#mcu peter parker x reader

[hufflezki]

"head over heels" — peter has been paying you visits as spiderman, doing and saying things he usually wouldn't when he's off the mask—like attempting to flirt with you. unfortunately, you find out who really is under his disguise.

-> mcu!peter parker x gn!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, mixed povs, peter is just a sweetheart, sudden confessions, good old misunderstanding (oh boy), peter rambles a lot, implications of reader liking plants, ( this is very self indulgent </3 so im sorry if he's a little ooc ) word count: 2,148 ( yes, its really long, ik )

[ 📀༉‧₊˚. ] — (also had this song in mind while writing, so I'll just share it.) head over heels by the go-go's

The sun is rising. Your cup is empty. School works are done. It's a Friday, and you don’t have any classes. Which means you finally have time to relax on your balcony. You prop your elbow down on the railing, thinking of things to do now that you’ve been given a free day.

You can read that book you’ve been meaning to finish a month ago—or has it been two? Then again, you also have that unfinished crochet project you decided to do. But the problem is you forgot if you ever saved the pattern for it. Then there’s also the elephant in the room, the thing that haunts you every time you step inside your apartment. The vase your last roommate left. You’ve been meaning to give it back to her—you promised. But things got busier ever since. The last time you had free time was probably earlier this year, and yet you were still working on your thesis.

You turn your head, staring at the vase. It's ironic how much it grew on you. You thought it didn’t fit the color scheme of your living room at first. But the more you saw it, the more it seemed to fit right in. Until, eventually, you decided that you like it. And, yes, maybe that’s part of the reason why you can’t bring yourself to return it. Your last roommate also never mentioned it again after. So, you assume she just forgot about it entirely. Hopefully.

Your train of thoughts are interrupted when you hear movements, mostly the sound of something—or rather someone—webbing around. You turn your head back in front of you, then to your left, and your right, until– “Good morning.” A familiar voice comes from behind you, making you yelp from surprise. “Fuck, You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” Normally, when you get approached by the Spider-man, in all his red and blue spandex glory, you don’t really greet him with a yell and proceed to curse him out. But, in your defense, who even gets visited by him this early in the morning? Apparently, you do!

“Sorry, I thought you’d be used to me. ‘Cause I am.” He walks, with his body facing you, hoisting himself up to sit on the railing. The whole time you followed him with your eyes, your brows raised out of curiosity. “No? I’m still trying to put my head around the fact that you choose to travel all the way here just to talk to me.” He shakes his head, waving his hand, dismissively. You feel the corner of your lip twitch. For someone who wears a mask, he’s certainly expressive. “You’re special.” He shrugs, his voice sounding a bit too soft and sincere, surprising you. You prop your chin down on your hand, staring at him. “I’m special?” You seem to have flustered him as he shrugs—once more—and turns away. As if you would even see the way his cheeks turn pink.

“Well, you know..” He clears his throat, tilting his head to the side, unsure with his words. You let out a chuckle, he turns to you again. He does this a lot, the moment you do something to counter him, he stumbles a few steps back. It’s adorable and reminds you of Peter, somehow.

“I think you’re great company. And you listen to me when I talk a lot.”

“Yeah, you ramble quite a lot, don't you?”

“I mean I get plenty of thoughts when I come over to see you.” This time you tilt your head to the side. “What kinds of thoughts?” The realization, that what he said might've been weird out of context, hits him like a train and he immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no. Not like weird thoughts. You know, like, uhm– You’re so cool! And I like the perfume you’re wearing today. Little things like that.” You purse your lips, holding back your laughter. You don’t know if his rambling really is entertaining, or maybe you just have it bad.

To be fair, it has been a few weeks since you started meeting him like this. You remember the day of your first encounter. He accidentally knocked down the plant on your balcony, and you caught him fixing it—or trying to hide the evidence that it was broken—then he offered to help however he can. You insisted, but he showed up later that night, dangling outside your window, with a new pot. It was the most baffling thing you’ve ever witnessed. And he helped you transfer the plant too. From then on, he frequents your balcony more than you do, and even waters your plants. Even though you didn't ask him to, you still appreciate him for it.

You don't know what you did to have caught his attention. You convinced yourself that maybe he really is just your friendly neighborhood Spider-man. But he doesn't seem to be hanging out in anyone else’s apartment other than yours. You don't have any complaints, however. He keeps you company, and you seem to do the same for him.

“So, the only thing I’m getting here is that you think about me a lot. And that I’m special.” You say the last thing with a smug grin, and he seems to find that amusing. “Not everyone gets called special by Spider-man. So, thank you.” You add. But, unexpectedly, he counters your remark. “You’re also very sweet.” He says, holding up a finger. Then another one. “And you care a lot. I appreciate you worrying about me whenever I come back from a mission.” Your eyebrows raise, cheeks feeling a little warm. “You’ve got a great smile, it's actually infectious.” He glances at you, and you imagine his eyes narrowing. He’s got three of his fingers up now, then adds another one. “You’re crazy about your plants, but I also like that—and I get it, I’m crazy about my lego collections too.” That’s big news to you, Spider-man apparently likes legos. That reminds you, Peter is also crazy about them. So far, you’re thinking they’d get along well.

However, you don't know where this conversation is going. But you’re curious to how this would conclude, so you keep listening.

“And, I just like you. You make my day. I have more to say, if you want me to elaborate.” He hops down, now standing beside you. Somehow, you turn a little shy. His arm brushes against yours, as he rests his hands on the railing. “But you must get a lot of people telling you that, yeah?” You don't know why Spider-man’s suddenly getting you in your feelings, but you guess he’s always been that spontaneous. “Well, I do have one friend. Peter. He tells me he likes..” You cut yourself off, a metaphorical light bulb turning on above your head. His words starting to

sound familiar.

You remember a sleepover you did with Peter a few months back. When he was so sleepy that he started a verbose speech about how much he appreciates your long-term friendship. And that he doesn't know anyone who could ever have your patience to deal with him.

Now, you’re holding Spider-man’s stare. He’s waiting for you to continue your sentence. But you don't think you would, not when something else came up in your mind. “Peter?” You say, still unsure. He seems startled by that, drawing his head back. “What?”

“Sorry, I just.. What was the gift you gave me on my thirteenth birthday?”

“Walkie talkie–” You point your finger at him, eyes wide, and pretty proud of yourself. Meanwhile, Peter finally realizes just what you’d done and fails to defend himself. That’s when he sighs, his shoulders deflating. And now you feel very bad. “I knew you’d be cornering me!” You give him a guilty smile, moving closer. “I’m sorry, you were just giving yourself away.” He sighs, once again, but he doesn't seem all too bummed out.

“So, it's really you?” Peter nods his head, your smile turns fond. You reach for his mask, hand hesitating for a bit. “You can take it off.” He says, and that’s the time you continue and lift the bottom of his mask, slowly revealing the familiar face of the boy you’ve spent your whole life with. “Peter.” He smiles at you, crooked, evidently embarrassed to be caught like this. But he knew the day would come. Not that he never planned to tell you who really is. “Ta-da?” Peter attempts to humor you, and it works, kind of. You chuckle, bringing yourself to hug him. He wraps his arms around you, feeling all sorts of emotions.

“I’m sorry for ruining your whole reveal. I know that’s not what you intended.” Peter hums and shakes his head. “I’m surprised you’re not at all weirded out.” You pull away, just enough to look at him in the eyes. “I mean, you do need to explain to me why you did all this.” He purses his lips together, trying to find the confidence to tell you that he’s liked you ever since he could. And that it’s been keeping him in some kind of crisis, since he doesn’t know how to tell you.

“It’s hard to say. I like you. I’m practically head over heels. But I’ve never had the confidence to tell you. So I decided maybe being Spider-man could help.” He scratches the back of his neck, now wallowing in his own embarrassment. “Clearly not.. I’m not good at flirting with or without the mask, apparently.” He turns shy, pulling himself away. To his surprise, you pull him back by taking his hands. “You’re really interesting, Peter.” He grows even more flustered, unable to look you in the eyes.

“First, you break my pot.”

“That wasn't intentional, I was really nervous that day.”

“It's alright, It wasn't a big deal. Then, you try to woo me as Spider-man, which almost worked, instead of just asking me out?” Now that you put it that way. His plan did seem like a lot of work. But he didn't have a guarantee that you’d say yes. What if he blows it and you never talk to him again? That’s like.. scarier than having to defeat a Titan warlord threatening to end half the population on earth. Imagine that.

“Would you?” He asks, voice so quiet, you almost missed it. You hum, squeezing his hands. “Would I go out with you?” Peter nods his head, and you also do. “Yes, I would go out with you. Peter, I don't know if you've noticed but I’ve tried to make it obvious that I do like you.” Peter’s eyebrows scrunch together, as he looks at you with pure astonishment. Was he the one oblivious?

“Do you remember when I said my mom packed extra lunches for you?” He nods his head. “I did them, intentionally.” You smile, watching as he starts recollecting your memories. “Even that time you held my hand during our first field trip?” You nod your head, as Peter takes it all in.

“That time you asked me out on Prom?”

“Especially that. I thought you’d get it by then.” You shrug, meanwhile Peter feels like the biggest idiot in the world for realizing it all just now. How could he have missed the signs? Why couldn't he have just taken the risk? He’s done that plenty of times before.

“Alright, don't stress your pretty little mind. Atleast, now we both know.” Peter ponders for a bit more, before he lifts your hands up to kiss your knuckles. “I think I’ll be fine if I worry a bit more. It seems I don't use what’s up here, anyways.” He says, trying to humor his own disappointment. And you have to fight back a smile. “Peter.” You chide and he mutters a quick sorry.

“Let me make it up to you? I’ll take you out, wherever.” He’s leaning closer to kiss you on your forehead, and you feel the warmth seeping throughout your entire body. It’s crazy how a gesture so small could make you feel so much.

“Deal. And I believe I owe you one thing?” He narrows his eyes, inquisitively, and you take the opportunity to kiss him on the lips. You feel him freeze, his entire body going rigid for a second, before he melts and kisses you back. His hand immediately goes to cup your face, while his other pulls you closer by the waist. And you can't help but think about just how soft his lips feel like against yours. You almost want to stay like this for a little while, until you have to take a breath.

“I have a good idea. Why don't we head inside before someone sees you, and tells the entire world that you’re Spider-man.”

“I think that’s the best idea ever, actually.”

marvel & dc masterlist ꩜ .ᐟ

[deathbyathousandspiders]

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

comment for the part three tag list;)

read part three here.

[barnesafterglow]

first burn

summary: your crush on peter may burn you alive

pairing: mcu!peter parker x avenger!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: not canon compliant (no snap, everyone is happy and healthy and no one did anything stupid), peter is of age and well within his rights to fuck!!, a little tropey for a second (brief "fake dating" and "only one bed" to move the story along), smut [unprotected sex, pull out method oral (f receiving), just some sweet love making dude], listen i'm here for a good time not a long time

a/n: two fics in a year?? who is she

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

Peter Parker was going to be the death of you.

With each grunt that echoed through the gym in Avengers Tower, your eyes flicked to his sweaty form. The goddamned death of you.

You tried to backtrack, to see when these feelings first started as a small burning in the back of your mind that had turned into a raging wildfire every time you were in his presence. It had to have been the mission in London.

It was normal - or as normal as any Avengers mission could be. 

You had just stumbled through the throes of midtown London, hand in hand with your boyfriend, looking with every bit of wonder like neither of you had ever seen the delights it had to offer.

Then, as soon as you stepped through the hotel door, Peter dropped your hand as if it had burned him the whole time. 

Maybe it started then, with that glimmer of disappointment. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend and he would never take the time to take you around tourist London like he had just done. 

And then that pit in your stomach grew as the door to your room opened: only one bed. Jesus Christ, Tony. 

“I know,” came the response from beside you; you must have spoken out loud. “It’ll be fine.”

Those were the last words he spoke for a long while, as you both got ready for bed, then slid in beside each other. The tension was palpable, and you didn’t know if it was your slowly mounting feelings or the clench of his discomfort, but regardless you slept fitfully for hours until you finally stumbled into a deep sleep.

You woke up to a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle - somehow pressed there in the dark of the night - and the world spun around you as you shot up.

Peter was alert in seconds, standing by the bed assessing for a threat, when his eyes met yours - utterly confused and you had no real answer for him.

“Bad dream,” you mumbled as you headed to the bathroom, the door clicking with a sort of finality behind you.

And it was fine, really it was. You definitely didn’t think about the way press of his body against yours and how sexy his bed head had looked. Nope. Not at all. 

