to him to get frustrated with him, but you were. You were upset. “What? So your promises mean nothing?”

That got him to stop.

“What? No!” Defense, immediately. His eyes displayed more apology than his lips did, taking steps towards you. “I just.. I have to go, and I can explain it later–”

Your head shook at him. Whatever sparked you to feel upset had been growing for a while. It had been growing since he started ditching you a few months prior. “That’s what you said last time.” There was hurt in your voice, and you know he heard it.

“But I–”

“We promised to tell each other everything.” You recalled your childhood together, your friendship before you started growing up. The two of you had known each other since elementary school, so changes like this was inevitable. It wasn't fair to hold him to the same standards you used to. “But if you want to go, don’t expect me to be buddy-buddy when you get back.”

You remember how it felt to walk away, but you remembered how it felt to hear him leave even more. That was harmful.

He was entitled to grow up, just as you were, but the shifty way he started growing distant from you got you overthinking.

It got you nervous that maybe he was seeing someone, and that hurt more than anything else. Especially that he was hiding it from you.

What sucked the most was that Peter wasn’t back soon, or even that night.

In fact, he wasn’t even at the academic decathlon.

Part of you was relieved to get space from him, seeing how difficult all these feelings were to process; another part worried about him, but every time your anxiety would fester, something would serve a reminder of why you were upset in the first place.

You won the decathlon without him. As you should.

After that, your team went to the Washington Monument, and Ned swore that Peter would meet you all there.

“Look!” Ned tried to convince you, tried to break your unamused expression. “His location says he’s almost here.” And the phone screen he flashed at you proved honesty. Peter was minutes away.

Before you could muster a response, Ned’s screen changed, and Peter was calling him.

There was an awkward exchange of glances between the two of you before Ned answered the call and you walked through the metal detectors.

“Peter, are you okay?” You couldn’t help but eavesdrop. You missed a phrase or two while security patted down your blazer. All you caught was Ned muttering a subtle “I covered for you,” and then Liz Allen taking the phone from his hands.

Something hollow carved into your stomach at the sight, and you began to speculate whether Liz was the girl he was sneaking off with or not.

You didn’t wait to find out. You walked right into the elevator, joining the rest of your decathlon group.

You didn’t remember much about the trip up the elevator, all you remember was light emitting out of Ned’s backpack and something radioactive blasting right into the roof of the cart.

Suddenly, with trembling limbs and a newfound panic, your squabble with Peter Parker seemed more than minuscule. Regret was quick to fill that hollowing pit in your gut.

You’d blacked out a lot of those scarce moments in the elevator. But you remembered when it was safe enough to move, the security guard began to open the hatch at the top of the elevator cart, and one by one help your classmates out.

It wasn’t until there were four of you left in the elevator that it finally fell down the shaft towards your demise. There, in that Monument, you would die with Ned, Liz, and your teacher, Mister Harrington, you were sure of it.

You’d never forget the relief you’d felt at the sight of red and blue rushing toward you, plummeting quicker than you were, and webbing your way to safety.

It felt odd to look back on, knowing now that it was Peter who pulled that elevator up to your safety. How you were only concerned then with apologizing to Peter Parker, who glanced at you there from beneath that mask, completely unbeknownst to you.

Once he’d gotten you up to the top of the Monument, Ned was the first to leap out to safety, then Mister Harrington. The two of them helped Liz get out, and to your luck, just as you took a step forward, the webs above you snapped.

You and Spider–Man fell with a blood curdling scream breaking through you.

“NO!!” He called after you, and quickly shot a web up to the roof again. His other arm reached out toward you, webbing your wrist rather quickly, keeping you from falling any further.

“It’s okay. You’re okay– I got you. You're okay..” He told you, his tone as gentle and soft as you knew it to be; yet, not a single thought crossed your mind that it was Peter Parker.

You shakily dangled beneath him as he tugged you up from that web. You fought to look up at him, to keep yourself from looking down; you fought to keep the tears at bay as the shock flooded from your system.

The second your hands touched, he pulled you up and into him. You wasted no time before wrapping your arms around him, hugging him for dear life. And it made sense, now, why he felt so familiar—why his warmth was so comforting, and why his arm around your waist felt like it belonged there.

He held you securely, lulling those reassurances to you, pulling the two of you up to safety at the top of that Monument.

Just before he set you down, you held him tighter. “Pe–Peter!” You gasped, and felt every muscle beneath your hold tense.

Now, you knew why.

You pulled back from his arms, “Peter Parker, my– my best friend! He was on his way over here.” Your voice shook as you explained, but watching him carefully set you on the ground helped to steady yourself a little. “Can you make sure– Could you make sure that he’s okay?”

Looking back, the reason why Spider–Man gaped at you so long must’ve been Peter contemplating whether or not to tell you who he was right then and there. He stared at you, beneath that mask, for what felt like minutes.

He gave a singular, upside down, nod. “I can do that, ma’am.” And his thick, Bronx, accent threw you off more than you wanted to admit.

Then he fell down the empty shaft of the elevator.

You’d never forget the moment he found you after that.

You had just gotten out of the Monument. With a shaky hand, you went through your phone to track Peter’s location. It said he was a matter of meters from you, but you couldn’t spot him in the crowd.

Just as you went to ask Ned, Peter’s voice hollered out, calling your name.

Both of you turned in his direction, the crowd of people parting for him as he ran over to you, catching you in a bone–crushing hug. One of his hands cradled your head into his chest, and the other kept itself snug around your waist, just like Spider–Man had earlier. "I'm so glad you're okay.." He whispered it into your hairline, just for you to keep.

The world washed away in the arms of Peter Parker. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, too, hugging him effortlessly closer. Apologies from your argument the night before fell from your lips, and he also followed suit.

You recalled that memory as something that defined how you and Peter operated—no matter what, you couldn’t stay mad at him.

You would always find a way to forgive him.

Now, remembering the incident was a bit more haunting. There was no telling how you and Peter would come back from this, nor just how long you’d go without each other.

And you didn't think Spider–Man would get you out of it, this time.

tag–list: @yourfavoritefangirl @inkedeye2345 @wxnterwidow333 @generalmoonpolice @elianamarie-blog

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read part three here.

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