And you definitely didn’t imagine what he would have looked like if you were the one who made him sweaty and flushed like he was right now.

Snapping out of your borderline impure thoughts, you stood from your spot on the ground where you had been warming up and - before your mouth said something you could regret - you walked out of the gym.

With your back turned, you missed the way Peter’s eyes followed you the whole way.

-

Saturday nights were girl’s nights, as Wanda so boldly claimed. And girl’s night came with a lot of complaining.

Throwing the shot back, you groaned, not even wanting to voice your thoughts aloud.

“I shouldn’t even think about it,” you said. “He’s practically a kid.”

“Not to impede on your self-loathing, but he’s not a kid anymore babe,” was Natasha’s response. She nodded across the bar where Peter was sipping his beer, laughing at something Sam had said. Right, he was 22 and totally within your age range, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still see him as the 16 year old kid who had fought by Tony’s side. “Plus you’re not that much older than him. We used to call you a kid too, you know.”

Dragging your hand down your face, you stood from the table to order another drink, ignoring Nat and Wanda’s laughter at your misery.

As you leaned against the bar waiting, Peter dropped down into the stool beside you.

“Alright, what did I do to you?” His words were casual, joking, but you could hear the hurt laced within. That was never your intention, and your heart sank.

You and Peter had been friends for a long time, since Tony had first brought him in after the air had cleared with him and Cap. You bonded over being the youngest Avengers and what that meant for your lives. The two of you understood each other on another level that no one else truly did. And here you were, ruining everything over a little crush.

“Nothing, Pete.” You ruffled your hand through his hair and his face lit up in a blush that he tried to hide behind his beer bottle. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad, I guess,” he replied, then looked down at you - when had he gotten so tall - with an unreadable emotion on his face. “I miss you.”

Right. And you were back where you started. Admittedly, you had avoided him for the most part since that London mission, only saying hi in passing and at the occasional movie night or debrief. You weren’t exactly proud of it, but you didn’t know what else to do.

“I miss you too,” you whispered, shame coating your words. You never meant to hurt him - honestly, you didn’t. “Listen, kid, I just-“

“Don’t call me kid.” And the anger in his words surprised you. “I’m not that kid you met six years ago - when you were barely any older, might I remind you - and you know that. I know you know that. So don’t use that as an excuse to stop whatever is going on here.” His hands gestured between the two of you. 

Strong, capable hands that you had seen hurt and save, had seen run through his hair, had seen play video games. Hands that you had imagined for weeks now. Hands that you couldn’t help but grab out of mid air, clasping one in your own. 

“And what’s going on here, Peter?”

He leaned in close, breath hot on your ear. 

“I see the way you look at me.” Your breath hitched, then stopped altogether. “But I don’t think you see me looking right back.”

Body all of a sudden hot and raging with emotion, you squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. 

“Take me home.”

-

Your apartment was closer, so you walked the handful of blocks from the bar in tangible silence. Every brush of fingers was an electric jolt through your body and every bump of shoulders sent heat through your core. By the time you reached your front door, the tension was pulled so tight it was bound to snap at any moment.

And snap it did.

As soon as you had the apartment door closed behind you, Peter was on you, his hands everywhere all at once. He crowded you, pulling you close to him when you winced at the door knob digging into your side. One hand came to rest on your hip, rubbing soothing circles there, while the other cradled your face, eyes searching for permission.

You didn’t know what you were giving him permission for, but you nodded anyway.

The world around you stopped as Peter placed a searing kiss to your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs. The hand on your face moved to gently tug your hair and he took your gasp as an invitation to explore your mouth. God the boy knew how to kiss.

His tongue pressed into you, tasting every inch while your hands roamed his body. When he pulled away - not for air, not to leave you, but to place hot kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of burning fire in their wake - you tugged on his t-shirt in a silent plea for him to take it off.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him without a shirt before. Between missions and training and plain old gym sessions, you were thankfully no stranger to a shirtless Peter Parker. But in the dim light of your living room, with those brown eyes boring into your own, everything was suddenly different.

You just stared - for far longer than necessary, you were sure - until he took a step back towards you, his fingers intertwining with your own. Nodding at him, you started to lead him towards your bedroom, not making it more than two steps until his hands were once again exploring your body.

When you finally made it - a trail of both of your clothes left in your wake - your breaths were heavy and panting, aching for more of him.

He stood there for a moment just looking at you, taking in the red lace of your bra and underwear. Unable to contain himself, he ripped it off of you in two quick pulls, leaving you bare before him.

You expected him to jump on you the second you were naked. Instead he pressed his front against your own - you gasped at the contact of your nipples against his bare chest - and lightly traced shapes over your exposed back, moving down to trail along your legs, then back up your arms. Everywhere he touched burned the memory into your skin.

Finally, finally, he gently pushed you against your bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft bounce, and he peeled off his jeans and underwear before manhandling you towards the center, moving your body as if you weighed nothing.

You truly didn’t need any foreplay, the tension on your own end built up these last few weeks on top of Peter’s heated discovery of your body made for an easy transition, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

No, Peter Parker was a fucking tease.

He started by kneading the soft skin of your breasts, touch light and gentle as if you were something precious. Even when he leaned down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, he still only gave you quick nips, nothing as satisfying as you needed. He made his way down your body, placing lover’s kisses everywhere he could reach, before finally settling down on his stomach between your legs.

You thought that this was surely the moment you would get some reprieve, some kind of real touch that may or may not send you over the edge, but no. He wasn’t done with you yet.

He kissed the inside of each thigh, alternating until he was breathing right where you needed him most. When you thought you were about to explode, he finally lowered his mouth to your core.

The feeling after so long of teasing was euphoric, and you swear if you were a weaker woman you could have come from the first swipe of his tongue against your clit. You held out as his tongue made its way in circles and figure eights, then he pressed a finger against your entrance, eyes looking up through dark lashes to silently ask permission.

Once you had given it, he sank a finger into you, pumping it a few times before adding another. With that, both his hand and mouth picked up speed until you were grinding on his face, chasing your orgasm.

You were on the edge, ready to jump off, when he pulled back. You whined at the loss of contact and tried to sit up, but one large hand pushed you back against the bed, the other starting its assault all over again.

This time, he didn’t stop until you were coming all over his face, and you think you blacked out for a second because the next thing you knew he was over top of you, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before kissing you, driving his tongue in and swallowing down your moans.

He ground his hips against you, his cock sliding easily through your folds, and you both whined as his tip caught at your entrance. He continued his movements, getting closer and closer to fucking you with every pass, but never quite committing.

Sick of his teasing, you pushed hard on his shoulders and, in his surprise, were able to flip him so he was on his back.

“Stop teasing, Peter,” you whispered in his ear as you straddled his waist. “I need you.”

You pulled back, eyes searching his, before he nodded and wrapped his hands around your hips. Taking that as permission, you grabbed his cock, lining it up and slowly sliding down.

He was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and you had to take your time before he was fully seated inside you. Once your hips were flush together, you took a breath, practically feeling him in your throat. 

He looked up at you - almost adoringly - as you adjusted to him. You leaned down, pressing your chest against his, and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of emotion you possibly could into it before starting to move your hips. Now more adjusted, the burn of the stretch turned into a pleasure that had you melting against him and hands guided your hips to move you along his length.

For long minutes you let him move you as he wanted, content to hang on for the ride. You didn’t expect for Peter to flip you over and start pounding into you.

“Fuck,” you gasped out as he settled your legs over your shoulders. “So fucking deep.”

All you could do is hold onto him as he fucked you, alternating between hard thrusts and slow grinds until you were dizzy with pleasure, chasing an orgasm that wasn’t going to come unless Peter damn well wanted it to.

And when he did, when he reached down and rubbed harsh circles into your clit, you exploded around him. The clench of your heat around his cock spurred his own orgasm, and he pulled out at the last second, his come coating your stomach and tits.

That on is own was hot enough, but Peter fucking Parker did not come to play. He swiped two fingers through his own release before pressing them to your mouth. You opened up for him, cleaning off his fingers as he groaned, and you could see his cock give an interested twitch, like it was already trying to go for round two.

The weight of his body disappeared from yours and you whined, reaching out for him even with your eyes closed. He quickly returned with a warm rag and cleaned you up before maneuvering you both under the covers. 

Regaining a semblance of strength, you turned so that you were facing him, suddenly very aware of each of your nakedness.

“What now?” Your voice was hoarse-sounding, it’s only use in the last bit from moans and gasps.

“Well,” he started, once again tracing shapes along your bare skin, “I think we maybe skipped a step in the middle of all this.”

“What do you mean?” If he was going to say what you thought he might, your heart would implode.

“I mean, I’ve liked you for a really long time, longer than I’m going to admit, and I took this chance because I didn’t know if I would ever get it again. But if I’m right - and I think I am - then you feel the same way I do. So, I want to take you on a proper date. I want to make this work.”

His confession made your heart stutter-step and you couldn’t even find the words to tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Instead, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, hoping every emotion he had just poured out to you was matched in the press of your lips against his.

“I’m taking that as a yes, then.”

“Yeah, Pete, it is.”

[sunshine-lux]

Clueless! masterlist

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

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

peter parker and his best friend y/n stark have never been the best at talking about their feelings- especially the ones they shouldn't have. things seem to get a little more complicated when gwen stacy transfers to midtown and new york's most charming bachelor, harry osborn, takes an interest in y/n.

takes place right after spiderman: homecoming!

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

clueless playlist!

some nice tunes that capture the vibes!

hot blooded

clueless!harry osborn x Stark!reader au

clueless (i.)

clueless (ii.)

clueless (iii.)

clueless (iv.)

clueless (v.)

clueless (vi.)

clueless (vii.)

clueless (viii.)

clueless (ix.)

and more to come!

[sparkylurkdragon]

Behold, a nine-year-old birthday girl!!

Miss Urist has been slowing down a little, but she's still going strong as a happy, healthy little babygirl.

Here she is being rambunctious with the toys a few days ago (with bonus Lurking Phoenix). Granny's still got it!

[lumosflairr]

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.”

[blondykebarbie]

🍾 happy birthday!!!

how about 24 with spiderman? maybe reader is also a superhero, but a little newer to the game than spidey?

24) Getting pinned down while a training session/sports practice

omg thanks for coming to the party! hope you enjoy :)

Spiderboy

Peter Parker (Spiderman) x gn!Stark!reader

WC: 1.7k

CW: fighting; sexual tension

Summary: You decide Spiderman is your personal enemy after your dad invites him to join the Avengers before you. So, when you're given the chance to fight the hero during training, you're thrilled.

Despite your many pleas, your dad, Tony Stark, had kept you from becoming a superhero for a long time. It was too dangerous, he always said, and he wanted to protect what was most precious to him. You knew his refusal was always rooted in love, and you loved how much he cared. Still, you wanted to fight alongside him, to help make a difference. You’d bring up the topic every few months, with his answer always staying the same. You wouldn’t fight back too hard and instead find other ways to help out the Avengers. All that changed when your dad brought on a new superhero- Spiderman. Though you didn’t know his real identity, you did know that he was your age, which left you furious. You’d stormed into his office, shaking with anger and betrayal, shouting about how it wasn’t fair- how he could let some strange boy join the Avengers but not his own kid.

The screaming didn’t convince him nor did the silent treatment. It was only when you’d given up entirely on your dream of being an Avenger that your dad sat you down and invited you to join the team. You’d given an enthusiastic yes, accepting the stipulation that you had to train for a year before you’d be allowed out in the field. You were to be trained in combat, to help your dad in making your suit, to think up your superhero name, and to go through countless mission simulations. The training had been hard work, no doubt, but you knew that it would all be worth it when you got to serve alongside your dad, the Iron Man, in just a matter of two months. 

Today is like most others, your day starting early with a combat training session led by Natasha. You’ve just finished your stretches when she walks in, a brunette boy about your age in tow. You shoot her a confused look but the redhead only smirks, stopping before you. 

“We’re doing things a little different today,” Natasha says to you. You notice that she isn’t in her usual training clothing, instead wearing jeans and a t-shirt. 

“I’ve taught you all I know. Now it’s time to put your training to the test and actually fight someone. You’ll be fighting Peter here.”

Your eyes trail to the boy in question and they narrow, “who the fuck is Peter?”

The boy rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugs, “that’s me. I’m Peter, Peter Parker. You’re Mr. Stark’s kid, right?”

You nod and cross your arms, “Okay but who are you? Peter Parker means nothing to me.”

He blushes furiously and you want to roll your eyes. Seriously, who is this guy?

“Oh right! I’m Spiderman, one of the new Avengers.”

Your heart drops and anger simmers in your stomach. Fucking Spiderman- your personal enemy ever since he got invited to join the Avengers before you. Your eyes scan his figure, assessing him. You really don’t understand what your dad sees in him. He seems like an average teenager, if not a little more fit than most. Though you’d never been to public school and therefore not often been around people your age, you know he looks just like the rest of the boys. Did sunshine come out of his ass or something?

“Oh. You’re Spiderman. Right.”

The Parker kid furrows his brow in confusion, a little taken aback by your less than warm reception. He didn’t expect you to be losing your mind over meeting Spiderman or anything, but he thought you’d at least be friendly, maybe crack a few jokes like your dad. 

You glare at Natasha slightly, “was this your idea? Or my dad’s?”

She ignores your question, “you need to practice fighting real people and not just a dummy. You’ll start with Parker and eventually move up to fighting Steve, me, and so on. This isn’t up for debate, Junior, so assume your positions.”

Your face heats at Natasha’s use of the team’s nickname for you in front of your rival. You think she did it on purpose just to embarrass you. You’d just have to make up for it by kicking Parker’s ass. The boy assumes his position on the opposite side of the mat, falling into his stance with a confidence that really pisses you off. You don’t know where he got the gall to waltz in here like he owned the place and-

Natasha tells you to begin and Peter lunges forward, nimble on his feet. You barely avoid him, feet skidding across the rubber mat just in time. You reposition, squaring your hips like you were taught, and throw your fist when he approaches. He ducks, avoiding it, and takes the opportunity to land a blow on your side. The force sends you staggering. He’s stronger than you thought and you recall that he probably has some sort of superhuman strength. It only makes you madder, and you retaliate, kicking him in the stomach. Peter stumbles only a little and you grit your teeth. The two of you engage in a back and forth, sending blows each other’s ways and failing, both of you blocking the other’s attempts. 

“Quit playing with each other,” Natasha scolds, no real malice in her voice. 

You decide to try a different angle, sweeping your foot out to catch the back of his leg rather than using your fists. It works, and you internally celebrate, reveling in the way he tumbles to the ground. Unfortunately, in his fall he catches your ankle, dragging you down with him. You grunt as you land on your back and you see red. 

“Motherf-” 

Peter sends his fist towards your face and you stop it with both hands, fighting against his insane strength.

“Why do you seem to hate me so much?” the brunette grits, voice shaking with effort. 

You press your foot against his chest, sending him backwards again, “can’t handle people not loving you, spiderboy?”

He’s quickly back up on his feet and you resituate, “that’s not my name and you know it, Stark. Honestly, we’ve never even met before today! How can you hate me?”

His voice sounds boyish and innocent, as though he just wants to be liked by everyone. It almost makes you feel bad for him. 

Peter manages to clock you in the face and you stumble, clutching your jaw in pain.You land a few blows in retaliation and then he tackles you in the middle. It doesn’t send you plummeting to the ground, instead only locking your upper halves together. You take the chance to mutter in his ear, “you waltzed in and took what I wanted without even trying. After I’d spent years working my ass off to become an Avenger.”

“I’m sorry, you know it wasn’t my f-” 

You don’t let him finish, instead finally shoving him back off of you. This is it. Your moment. You charge towards him and pull a classic Natasha move. You leap forward, flinging your legs around his shoulders and sending him hurtling to the ground. You’ve got him right where you want him, and you smirk in victory. You’re straddling his hips as you lean down and murmur, “gotcha.”

Your cockiness is your downfall and Peter takes advantage of it. He shoves you off, flipping you over and pinning you beneath him. The brunette is heavier than you and he pins both of your wrists, effectively leaving you defenseless. You squirm beneath him, frustrated and he leans in, breath hot against your ear, “don’t pout just because daddy didn’t give you your way.”

And something about the way he says it so assertively, while also being pinned underneath him, causes you to have a very different reaction. Heat shoots to your core and you just barely suppress a shudder. You swallow thickly and push him off, standing up shakily and wiping your palms. You blow past Natasha, and head straight to the locker rooms.

Fuck.

You splash cold water on your face and take deep breaths, trying to calm the passion brewing in your stomach. You’re hot- equal parts angry and turned on and it pisses you off. You’re supposed to hate this Parker kid, not be attracted to him.

The door to the locker room opens, “go away, Nat,” you call out.

Footsteps scuff against the tile and it’s not Natasha that appears but Peter. 

“Are you okay?”

You sigh, not meeting his eyes, “Fine.”

He runs his fingers through his mussed hair nervously, “are you sure? Did I hurt you or-”

“I’m fine, Spiderboy.”

Peter walks closer and suddenly his fingers are on your jaw, tilting your head slightly. Your breath catches in your throat. He grimaces and a coo catches in his throat, “I got you bad here. It’s already turning all black and blue. I’m sorry.”

The pads of his fingers are warm against your skin and you shiver when they dance gently over the bruise.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

You shake your head, and your mouth opens and closes like a fish. Peter’s brown eyes watch you intently, softly. 

“I really am sorry for taking your spot on the team or uhm whatever.”

You search his face for any insincerity but find none, and your heart thaws just a little.

“I’d like to get to know you. Become friends, you know, or…”

He trails off, and your breath hitches at what the silence implies. Peter leans closer to you, your breaths mingling and-

There’s a knock on the door and it opens. The two of you jump apart as your dad comes into view. He pauses, eyes flitting between you and Peter suspiciously.

“Sweetheart,” your dad says, focusing his attention on you, “it’s time to go work on your suit.”

He steps closer and grabs your face, “and we’ll get you some ice for that bruise.”

Your dad tucks you into his side and begins corralling you towards the door. You look over your shoulder and awkwardly wave goodbye to Peter.

When you’re not looking, your dad sends Peter a glance too. It’s a warning. You fuck with my kid, I’ll fuck you up too.

And while Peter is scared out of his mind, he can’t help but smile nonetheless.

[wordsarelife]

—hey stephen

pairing: peter parker x fem!stark!reader

summary: you and peter have to fix a little mistake one of the avengers made. luckily you're a great team

warnings: flirting, theft lol

note: i realized too late i hadn't put it in the queqe lol!

the night sky loomed above you, a soft haze of stars disappearing into the city’s light pollution. a high-rise office building stretched into the clouds, and at its base, peter was already halfway up, scaling the glass like it was nothing. your fingers tapped the device your dad had insisted you bring, ensuring your escape route was intact—just in case.

"the probability of falling to your death is one in three," you called out, voice laced with dry amusement as you watched peter's slow climb from the ground.

from above, peter’s voice crackled through your earpiece, laced with sarcasm. "what do the statistics say about people with spider-powers?" he paused to look down at you, clearly rolling his eyes beneath the mask.

with a smirk, you tapped the small stark tech device on your wrist, instantly teleporting yourself from the ground to the roof he was climbing toward. when you appeared, you peeked over the ledge to see him still climbing, almost there. "they say, that they're kind of slow."

peter stopped climbing and turned his head in your direction, scowling up at you. "ha ha" he muttered, clearly unimpressed. still, you could see a grin forming under the mask as he climbed up the last few feet. "and what do they say about people with teleporting powers and stark-level egos?"

you quirked a brow, amusement dancing on your lips. "that we don’t have time to climb up buildings for fun," you shot back.

"whatever" he replied playfully, as he walked around you, to look through the glass of the roof and into the room beneath it. "do we have any information about the security system?"

"vision’s already taken care of the alarms and cameras," you answered, eyes still locked on the space beneath. "but we’ve got a problem."

you and peter stood shoulder to shoulder, staring down through the reinforced glass at the one obstacle neither of you had expected: larry, the security guard. he was patrolling the museum’s halls with an intensity that would put some SHIELD agents to shame.

larry was infamous for taking his job way too seriously, a fact that had somehow kept this museum entirely free of robbery attempts.

peter let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "that’s larry, isn’t it? guy’s basically the captain america of museum security.”

"yup," you sighed, arms crossed as you watched larry methodically sweep each room like he was guarding the crown jewels. "this mission is supposed to be high-stakes, not high-annoyance."

your father had pulled you into this last-minute mission, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of his over-the-top explanation for why this was necessary.

thor had accidentally packed one of tony's and bruce’s experimental devices in a gift box meant for this museum, and now that same device was on display, tucked away in some artifact. to tony, this was practically a world-ending catastrophe.

"couldn't you just, you know... build another one?" you had asked at the time, exasperation dripping from your voice.

tony had responded by rolling his eyes dramatically, as if you’d just suggested throwing away the mona lisa. "do you want the wrong hands getting this tech? because that’s how we all end up in serious, world-ending trouble."

that, of course, had been enough to get you and peter on board. especially after the last world-ending trouble, your father had been involved in, had led to robots invading sokovia and ripping it out of the ground.

but now, staring at larry pacing the hallway like he was auditioning for an action movie, you were starting to regret that decision.

"we’ve got to get him out of there" peter whispered. "or this is going to get messy fast"

you nodded. "and vision can’t mess with his comms or knock him out—he’s just a regular guy, after all. we can’t exactly web him up and call it a day"

"yeah" peter agreed. "but we can’t just waltz in either. larry’s about three steps away from spotting us and sounding the alarm. and there goes our quiet heist"

peter shifted beside you, fidgeting like he always did when he was thinking up a plan. you could practically see the gears turning in his head. he turned to you, his face half-hidden under the mask, but you could feel the grin even if you couldn’t see it. "how good are you at distractions?"

you raised an eyebrow. "depends on the distraction. what are you thinking?"

peter leaned down, pointing at the far end of the hallway where a ventilation shaft led into the room larry was patrolling. "you teleport down there, maybe drop something—make some noise. when larry goes to investigate, i’ll slip in and get the device"

you glanced at the vent, calculating the distance between it and larry’s patrol route. it could work. you could make just enough noise to pull him out of the main exhibit area without alerting him too much.

“fine” you muttered, already prepping yourself. “but you owe me.”

peter chuckled, tapping the side of his mask. "i’ll pay you back in kisses. how’s that?"

"disgusting, actually" rolling your eyes, you disappeared in a flash, teleporting down into the vent, making sure to land as quietly as possible. the cold metal of the air duct pressed against your knees as you crawled toward the room below, spotting larry a few feet away, completely oblivious.

reaching for your utility belt, you pulled out a small stark gadget—a harmless little device designed to make a loud noise when activated. with a quick flick of your wrist, you dropped it through the slats in the vent, watching as it clattered to the floor.

larry’s head snapped toward the sound immediately. his footsteps echoed through the room as he headed toward the noise, flashlight in hand. you teleported yourself back to the roof in time to see peter lower himself through the glass on a webline, slipping into the room like a shadow.

“good?” you whispered into your comms.

peter’s voice came back soft but smug. "good. i'm heading to the artifact now."

you watched from above as peter made his way through the room, quiet as ever. he moved between the display cases with ease, his eyes trained on the object in question—a small, unassuming vase, inside of which was the deadly device your dad had carelessly gifted to the museum.

"you think they’d put the dangerous stuff in a more secure spot," peter whispered, now crouched by the display.

"it’s a vase," you whispered back. "nobody thinks vases are dangerous."

peter snorted. "clearly, they’ve never been on a mission with you.”

“clearly, my dad is just as smart, considering he gave a kid a multi-million dollar suit” you teased.

"oh, shut up!" peter shook his head, but you could hear in his voice that he wasn't actually angry or offended at the joke. he carefully removed the vase from its display, switching it out with an identical replica tony had provided. “got it,” he said, holding the real one up to the light.

but just as he turned to leave, larry came back into view. peter froze mid-step, his eyes darting to the closest hiding spot—a decorative column far too narrow to be much help.

“uh, y/n?” peter’s voice was tense. “i think larry’s about to spot me”

“how close are you to the exit?” you asked, already preparing to teleport in if things got messy.

“close enough... but not without being seen” peter muttered. he shifted, trying to move around the column without larry noticing.

you sighed, rolling your eyes. "fine. hold tight."

in an instant, you teleported into the hallway just a few feet behind larry, making just enough noise to catch his attention. he spun around, his flashlight sweeping the area where you had appeared.

peter took the opportunity to slip past, barely making a sound as he darted for the exit.

larry's flashlight landed on you for just a second before you teleported again, this time to the roof, heart racing as you reappeared beside peter.

"that was close," you breathed, watching as larry scratched his head below, completely unaware of what had just happened and probably blaming the hint of your figure on his sleep deprivation.

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you realize this was extremely stupid, right?”

you raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. “what, you worried about me?”

peter shrugged, not quite meeting your eyes. “i mean, if you got caught, who else would pull me out of this mess?”

you gave him a playful shove. "please. i’d just teleport out, and you’d be stuck explaining to larry why you’re playing spider-man in a museum."

he grinned behind his mask, shaking his head. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“yeah, well, you’re the one who drags me into these missions,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “besides, i saved your butt down there.”

peter held up the vase, the light glinting off it's surface. "i think we're even now. how about we call it a tie?"

you smirked. "tie? not a chance, parker. you owe me big time for this"

peter's eyes crinkled at the edges, the grin behind his mask unmistakable. “all right, all right. i’ll buy you dinner.”

“dinner?” you arched an eyebrow. “is that how you plan to repay me?”

he shrugged, but the mischievous spark in his eyes was impossible to miss. “seems fair, right?”

before you could reply, vision's voice chimed in over your comms. "y/n, peter, congratulations on a successful retrieval. the quinjet is ready for extraction."

peter gave a mock salute. "see? mission accomplished. we’re golden."

you couldn’t help but smile as you rolled your eyes. "fine, but next time, you get to deal with larry."

peter paused for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “you sure? i think larry kind of likes you. he was definitely staring a bit when you teleported in behind him.”

you scoffed, shaking your head as you turned to head for the extraction point. "do you ever stop staring at me?"

peter’s voice was soft but completely sincere as he jogged to catch up beside you. “no, not really.”

you shot him a sideways glance, trying not to let the warmth in his voice get to you. "smooth, parker."

he grinned again, slipping the vase into the protective case tony had provided. “hey, can’t help it. you’re kind of hard to ignore.”

"right," you muttered, suppressing a smile. "let’s just focus on not getting caught next time, yeah?”

“deal,” peter agreed, but his voice held that familiar teasing edge. "but maybe we should stick to flirting only after we’re out of danger.”

you rolled your eyes. “maybe you should stop flirting in near-death situations.”

peter shrugged, a playful glint still in his eye. “what can i say? i work best under pressure.”

[anyalikeslasagna]

bring back men who yearn

[sprinkledinkle101]

guys like do you see it

[astxroiid]

could I possibly get Sagittarius with peter Parker (mcu if possible!) thank youuu :)))

thank you thank you thank you for asking this 💋

'kinks/fetishes'

while mainly inexperienced, Peter Parker knows somewhat about the things he's into. (most of the time you end up showing him the things he likes). he's known for the longest time that someone telling him what to do and having power over him is the biggest turn on. His earliest memory of porn-watching was a video about a man being tied down on a bed while a woman denied him his orgasm like ten times.

peter remembers cuming the hardest when you've edged him for hours, whispering how pathetic he looks like that.

while he loves to be degraded and told how pathetic he looks and how needy he is, he can't help the way his body reacts when you praise him as well. Truly, he just wants to be your good boy. The times where he'll cum inside you, whimpering, panting, and shaking and you call him your good boy usually have him straining in his pants when he's daydreaming.

orgasm denial is definitely a big one for him. But so is overstimulation. When you have him finishing multiple times a day, cock sensitive and body convulsing.

in conclusion; peter parker is submissive through and through.

kinks/fetishes: complete submission, orgasm denial, praise, degradation, overstimulation, edging, good boy, mommy kink, rope bunny, masochisim, wax play, bondage, slight voyerism.

again, thanks so much! requests from my 600 q&a are open until feb. 1 !

q&a page ✷ m.list ✷ navigation

[serenity--writes]

Peter Parker x Reader | Fake-dating gone wrong

You need a fake date for your family's get-together, and just as you run out of hope, someone agrees. Of course, the universe has it out for you, so your plan falls to shit remarkably fast. (Or, you attempt to fake date Peter Parker, but crime never sleeps.) GN! Reader, Unedited, 6.4k words. Holland Peter! (A/N: I can't look at this anymore. I simultaneously like it and dislike it. I read somewhere that even if you're not inspired, you should write anyway, and this is the result. I do have another fic in the works that I am remarkably more invested in, though!)

In a few days, you’ll think back to this moment and laugh about how stupid you’re being, but right now, you’re desperate. There’s no way Saturday can go wrong, and you’re desecrating your pride to make sure it doesn’t. 

MJ just thinks you’re an idiot, you can tell by the amused, borderline-murderous look on her face. “No way in hell, dude. Your family is nuts.” You glance at her sketchbook, which has a half-finished sketch of your face in it. There’s no way you look that…

“Horrible,” you mumble, scrunching your nose. Bringing your hands up to your face, you feel around your face to double-check, but nope, you’re still you. To say you look haggard would be a compliment if MJ’s portrayal of you is accurate.

She hums, shading in the shadows of your nose. You didn’t realize it was that weirdly shaped. Or maybe MJ’s messing with you…? “That’s what you get for staying awake all night, texting someone asleep and not going to answer.” 

“I had to try. I figured I could wear you down, but you didn’t read my messages.” You scowl, seeing her add another lock of hair to her drawing. You should’ve brought a comb or something, shit. “C’mon, I’ll owe you lunch for—” You glance at your calendar, grimacing. Go big or go home. “—a month! You can even get those crazy expensive nachos that give you indigestion the next day. Pretty please?”

“Nope,” MJ says, popping the ‘p’. She’s nearly done with her sketch, and the whole ‘drawing people in crisis’ thing is scarily accurate. You’re now one hundred percent sure you’re not imagining the panic attack waiting to happen; you have a radar for those kinds of things, and it’s brewing in your chest. “Just ask loser number one or two. You can watch Star Wars in exchange.”

Loser one and loser two—Peter Parker and Ned Leeds. Yeah. No fucking way. Your first two new friends at this school—you’re not counting MJ since you’ve known her for five years by now—and she wants you to ruin it by asking them to fake-date you? Social suicide might be a turn-on for her, but it’s not for you.

Besides, you vowed never to watch Star Wars years ago. Said vow is akin to a pact signed in blood; you can’t disregard it or you’ll die. Yeah, you’ve seen The Craft, and you know magic and blood and shit are not to be messed with. Your descendants would curse your name, spinning a tale about how wicked you were, how evil, how you ate children who didn’t go to bed at eight o’clock on the dot—

Coincidentally, your mom was a storyteller when you were a child. She, rather suspiciously, might you add, gave it up once you turned twelve. Your father calls bullshit on her doing it just to scare you, but you know better.

Anyway! 

“I’m three seconds away from getting on my knees and begging. MJ, please!” Your knees bend in preparation. MJ glares at you, drawing a line across her throat with her finger, and you swear her eyes glimmer as you gulp, straightening up. She’d make a good serial killer. Wow! 

“I’m not fake-dating you, end of story.”

You collapse into your seat and groan into your arms, head buried; maybe you’ll suffocate and won’t have to endure the torture on Saturday. Even as you think it, though, you know you won’t be so lucky. The wind in your metaphorical sails depletes like a popped balloon—Star Wars couldn’t be all that bad, right? Worth a blood curse or two, at least?! “I don’t wanna watch Star Wars,” you whine. “My bloodline hates me so much right now. I can tell!”

MJ laughs at you, the scratch of her pencil grating against your eardrums. ‘People in crisis’ you make a face against your arms, almost sticking out your tongue, but think better of it. School desks are probably not as clean as they should be. “Get the popcorn ready. You know how those two dorks are.”

“You’re joining us,” you say, popping your head back up and taking a deep breath of that weird school smell that none of you can exactly pinpoint. At least English class had those nice wax melts, Math just smelled like stale decay. Probably all the dead brain cells floating in the air.

“Nah.”

“You can’t just say ‘nah’ and expect to win the argument. That’s not an argument, even; we haven’t argued!” You pause. “… Argue with me. Debate me. Try to come up with a good reason not to endure Star Wars with me. I dare you.”

“I haven’t argued because I’m more mature than you are, and don’t resort to petty debates that have no bearing on my life. It’s called ‘picking your battles.’”

Ugh. “I hate you, MJ. I hope you know that.” 

She grins. “I hate you more!”

.

.

.

You go to Ned first. He’s way less busy than Peter is, thus more likely to agree, and you don’t have a crush on him (not that you have one on Peter, but like… never mind), so it’s a win-win-win(-loss, because of the blood curse). You know, now that you think about it, Peter is busy. Between the Stark Internship, helping May at the F.E.A.S.T. shelter, or being a nerd in his private time, there’s always something going on. 

(You desperately need to join some extracurriculars.)

So, on account of the win-win-win(-loss) scenario, you ask Ned at lunch to be your fake boyfriend. You didn’t account for him saying no. You swear you see the gates as your heart gives out, but then you remember your trump card. Star Wars.

Except, he says no again. “My Lola needs my help on Saturday, so I’m not going anywhere.” You gape at him for so long that a fly darts inside your mouth and makes you choke. You’re too busy coughing up a lung to notice Peter until he’s putting a hand on your back and asking if you’re okay.

“Fine,” you croak, like the old hag from Snow White. “But also not. What the fuck. The world is turning against me. This is so unfair.”

MJ flicks your forehead. You yelp because what the fuck was that for?! “Peter, they have something they want to ask you,” she says. Your cheeks heat up instantly, realization kicking in. She’s setting you up!

“No, I don’t,” you retort as Peter puts down his sandwich. The poor guy looks too tired to deal with the combined bullshit you three are spewing out, but he takes it like a champ. You stare at him, but then he starts staring back, so you look away. Like a coward.

Ugh!

Ned snickers. Your friends are good at enjoying your misery. Sadists, all of them. Except Peter, because he’s more like an angel than anything else. “They need a fake date to get their family off their back, and MJ and I are busy. So…” Ned trails off, and you all watch as Peter puts two and two together. Horror paints your face, MJ smirks in smug victory, and Ned eyes the two of you knowingly. 

You don’t know what he knows, but you don’t like that he knows something. Smart bastard!

Peter shrugs, nonchalant and not grossed out like you thought he’d be. Something in your chest settles at the sight. “When is it?”

Still, you’re not letting this happen. You’ll just suffer by yourself on Saturday. “It’s fine—”

“Saturday, at four,” MJ cuts in smoothly, throwing you a smirk as you glower at her. If you could, and didn’t fear her retaliation, you’d reach across the table and strangle her. 

Peter nods, considering it. This whole situation is so weird. God, why is your heart beating so fast?! “I think I’ll be free? Mr. Stark is out until next week, so there’s not much I can do. And…” Here, he looks at you knowingly. “Knowing you, we won’t be there for too long, anyway. So maybe—”

“An hour!” you blurt out. Then, before you can lose your nerve, continue, “We can stay for an hour…?” You fiddle with your hands as you wait for him to change his mind. He’s always busy, so he probably meant for the whole thing to be like thirty minutes, not an hour. You always open your big mouth at the worst moments, and now it’s biting you in the ass.

Peter smiles. “Sounds good!”

Oh!

Ned whispers something to MJ, and she smirks, but before you can ask her what he told her, Peter’s asking for the address, and you forget all about MJ and Ned as you talk with him. 

.

.

.

Later, after knocking on the door and being let in by the ever-busy May Parker, you plop yourself down on his couch and wait for him to bring the popcorn. As you’re getting comfortable and accepting the oncoming blood curse, May clears her throat.

“Hey kiddos, I’ve got to head to work. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

Without looking, Peter calls back, “You would do so much worse, May!”

The door shuts after her, cutting off her cackle of a laugh. You smother a smile before her words sink in. Your lips quirk into a frown. What did she mean by that? It’s not like you and Peter are—

—Are anything! Did she know? There’s no way. 

Peter starts the movie, and it’s distracting enough that you’re no longer lingering on what May said, but boring enough that you stare at Peter from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t even realize how creepy you’re acting—hopefully it stays that way—but the smitten part of you mitigates the guilt welling in your chest.

But, not really, because he’ll never like you back. So, no crush! Just… platonic admiration. Yeah. (Yeah, so, maybe you’re kinda head-over-heels for this guy. So what? Nothing’s going to come out of it.)

You’re totally pining right now. God, you’re such a loser.

“Okay!” Peter’s voice startles you out of your self-induced pity party, and you jump. He ignores it, turning so that he’s mirroring your criss-crossed position, barely blinking as his knees jam into yours. Holy shit, he’s bony as fuck. “You’re acting weird. Why?” You can’t help but stare at him. His cheeks are kind of red. “W—is—do you not want me to go with you?” he blurts out.

WHAT. You shake your head immediately. “No, it’s not that! It’s just…” Quick, think of something. Anything! “Umm, my mom is not going to, uh, buy that—we’re a couple?” You say it like a question because you’re a moron, but hopefully it gets the point across.

Peter’s pinched face relaxes, and he sags into the couch. “Oh. That’s… all. Okay. Hm. We can practice being a couple? Maybe?”

You twitch. This conversation is not good for your pining heart, but you find yourself nodding all the same. They always say getting a taste of what you can’t have is torture. But Peter’s eyes are wide and so pretty, and you want to experience him, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

He sucks in his lip before reaching for your hand. “We can hold hands to start, if you want?” 

You’re grasping his hand before he can finish his sentence. Breath catching in your throat, you slip your fingers between his, feeling tingling run down your spine as his calloused skin presses against your own. You blink up at Peter from your slouched position, light-headed. You catch sight of the blush painting his cheeks an enticing red and wonder what he’s thinking, who he’s thinking of. He coughs when he notices your gaze. “We need to get used to it, so.”

Heart fluttering, you smile. It spreads across your face easily, and it’s too hard to beat down, so you don’t, and you don’t fight it when it grows into an elated grin. Suddenly, you’re not feeling bad about this whole thing. 

“You have nice hands,” you say, then grimace. Why is it that whenever you open your mouth, things get worse? It’s like a talent at this point. “That’s weird, isn’t it? Just forget I said anything!”

Peter ducks his head and laughs, squeezing your hand once before relaxing his grip; he must have felt you trying to let go. His eyes are bright when they look at you, shaking you to your very core. “You have nice hands, too. It’s, uh. Ours fit together kind of perfectly, huh?”

You hum in agreement, feeling yourself preening at his attention. “It’s nice. I’ve never really held hands with someone before, now that I think about it.” You raise your other hand in the air, wagging in back-and-forth til Peter gets the hint. Laughing, he grasps your hand in his own, settling both pairs on the joint peak of your knees.

You avert your eyes. “After this, what do we do next?” You speak calmly, and it’s suspicious, as if an alien replaced you—not unusual in New York, unfortunately—because you’re never this calm in front of Peter. But before you can ask him to check if you are still yourself, he pulls away, mumbling. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Gotta go,” he says, coming to an abrupt halt. His eyes are wide with sincerity. “We’ll continue tomorrow? I’m so sorry, I forgot to turn in the report Mr. Stark wanted, so—” He gestures to his front door. “I gotta go. But stay until someone can pick you up? If that’s something that…” His head jerks to the side, and you belatedly hear the distant sound of police sirens.

“Right.” You take a second to calm your pounding heart, then nod. “Right. We’ll continue this later. Tomorrow. Yeah. I’ll just take the subway while it’s still going. See you, Pete.”

He nods, practically bouncing on his heels. He mumbles a quick goodbye before rushing to his bedroom. Ah, yeah, he’d need to change out of his sweatpants if he had to book it to Stark Tower. Makes sense. 

More than weirded-out, a little hurt, but mostly elated, you stumble out of May’s apartment just in time to see Spider-Man fly by, webs pulling taught as he swings between buildings. 

Wow. He’s so fucking cool. You shut your mouth before it can collect any flies (again), and walk to the station with a bounce in your step. Peter won’t believe this. Talk about perfect timing, huh?

.

.

.

“I’m telling you, MJ, I really saw him! He was swinging by Peter and May’s apartment—he’s so fucking cool, I swear to God.” You look around before ducking your head, whispering into the mic of your phone, “And he has a cute butt. But don’t tell anyone I told you. I’ll never live it down.”

“There are forums for appreciating his buttocks, you’re not alone,” is what she designs as an appropriate reply. It does kind of make you feel better, though, so kudos to her. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m interested in. How’d it go with Peter?”

There’s no way she knows. Right? “Nothing happened. We watched the first Star Wars movie, uh—it was called something Menace, I think? With uh, Han Solo? And…”

MJ snorts, disbelief radiating from her even through the phone. You pout. “Let me guess, he wasn’t in it.”

“Nope. Pete would have a heart attack if he heard you say that. Ned would’ve died from cardiac arrest. You’d have to bury them together.”

“‘We’,” you correct instantaneously. 

“No, it’d be just you. Because you aren’t telling me anything, and don’t deserve my help to bury your friends. Of whom you murdered.”

MJ is persistent, you’ll give her that. “Fine, we held hands. And they’re your friends, too. Obviously.” 

A pause. Clothes rustle as she presumably sits up in her bed. “That’s it? You only held hands.”

“Well, we watched Star Wars, too.”

She groans. “I thought you were going to kiss or some shit. Should’ve known you’d be too chicken. And Peter, too, he’s a coward when it comes to his paramours.”

“Hey!” you protest. Then, “What do you mean, ‘paramours’? As in plural.”

You’re not jealous, just… curious. 

MJ snickers. “You’re not slick. And anyway, loser number one gave up on said other paramour a few months ago. She doesn’t even go to Midtown anymore. Her dad turned out to be the Vulture, and they moved.”

“Mother-fucking Liz?” you gasp. Not that you’re surprised. She always seemed to have her shit together. The universe must hate her, though, giving her a dad that turned out to be the Vulture. “Oof. Yeah, I remember. But, Pete really…?”

The call lasts until two in the morning, but you’re brimming with confidence. Whether MJ meant to, she gave you the confidence you needed to—

Well, to do something. 

Peter’s interested in you. And is too chicken to do anything about it. (Didn’t seem that way earlier, but you trust MJ’s observational skills.)

You’ll figure something out.

.

.

.

Turns out, ‘figuring something out’ on the go doesn’t work with you. You’re completely blank as you march your way up to Peter’s door. You even stand around awkwardly for a few minutes to see if your mind can come up with something, but nope. Nada. 

You sigh. Of course. The time comes, and you fail. Story of your life. You knock on the door.

…

“Coming!” 

…

The door opens, and Peter’s face pops out. “Hey,” he says, smiling. He pushes the door to allow you in before turning around and diving onto the couch for the remote; Star Wars is already playing, and he turns the volume down as you come to sit beside him.

“So…” You both speak at the same time. 

You snort. Butterflies battle to the death in your stomach. You hope you don’t puke right now, but the chance is never zero. Experience has taught you that. “You go first.”

He raises an eyebrow but obliges. “Right. Uhm. Practice. Do you want to start with holding hands again?” His eyes light up as he wiggles his hand, with what you desperately want to be hope. 

But you’re on a different mission today. Please be right, MJ.

Your hands shake as you wipe them against your pant legs. You’re sweating like you’re about to pull out a gun to shoot at Peter, like one of those old western movies your dad made you watch. There better be a pot of gold at the end of this potentially vomit-covered rainbow, or you’ll throw in the towel called ‘life’ early.

“Actually…” Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, but you force the words out anyway, “Can we try…” Your cheeks burn. Just say it, you coward! Don’t disappoint your descendants! Or MJ! “Kissing!”

You pull back as you hyperventilate. After a second of silence, minus your rasping gasps for air, Peter’s concerned face falls into view. “Hey, uh, you’re okay! It’s fine! Just match my breathing, okay?”

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, then exhales. Rinse and repeat.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

—

When you come back to yourself, the first thing you feel is your aching knees. Youth has escaped you fast, and the world is kind enough to remind you. The second is the fact that Peter looks like he’s about to cry. The third is a mixture: what the fuck, why the fuck, how the fuck, and, ‘Fuck, my descendants are going to hate me.’

“Hi,” you say, pinching Peter’s thigh through his jeans. He blinks at you, then sags in relief. “Sorry. I don’t know what that was. Uhm. Can I still kiss you?”

Peter blinks, silent, then laughs. It’s loud and practically hysterical. You withhold a flinch to place a concerned hand on his shoulder. He looks like he’s a second away from collapsing on the floor. “Are you okay?” Guilt clogs your lungs and nearly chokes you with it, because you didn’t mean to have a panic attack, and you sure as hell didn’t mean for him to have to guide you through it. 

Peter drags a hand down his face. “You weren’t calming down, and May only taught me, like, three things to do, and I panicked a bit.” He takes the hand you place on his shoulder into his own. The rough skin grounds you. “Can I kiss you? If you still want to. Uhm, I don’t wanna assume—just, I think it’d be nice?” He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole; he’s so cute, it’s almost unbearable.

“I’d like that. If you still want to.”

You’ve never felt more vulnerable, but you’re so eager, it’s debilitating. Peter cups your cheek, and it’s as though he’s lit a fire under your skin. You jolt, but quickly lean into the touch and cup his cheek, too, awed at the soft skin. 

“Just so you’re aware, I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, with no small amount of shame. 

“Neither do I, but I looked it up—” He freezes, then stutters, “Uhm! N-not that I thought you were going to kiss me, or anything. I was just curious. And Ned was the one who looked it up. I just… read it a little…?”

You laugh, so endeared that your body can’t contain the feeling. “You’ll have to show me, then,” you say, laughter petering off into giggles. He nods seriously, almost solemnly, before tilting his head. Just like that, your world narrows, and you only see him. A shiver runs down your spine as he closes the gap between you, hands settling on your waist. His breath ghosts over your skin before your lips meet.

Wow. That’s your last coherent thought, fireworks dancing across your vision and flooding through your veins. Peter smells so unlike how you would imagine a teenage boy to smell, all eucalyptus and peony mixed with vanilla. He’s gentle with his hands as he explores the skin just under the edge of your shirt. His touch leaves trails of fire along your skin, reminders of him. 

You sigh into his mouth, breathing growing heavier, feeling like you’re soaring yet sinking as he bears down against you. You push back against him, swiping your tongue against his lip just to taste. And boy, do you ever—you never really understood the whole ‘flavored-chapstick’ thing until now, tasting cherries on his lips. 

Heat clings to your cheeks and spreads to your ears; it feels like you’re melting. Your brain is a mix of endorphins and electrical pulses that scream ‘more, more, more’ like you’ll die without him pressed against you. You break away for air, lungs burning, before scrambling into his lap, darting forward to kiss him again. He moans when you wrap your arms around his neck, and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard; his voice is better than music, and it’s all for you.

Then, the door opens. You fling yourself away, and Peter just sits there, staring at your face—no, your lips—mournfully. It looks like you killed his non-existent puppy. 

May eyes the two of you suspiciously as she walks into the apartment, no doubt noticing Peter’s red face and your rapidly rising chest. She stays quiet, though, just lifts her eyebrows meaningfully at Peter before walking further into the apartment.

You and Peter exchange silent glances before bursting into laughter. He brings you into a hug that you lose yourself in, feeling warm and safe in his arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow? We still have to practice before ‘showtime’. If you’re up for it.”

He stiffens, but you attribute it to speaking too loudly right in his ear. You apologize, your voice significantly quieter. “You’re good. And yeah, tomorrow should be fine. This was, uh, nice.”

You pull away, grinning. “Very nice. Don’t sell us short. We both did very well.”

“... And now you’re making it weird.”

“You like it, Parker.”

“Unfortunately.”

.

.

.

The next day, Peter’s too busy to practice. 

You bully the disappointment down to the pits of your mind, and focus on pleasing your mother, who is very adamant about knowing who you’re bringing over tomorrow. 

“My boyfriend. Like I told you yesterday. No, I’m not lying, he’s my—Mom!”

She doesn’t believe you, which sucks. You’ll just have to prove her wrong tomorrow. 

You suck in a deep breath, then exhale. You remember Peter’s face, concerned and aching with the need to help, the tears that entered his eyes, the softness of his lips, the taste of cherries—

Your mom clicks her tongue, realization seeping into her face and into her voice. “Oh, honey. Tell him how you feel, hm? Don’t hold on to those feelings forever. Your father and I, well, we eloped almost immediately—”

You groan in disgust. “I’ve heard this story a billion times, and it’s still gross. Please stop talking.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have to tell it so many times if you learned from it, now would I?”

—

You don’t hear from MJ or Ned for the rest of the day, which is weird, but you’re not upset, too frazzled to do much other than wonder what you’re going to do tomorrow. 

Confess. It goes wrong; MJ was wrong, and Peter just wanted to get his first kiss out of the way. Bad ending.

Confess. It goes perfectly; MJ was right, and Peter kissed you because he has a crush on you, and he reciprocates your feelings. Good ending!

Don’t confess. Remain pining forever. Peter gets a girlfriend/boyfriend, and you grow up sad and alone. Alternate bad ending.

Don’t confess. MJ talks sense into Peter, and he confesses to you. You get together, grow up, do more than kissing, get married, move in together, and there’s no other person to get in between you, too! Alternate good ending!

Something else happens, and you spontaneously combust. Or something. 

“Right,” you mumble to yourself. “Just fucking do it. No take-backs, no ‘oh, I didn’t mean that, I was joking’, or anything. Just say it! ‘I like you, Peter. Would you like to be my boyfriend?’ It’s perfect. Nothing can go wrong.”

You go to sleep with the hope that tomorrow, the sun will shine mercifully on you for once.

.

.

.

The day goes by quickly. Peter texts you an hour before the get-together that he’s getting ready. Your mom looks at you knowingly as you stare at the clock, willing the time to go faster. Your dad claps you on the shoulder and ruffles your hair until you squawk and shoo him away. 

3:30. No sign of Peter, but that’s not a problem. He still has thirty minutes, after all. You grab a couple of fries and pout at your uncle when he swats your hand away. “No more until the rest is done,” he scolds you. 

You don’t whine, but it’s close, “Fine. Party-pooper.”

“Ha! You know it, kid.”

Cousins you’ve never met before come up to meet you, and you smile and introduce yourself to cover up the nervous twitch of your hands when the time hits 3:45 and there’s no sign of Peter.

He wouldn’t bail, especially not after saying that he’s getting ready. It wouldn’t make sense. 

Your auntie comes up to you and sweeps you off your feet with her hug. She’s always had a heart larger than life, with love to spare. She encases you in it with a pinch to your cheek. “Don’t forget to give Lila some treats, hm? Poor thing is about to jump onto the grill, she’s so hungry.”

You laugh. “I will, I will.”

4:30. 

Your mom comes up to you and wraps you in an embrace. Tears roll down your cheeks. “Shh, it’s okay,” she soothes you. You only sob harder. 

“I really thought he’d come,” you cry into her blouse, voice cracking. She runs a hand down your back, shushing you. You shake your head. Your chest tightens, and you gasp for breath. Did he just lie to make fun of you? You didn’t think Peter would do that, but…

“Listen to me, honey,” your mom says. You quieted immediately, reduced to small sniffles. “Let’s not jump to the worst-case scenario, alright? Maybe he got held up in traffic, or an emergency came up, and he hasn’t been able to text you. Shoot him a text and see if he responds sometime tonight. If not, we’ll see about contacting his Aunt May. Sound good?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah.” You didn’t feel like texting him and being right about him using you. A terrible, horrible part of you hopes something bad warranted him not coming. 

“Alright,” your mom says, pulling you away to look into your eyes. She smiles, then presses a kiss to your forehead. “Go send that text and spend some time with Lila. She’s missed you these past few days.”

“Okay. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

.

.

.

When Peter finally responds, you’re about to take a nap. Dozing peacefully with Lila beside you, you’re just about to fall into sleep when your phone dings! You jolt up, running an apologetic hand across Lila’s coat before opening up your messages.

I’m so sorry. I got mugged and had to get some stitches. I’m fine now, but is the party still going? I’m really sorry.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, gaping at your phone, wide-eyed. Your blood turns to ice. Your hands shake as you type, not used to the lightning-quick pace of your fingers. Panic dances at the edges of your mind.

ARE U OKAY OMG YOU DONT HAVE TO COME IF YOURE HURT I THOUGHT YOU DITCHED BUT THIS IS SO MUCH WORSE PETER!!!!!! ARE YOU OKAY FOR REAL

He responds immediately.

I’m fine now, yeah. And I really hope the party is still going because I’m outside your front door. 

“Oh, shit.” You shake off your blanket and bolt out of your room, bursting into the front hallway like a person possessed. You swing the front door open. Peter smiles at you, but it’s strained. You immediately notice the pallid color of his skin, frowning. 

“Come in, quick. God, you look like shit. W-well, you got mugged. Obviously. Do you want something to drink? Eat? Peter, are you sure you can be here?” 

Peter accepts the glass of water you pour him, but doesn’t drink. He looks around your house curiously, and you realize that it’s the first time he’s been here. “Peter…?”

His head jolts up. “Yeah?”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

You don’t know what to do in this scenario. Is he super traumatized now? Should you be metaphorically walking on eggshells, or should you just act normally? 

Peter shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m just more tired than I thought I would be.” He rubs the back of his neck. A nervous tick, you realize. He always does that when you ask about his Stark Internship, or sometimes just when you ask about his day. “Well. Did you want me to go out and meet your family still?”

You frown. “No way. They’re rowdy and overbearing. You were—well, you know—and whatever. I can deal with their teasing. How about we just watch some movies? I can go grab you a plate of food.”

“Oh. U-um, if that’s okay. I could eat a horse right now.”

You reach over and hug him lightly. He’s stiff, but wraps an arm around your back, anyway. You pull away after a moment with what you hope is a reassuring look. “It’s not a problem. I’ll be right back. Oh, do you want fries or tater tots? Or both?”

“Both, definitely.”

“On it!”

—

Peter devours the plate of food when you get back, his black-hole of a stomach on full display. It puts you at ease to see him, and despite the shitshow of a day you both have had (Peter significantly more so, unfortunately), spending time with him makes you almost forget about it all.

“So, what’s this party for, anyway?” Peter asks. He interrupts your favorite scene, but you forgive him when he sends you a sheepish smile, barbeque sauce dotting his lips. 

“It’s for my cousin’s birthday. Everyone got invited because it’s the first birthday after the five-year life expectancy she got.” At Peter’s confused look, you clarify, “She had cancer. It’s officially been one year since the doctors told her she would be dead. Kind of, uh, heavy, but it’s a good thing.”

“Oh, definitely! Wow, that’s—ugh!” Peter chokes, his arm holding his stomach. 

“Peter?! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He whines, the small amount of color he’d gained by eating gone in an instant. You get up and grab your phone. “You need to get to the hospital. Did something happen when you got mugged? Did you get stabbed? Shot?”

Peter winces guiltily. 

“You got shot?!” You whisper-scream. You didn’t know Peter was this much of an idiot! “Why are you not at the hospital? Oh, fuck, Peter. You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding because you got shot, and you’re going to die in my bedroom—”

He grits his teeth. “I’m fine,” he insists. “I just need to re-do the stitches. The bullet went right through with no fragments. It was a clean shot,” he laughs without humor. You stare at him silently. 

Peter’s eyes go soft. “Hey, I’m okay. I’ve been sh—” He cuts himself off, but you’re not an idiot. 

“‘Shot before’,” you finish, body numb. With every word he says, the urge to cry grows. “Peter, I’m getting my mom, and we’re driving you to the hospital.” He protests as you stand up, but you dutifully ignore the ignorant, self-destructive boy until he curses and snatches your wrist.

He pulls you back down on the bed with a grunt. Sucking in a breath, he turns to you, “Okay. This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but here goes.” Cupping your cheeks, he brings his face far too close to yours; you’re nose-to-nose with him. You think he’s going to kiss you, and you resolve to slap him after. But he doesn’t.

“I’m Spider-Man,” he says instead.

You can see the way he freaks out when you remain silent. Can feel the regret bubbling underneath his skin. It makes your skin crawl. You don’t know a lot of things, but you know that Peter Parker is your friend (maybe boyfriend) who just revealed his superhero alter-ego, and that fucking freaks you out.

But he got shot, and that’s far more important to you right now.

“What does that have to do with you getting shot?” Why should I not take you to the hospital?

“If they test my blood, they’ll know I’m Spider-Man. Then, who knows what’ll happen to you guys or Aunt May…” His voice is steady with resolve. “I can’t let anything happen to any of you. Besides, I heal fast. Like, abnormally, ‘I’m a superhero’ fast.”

You blink up at him through tears. “You better not be fucking lying, Parker,” you whisper. “Or I’ll sick MJ on you. You know she’ll bite.”

“Rabid dog MJ,” he sighs. “I know. No one else would adopt her.”

You laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “She’ll kill you for that, Spidey-boy.”

Peter grimaces. “Yeah, no. Let’s not do nicknames right now. But, uh, you’re cool? With the whole Spider-Man thing? A-And, obviously, you can’t tell anyone. If you do…” 

You shake your head vehemently. “I won’t. I wouldn’t. Thanks for trusting me.” Your brow furrows. “Wait, is that the ‘Stark Internship’? Being Spider-Man?”

Peter blinks, then grins. “Yeah, actually. It keeps me a lot busier than typical intern work, that’s for sure. I’m almost certain my neighbors think I’m doing drugs, though. And May always knew I was sneaking out at night. It was a disaster.”

You hum in agreement. You’re sure it was. “But Stark knows you get hurt and still lets you go out? Aunt May, too?” You can’t fathom what they’re thinking, even with his super-healing. Getting shot isn’t the same as getting punched or kicked. 

“They couldn’t take Spider-Man away from me,” he says after a moment. “They just try to make it safer for me. But, y’know, things happen. Like getting shot.”

As safe as being a superhero can be, which isn’t very. “Your life is weird. I hope you know that, Pete.”

Peter snorts, watching you slide off the bed. “Well, duh. I live it.”

You grab your favorite blanket from your closet. It’s big, fluffy, blue, and Peter lets you wrangle him around in your bed until you’re both cuddled up beside each other, wrapped up like burritos in the blue cotton.

“Stay the night,” you demand. “I don’t want you going out again at all. And text May, too, so she’s not worried.” What you don’t say is, ‘I won’t be able to sleep if I can’t see you. I don’t want to wake up and find out that you’re hurt, or kidnapped, or dead. Please don’t leave me.’

Peter sees something in your eyes. The vulnerability, the longing, the protectiveness, the fear—you don’t know which, but it makes him frown. “I’ll be okay,” he says again. It’s a useless comfort. You don’t doubt it now, but he’ll get hurt repeatedly in the future. You don’t know if you can stomach it, but you want him to know he’ll always have a place to go to when he’s in need. 

“I really like you,” you breathe. Your words are quiet, but in the silence of your bedroom, they ring like a bomb going off. Your heart hammers in your chest, but your hands don’t shake when they go to cup his cheeks. You want him to know that you’re there. There’s no time for stuttering, for anxious ticks, just the here and now, the two of you together. “Would you like to be my boyfriend, Peter Parker?”

His yes tastes like cherries. 

“I’d like that,” Peter whispers against your lips. He’s shy now, under your gaze. Too much, your mind mutters. You ignore it. Waves of your emotions bedazzle themselves on your skin, engrave themselves in your touch, and you press them into Peter. It’s overwhelming, almost, but he settles against you so perfectly, pressing his feelings into you, that all your fears wash away, drowned out by the waves. He blushes pink and kisses you slowly, sweetly, and gently. It’s not unlike your first kiss, but somehow, it’s better.

It’s magical.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

let me down slowly. ₃

mcu!peter parker x fem!stark!reader | boy in the bubble part three.

IN WHICH a few days have passed since the attack & finding out peter's super secret, but will peter find a way to earn your forgiveness?

author's note — highly recommend reading the first two parts! i love writing song prompts, they are too yummy !!!!!

WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) — reader gets hurt, reader has lowkey PTSD, mentions of knife, angst to fluff<3

read part one | part two here.

gif found here.

✨masterlist.✨

3.4k.

Walking through the bustling city of New York never ceased to amaze you, especially at sunset. The pink tickling between buildings, the rush of people flooding the sidewalks, and the steps you and Peter took in time back to your apartment. 

It was just barely past six on that Friday evening, and you could feel the gentle rumble of your stomach at the thought of being welcomed by your Father’s cooking. 

A smile touched your lips as Peter echoed your unspoken words. 

“I wonder what he’s making tonight.” He voiced, glancing your way as you walked together. “I’m hungry just thinking about it.”

You couldn’t help but nod in agreement, hands placed over your stomach at the thought. “Stop, I’m too excited.” Tony was an excellent cook, and exceptional at surprises. You knew whatever he had in store tonight would be divine. “I saw salmon in the fridge so I wonder if—”

Peter stopping dead in his tracks startled you. He practically froze, like he was witnessing something of insanity in front of him. Glancing at where his eyes were focused, you found nothing of the sort. 

“Peter?” Concern bled from your voice. You couldn’t help it. He looked like he could feel every hair on his body stand upright. It was unsettling. 

Meeting your eyes, his brows knit together to create a look of sympathy. Apology. “I–uh, I forgot something at the school!” The words were practically blurted. 

Your own brows knit together, not in remorse, but in confusion. “Can’t you just get it on Monday?”

He shook his head. “I can’t–” The dread in his voice—the sudden breathless panic lacing each syllable he spoke—confused you, more than you knew how to say. “It’s important. I–I have to go.”

“You’re leaving?” It wasn’t an accusation more than a statement, but he could hear the undertones of what you implied. 

The look on your face read that the two of you had been here too many times before. 

He took paces towards you. “I’ll meet you there. I’ll be there for dinner.” And Peter gave you a hug. The grip to his embrace was puzzling. He didn’t seem to want to let you go. 

“You promise?”

Peter pulled back to meet your eyes, and every unspoken word shared between the shared glances told you that he meant every ounce of endearment to his reply: “I promise.”

And with that, he slipped away from you and back the way you’d walked from. 

As you kept walking to your apartment, part of you realized how difficult it was to believe him. He always ran off with some crazy excuse, and it never felt honest. Another part of you realized that you should probably ask him about it before you worried yourself sick. 

A bystander approaching you caught you off balance. 

“Y/N Stark?” They asked, something like excitement caught their tongue. “I’m a big fan of your father’s work. Would it be alright to get your autograph?”

A bizarre ask, but it wasn’t the first time. You smiled politely, nodding your head as you grabbed the pen they’d offered. “Sure! I appreciate it.”

Your hand flew elegantly across the photo of you and your father held towards you, signing your name on the bottom right corner. 

When you went to hand the pen back, they grabbed your wrist with a force that told you how stupid you’d been. 

“Don’t struggle or I’ll make this hell for you.” A threat, and it seemed nothing empty. As they forced you down the sidewalk beside them, you tried to assess what they were wearing; what was on their person and what kind of threat they’d be. 

A matted handle of a knife beside their pocket made your blood race a little faster. 

They tugged you into an alley off the sidewalk, secluded from sight, and threw you into the brick wall to the left of it. The texture scraped down your body as you tried to catch your balance, but you fell onto your back and into the pavement as the man laughed. 

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.”

It was tantalizing, and surely something that would haunt you, but you couldn’t help but fight. You glared up at the man, hoping the look in your eye held something sharper than the blade he drew from his pocket. 

As he paced closer, you were suddenly grateful for all the close quarter combat that Sam and Natasha had taught you. 

Once he was close enough, just as he went to slash his weapon at you, you kicked between his legs with as much force as you had before locking your foot behind his right knee and pulling it towards you. He fell to the ground with a groan, swinging his knife aimlessly in your direction. You couldn’t tell if he’d missed or not—adrenaline wouldn’t let you feel it just yet. 

Your knee met his jaw before you rolled away from him. You attempted to run from the alley, but his slime grip caught your ankle and yanked you back towards him. It was a pathetic yelp that left your lips, but you couldn’t help it. 

Everything in you tried not to believe the words he’d spat at you. You couldn’t give up, you couldn’t end like this. 

Your feet kicked at him, even though you couldn’t see. You tried to flip over, catching the direct moment that your left foot met his face and challenged him back. 

You managed to stand and run before you could look back, but you couldn’t get far. Somehow, you realized the alleyway was longer than you’d remember. Suddenly, his hands were over your mouth and muffling screams; his knife was at your stomach, and all he said was the same phrase. 

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark—”

You’d never felt the stronger need for oxygen than what ripped you from slumber. 

Heave after heave, you had to remind yourself that you weren’t dreaming anymore. The nightmare was over. You made it out. You were safe. 

You were only left splintered with the feeling. Paranoia. 

Ever since the attack, and finding out that Peter Parker was Spider–Man, you’d been getting frequent nightmares. Whether the wicked dreams were flashbacks to getting jumped, or some memory with Peter that haunted your sleep, they varied each time your eyes shut. 

Immediately, you sat up, turned your bedside lamp on, grabbed your cell phone, and dialed the first number you could think of. You left no room for panic. 

It didn’t even take five seconds before he answered. 

“Hello?” 

“I had another one.” The first four words you could mutter, the only information you’d spare. It was just another nightmare, another reason to call him. It was not forgiveness. 

Not yet, at least. 

You brought your knees to your chest beneath your blankets, running your fingers across your cloth–covered calves. It grounded you from lingering scarcities, and kept you from oversharing. 

You were still upset with him and your father for what happened four days ago. Not even a nightmare would shake the betrayal from your bones. 

The sound of Peter Parker’s empathy was unspoken across the call, yet pretty loud as the silence settled between the two of you. 

He thought carefully through his next words, knowing damn well how thin the ice he stood on already was. 

“Do you want me to come over–?”

“No.” Your response was sharp, quick, locked, and loaded. 

“Is there anything I can—“

“No.” Another double edged, double lettered response. 

Peter blew a subtle breath out from what you assumed were puffed cheeks. He knew better than to say too much, than to break your trust even further. 

As silence nestled into the space between you, whatever paranoia had been shaking your system seemed to wither a little. 

Even just the muffled sound of his breath and hesitation across the call brought you more comfort than you knew how to ask for. 

You didn’t plan to cave and tell him that you missed him, though. He didn’t deserve that. 

“Does this mean you’re talking to me again?” 

Somehow, Peter’s voice hummed like the perfect mix of backstabbed and security. It made everything feel so complicated. 

You had to think about it, how to answer him.  

Still, your reply remained the same. 

“No.” It wasn’t as harsh as the variant prior. 

You heard Peter turn his own bedside lamp on, and the short sigh he let out in response to you. 

“Are you only allowing yourself to say ‘no’ to me, then?”

It was a challenge to stay mad at him, especially considering how long you’d known him for and how well he knew you. Betrayed or not, you knew deep down that you didn’t plan to stay upset with him forever. 

As much as you tried to hide it, the word came out more gently than intended. “Yes.” The humorous opportunity was difficult to resist.

You could hear the small smile Peter acquired on the other end of the line. “So she speaks.”

“No, she doesn’t.” You quipped back, though the ice you’d initiated the call with began to thaw bit by bit. 

“Would she..? If I apologized again?” The question was scarce, but you couldn’t say you hadn’t been expecting it. 

This was a dance you and Peter had been tip–toeing for the past three nights. You didn’t dare break the silence that first night, nor did you sleep, but you couldn’t help it the second night. And yesterday night, too. He had apologized both. 

He’d left an apology note in your locker earlier that day, too. 

Your dad hadn’t said anything remotely related to an apology, even though he tried other ways to bridge the growing gap between you. You couldn’t tell if it was his stubborn spirits or fear of vulnerability, but Tony Stark didn’t seem to know where to start. 

And you weren’t going to make it your job to show him. 

At least Peter was trying.

You shook your head, despite the fact that he couldn’t see it. “You can’t ask me that so late.” At this point, you couldn’t stop the playful tone of your voice. “I won’t sound convincing, and you haven’t earned forgiveness yet.”

Peter took a second, whether to take in a moment where you weren’t seething at him, or to think through a response that wouldn’t scare you off, he’d never admit. Part of you appreciated him for that, appreciated him for allowing you to have more time in his company when you weren’t so begrudging. 

Part of you forgot that he was your best friend, in the midst of how clouded you’d been with despair. 

“Tell me, then.” His voice was barely above a whisper, gentle enough to lay his weapons down. “How can I earn your forgiveness?”

Somehow, the question made your heart race. It made your skin heat and your head spin. You hadn’t thought this far into it, or given it this much reflection. 

Just how could he earn your forgiveness? How could Peter Parker win your trust back?

You gave it a second, catching a bit of your breath that had gotten away. “Maybe you can–”

The sudden sound of thudding from downstairs came out of nowhere. Your head immediately snapped towards the door, that breath instantly catching back in your throat. 

“Y/N?” 

Breathe. You had to remember to breathe. You were just jumpy after the attack. Right. Yes, clearly you were just easily startled after Friday night. This had to have been your father being clumsy. 

Pulling your phone from your ear, you put Peter on speaker while you went to text your father. If you just asked him if he was alright, that wouldn’t be caving into forgiving him. It was just two in the morning and you were a worried daughter. 

However, the screen you were met with sent your heart straight to the floor. 

Peter repeated himself, “Y/N?” There was an edge to his voice this time, skeptical of your silence. “Are you okay?”

Tony had texted you two hours prior that he left the apartment. He was upstate at the compound, needing to assist Bruce with a technology repair. 

Which only meant—

Taking Peter off speakerphone, you pressed the device back to your ear. “Peter–” You could only force out whispers, fingers suddenly trembling as they went to tug your covers off. “Peter, someone’s here!” Panic bled through as your blood washed white. 

You didn’t waste a second to scurry across the room and lock the door, didn’t wait for Peter to respond before you grabbed a baseball bat you kept in the corner to defend yourself. 

His end of the call was quieter than you wanted it to be, for much longer than you knew how to deal with. 

It was quiet enough to hear two more thuds, getting a bit closer. 

Fear kept you in such a chokehold, you had to fight to mutter his name again—to whisper his name just to make sure he hadn’t left you. 

“I’m on my way.” His voice held something grave, determined; you made out the breeze whispering behind his response through the phone call. “Don’t leave your room.” The instructions were stern, protective. 

Your grip was firm and strong against the bat, pointing it at your door like some sort of sword. The length of your arm trembled, but you tried to remain calm, especially as the thudding repeated twice more, closer even. 

Every ounce of air in your lungs froze. “Hurry, Peter..” You whispered. Immediately, you heard another thud, louder than the others. You could barely discern it over the blaring noise of your heart pounding beneath your chest. 

Each hair on your body rose at the sound of footsteps taking the stairs. 

“Peter!” Calling your voice a whisper would’ve been false; you wheezed his name out. “Peter, he’s back! He’s here!” And even though your voice was quiet, you had to force it out. You couldn’t function with the rate your body shook at. 

You couldn’t breathe anymore once the shadows of feet reached your door. 

You barely had the air to gasp at the sight, to fumble for the baseball bat you tried to grip between your fingers. 

Peter finally spoke up, “Hey, breathe.” And you felt a wave of relief when his voice was heard beyond your door as well. “It’s just me.. You’re okay.” And he went to unlock the door. 

He was the only one who knew where you hid the spare key. 

When the door opened, and Peter stood behind it, you couldn’t find the words or place the thoughts you had at the sight of him. 

He hung the phone up, waiting in the doorframe to keep from intruding. “There was a pigeon loose in your living room.” He spoke it gently, “Someone left the terrace door open.”

It took his words then to recall that you’d left that door open. No one had broken in. You were going to be okay. 

The bat fell from your hands and rattled to the floor as you released it, your phone followed suit on your bed as your hands covered your face. You couldn’t keep your composure over the panic, over each sleep deprived night and every aching bruise still painting your body. 

Hidden behind your hands, you began to sob. 

Peter didn’t hesitate to pace the distance between you. He sat beside you on your bed and pulled you into his arms. You couldn’t find the words to thank him or the strength to move for a moment, but once you did, you wrapped your arms tightly around him, and he pulled you as close as he could. 

“I’m so sorry..” He whispered into your hairline, a few of his tears catching with his words. His hand held the base of your head, thumb combing through the hair of yours that it could as he held you. 

You were still catching your bearings. Still gripping white knuckles on his band tee and shaking in his arms. “I– I didn’t think I would—” You were gasping the words between sobs. “I thought I was going to—” You couldn’t finish the sentence. 

Both of his hands found your jaw, pulling you back so he could see you. He wouldn’t let you finish that sentence, nor would he ever let it come true. “Y/N, I would never let that happen..” He spoke so earnestly. “You’re safe. I promise.”

He saw how the word promise seemed to affect you. He realized then that if he had any shot of earning your forgiveness, it was now. 

“We promised to tell each other everything.” He started, and you soaked in every word. You soaked in everything about him, allowing yourself to release your anger for a moment. “I also promised your dad that I’d do everything I could to protect you.. I intend to keep both.”

Your sobs had settled, and he’d begun to use his thumbs to wipe the tears still streaking your face. 

“I didn’t keep my promise to you too well.” He sounded so disappointed with himself. “Tony thought it would be better to keep all of this from you, but I just…” He lost the words, wincing at his realization of how awful he’d been. 

His forehead fell against yours in defeat, despairingly. “There were dozens of times I wanted to tell you. Every time I didn’t, I broke our promise, and I’m so sorry.. You deserved better than that.”

As you looked up to meet his eyes, you could see tears glistening in his own. 

“I forgive you.” It felt rewarding to say, especially as hope returned to Peter’s expression right where it belonged. You couldn’t help but laugh a little at how excited he seemed. “Fuck, and this whole time, I thought you were hiding a secret girlfriend or something.”

The laugh that spilled from his lips was much more timid than you would’ve expected, and felt incredibly intimate at the close proximity you shared. “No. There’s only one girl I’ve got my eyes set on.” And he didn’t break his stare from you. 

You couldn’t help but giggle, shoving him playfully. “That was the corniest thing I have ever heard you say.”

He laughed with you, wiping his remaining tears. “Shut up!”

The two of you fell into something so familiar, a small fit of laughter and stares of admiration. Oh, how badly you’d missed him. 

You took in the sight of him beside you, him in a natural state. His cheeks were still flushed from the brisk wind of his journey over, his curls stuck out like coils of fire atop his head. He was in pajamas, a white band tee, blue boxers, and white Nike socks. 

He looked like your best friend, and it took you til that moment to realize just how safe you felt with him—the safest you’d felt all week. 

A timid smile curved along your lips. “Would you be okay staying with me tonight?” You scanned his face for his reaction. “Tony’s out for the night and I don’t want to be alone.”

His expression matched yours, eyes pooling with a bit more sympathy, and something that looked like he’d been hoping you would ask. “You don’t have to be. I’ll stay with you.” And that was all he took before he lifted your covers for you to cozy back inside. 

Peter waited for you to give more invitation of whether or not he could get close to you. He did not want to overstep, especially after you’d just made up. When you pulled back your covers for him, he slid in beside you; once you’d pulled his arm over your waist, he didn’t hesitate before spooning you snug in his arms. 

As you fell asleep, majority of your resentment for the situation seemed to wither away. You knew you’d have a talk with your father, but seeing as you woke up to a text from him with an actual apology and the news that they’d found your attacker, you knew the conversation wouldn’t be so bad. 

Walking up in Peter’s arms was more than you could’ve ever asked for. You hoped that you’d be able to get used to it. 

You knew as long as you had each other, Peter would never let any harm happen to you. 

And maybe that meant you weren’t powerless after all. 

tag–list: @yourfavoritefangirl @inkedeye2345 @wxnterwidow333 @generalmoonpolice @elianamarie-blog @cantbecreative @justpeachyparker @spideryenby @notsolong-pause @wellshit6 @mwahreads @lovelyidyllic @mimisamisasa @love-hs28

thank you for all the love on the last part!! not sure whether to write a part four, but please please please leave me more song prompts/requests !!!!! these are by far my favorite <3

[the-faceless-bride]

Peter Parker x Reader

Break-ups and new found Love.

Warnings: mentions of edibles and smoking, also a kinda?? Angsty open ending? But that’s pretty much it.

A/N: This was not asked for, nor is this a good short fanfic. I just got fixated on Mcu Peter and thought this up while at work lol. It’s a mix of Hc and a Blurb cuz this is a big idea of mine that I don’t have the time to fully write out but I might later if people like it.

Poor Peter. The Avengers felt bad for the kid, even Sam. Sam wanted to poke fun at Pete at first but seeing how sad he was he just couldn’t.

Mj had broken up with Peter, she liked Peter but with his Spider work and they’ve been friends for so long that to be romantic with each other felt a bit too off for her. It wasn’t anything wrong with him. But he definitely took it personally.

And so for the past 5 months he had been mopey and sad-eyed; the spark in his eyes had dulled and he even stopped Geeking out over cool tech stuff. It was so unsettling to see their geeky, smiley, dorky Peter had been taken from them and replaced but a shell. Only talking about training and what ever the next mission they are working on.

They were all pretty worried about him. Steve was the most sympathetic of the group, Tony was the most confused; why would Peter be so hung up about it? He’s only 18 and graduated. “He’s got all of collage to talk to girls.” He would say as he finished making the popcorn for tonight’s movie.

“Well, Spider-boy doesn’t exactly have the same playboy attitude you had his age Tony.” Sam reminded the group, “yeah, he’s still a young boy” Steve started before Natasha added “the world might as well’v ended for him.”

But in the past few weeks though it was small they’d seen improvement and so that’s why they were all having a movie night. And for the first time in 7 months when Peter walked down the steps he’d smiled at them; and not the tight short smile he gave them when they asked if he was ok. It was a real smile, with a newly kindled twinkle to his chocolate eyes.

“Hey guys!”

Even his voice sounded different, it was lighter and less grim. Their Peter was back, but now they were curious on what so heavily changed his mood.

They noticed that Peter could barley focus on the movie as he was too busy texting someone, they thought it was his friend Ned at first but then they caught a glimpse of a shy smile, his eyes shifting around the screen as he thought of a reply before chewing on his bottom lip and typing.

That made the team suddenly very interested in Peter’s phone also, and a few moments later Peter felt the eyes of his teammates on him.

His eyes shifted between them all sat around him, before he pulled his phone to his chest to subconsciously hide the screen, “what?” He asked “nothing, just interested who’s got you smiling like a dork.” Sam joked, “oh- uh- it’s nobody- well, not nobody but-“ Peter stammering over his sentence attempting to pick better works trying to not offend someone who wasn’t even in the room.

Peter eventually gets too embarrassed to continue and excuses himself to the bathroom, immediately looking down at his phone as soon as he stands.

…

“No playboy Mindset my ass” Tony Joked.

You and Peter had met on accident. You’d gone to the same school but weren’t in the same friend group.

You had been laying on top of an abandoned building when you’d seen a very fast figure move across the buildings in the area before landing and taking off his mask before trying to change into normal clothes, “Holy Shit. Peter Parker?”

Peter froze, why were you up here?!? This late?!? In this part of town?!???! “What are you?- Why?- Who?-“ Peter stumbled as you stood up flicking the joint you’d just finished away before walking up to him, “don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” you give the brunette a lazy smirk and he eyes you suspiciously “and how do I know that?” He questioned, “you’ll just have to keep checkin’ up on me to find out.”

And the rest is history, what started as a few meet ups on rooftops, turned into exchanging numbers texting back and forth all the time to meeting at the each other’s houses to build legos or do homework, and eventually sleepovers.

Over the past two weeks you and Peter had become close fast friends, and the night that took a more romantic turn when Peter had accidentally eaten three of your strong edibles and seeing as he’s never been high before and so had a very low tolerance to say he was a bit freaked out would be an understatement. And after a long 5 minutes of Panicking you were able to calm him down and offer to go through it together so he wasn’t alone, you took one of your gummies and pulled Peter on to the mattress you had on the floor and by his request started watching the Star Wars movies; Peter interjecting the movie ever other minute to add more context or dialogue to the movie, which made it all the more interesting for you to watch.

You’d spent majority of the time watching his Geeky movies and using your phone to Dash a few small Lego sets to your place for him to do when he started to get antsy, he’d even gotten comfortable enough to cuddle up to you a bit while he was watching the movie simultaneously building Lego… until a big wave of nausea hit him and he raced to your bathroom to throw up, which he was very red faced about; but you assured him that it was perfectly normal and nothing to be embarrassed about before telling him more embarrassing sick stories about you and your friends high.

And so the night ended with Peter laughing while Brushing his teeth as you told him about the time you’d thrown up on your friends shoes while on a high walk in the middle of the night, and him laying his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his curly brown hair as you finished your last Star Wars movie.

Your relationship with Peter had taken a romantic turn that night and since then you’ve both been touchy and snuggly with one another. And you’ve helped his sadness turn to happiness and hope that you two, though you hadn’t even properly kissed yet, would end up together and last.

He’s still a bit shy to talk about you with Mr.Stark and his other team members, but he’s even more worried about them finding out you know he’s spider-man, Sam will never let him hear the end of it.

As for you, you really like Peter. He had captivated you in the same way you had him, you knew he probably was seeing you through rose tinted glasses after his hard break up and you know deep down you’re probably just a rebound. But you’re ok with that. As long as you get to keep Peter for a while longer, you would be ok.

[sunshine-lux]

Clueless (viii.)

summary: how is peter supposed to make things right if y/n won't hear him out? everyone around them seems to be getting fed up with peter's behavior, especially harry. forced proximity and mj's mastermind might just be what peter needs to take his first steps in the right direction.

pairings: Stark!reader x MCU!peter parker, slight MJ x Harry Osborn muehehehe

warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of violence, light swearing, maybe one or two mentions of death but nothing serious, peter being kinda annoying LOL, f!reader. i think thats it

word count: 9.9k

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School was unusually quiet.

Peter hadn’t seen or heard from Y/N all day, and it was starting to eat him alive.

He’d spotted MJ in the hall before lunch, but all she said was, “Don’t push it. Let her have some peace, at least at school.”

And he understood. He had to respect that.

He knew he screwed up — big time.

First by sidelining her to help Gwen get settled at Midtown. Then by not telling her about the change of plans with May and showing up to the gala with Gwen. Then again, by insulting her. By insulting Harry. Then again at the football game. And even more so at the party.

And then? He let Gwen kiss him in front of her. Granted, he didn’t know she was there but it was about the principle.

He got it. He really got it.

Because even he was spiraling when Y/N started spending more time with Harry. And now, it felt like he’d practically handed her over on a silver platter.

Still… he was excited to see her again.

Even if it meant getting electrocuted or punched in the face. He’d take it. He’d take anything as long as she’d look him in the eyes again.

He walked into the training room at the compound, slightly wide eyed by the new installations and equipment intended for Avengers use only. Though after Berlin, he and Y/N were the only ones using it.

He dropped his bag on the bench and started wrapping his hands.

And then the door opened.

Y/N walked out of the locker room, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, wearing a dark purple two-piece sports set. Her hands were already wrapped, and she didn’t even glance at him as she stepped onto the mat to stretch.

Not a word. Not a look.

And Peter felt every inch of that silence.

Peter stood at the edge of the mat, watching as Y/N continued to stretch like he wasn’t even there.

He cleared his throat. “Hey… Y/N/N—uh, Y/N.”

Nothing.

He tried again. “I just think maybe we should talk.”

Y/N didn’t even look at him. “We’re here to train. Not talk.”

Peter stepped onto the mat, hands still fidgeting with the bandages. “We might as well do both.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she snapped.

And then she swung. A clean punch — sharp, calculated — landing squarely in his ribs. He stumbled back, just in time for her to hit him again and this time, she shocked him.

Peter yelped, jumping back with wide eyes. “Okay—ow. I deserved that.”

Y/N didn’t stop. She moved fast, fluid, furious.

 He dodged one blow. Missed the next.

This wasn’t sparring. 

This was punishment.

And honestly? He was fine with that.

He moved fast.

Peter ducked under her arm and gently tackled her to the mat, his hands moving instinctively.

Without thinking, Peter shot a web. He pinned her wrists to the mat above her head, locking them in place.

Y/N jerked on the mat, struggling slightly. “Did you just—? Are you serious?!”

Peter held up both hands, breathless. “Just—wait! Please.”

She glared at him. “You’re actually insane.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know I am. But I just—just listen, okay? Please.”

Y/N didn’t respond. But she didn’t shock the webs either.

So Peter took it as a sign to keep going.

“I didn’t mean for Gwen to kiss me,” he said. “In the library. I didn’t know she was going to. It happened so fast. And I—I just reacted.”

Y/N stared at him, stone faced.

Peter’s voice cracked slightly.

“I don’t like Gwen. Not like that. Not even close. I wish—god, Y/N, I wish I’d kissed you instead. Every second of every day since the party, all I’ve thought about is that moment. And how badly I fucked it up.”

A long silence.

Then Y/N’s voice, low and bitter. “Well. Did you tell her that?”

Peter blinked. “Huh?”

“Did you tell Gwen,” she repeated, “that you don’t actually like her? Did you tell her that you like me? That you’re in love with me, even? That you’d rather kiss me than her?”

Peter opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then, quietly— “…No. I didn’t.”

Y/N didn’t move.

She stayed there, beneath him, wrists still webbed to the mat.

Waiting. One beat. Two.

And then, eyes locked with his, she said it—

 “If you want me? Then show me.”

Peter didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t do anything.

Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose then lit up her hands.

The webs sparked and hissed as they disintegrated. She shoved him off her, hard. He landed flat on his back.

She stood over him, breathing hard.

“These are all just empty words to me now,” she said coldly. “I don’t care about what you have to say.”

She turned away. Took two steps.

Then paused.

“I’m so tired of the mind games, Peter.”

And then she was gone.

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The halls of Midtown felt unusually loud that morning. Or maybe it was just Peter— his own thoughts ricocheting too hard inside his head.

He hadn’t slept much after training.

Not after the way she looked at him. Not after the way she walked away. Not after what she said.

"If you want me?Then show me."

He kept replaying it. Over and over. And the worst part? He didn’t blame her. Not even a little.

So when he saw her—finally saw her—walking toward her third period, backpack slung over one shoulder, head ducked down slightly under her hoodie, his heart jumped into his throat.

Now or never.

“Y/N—Y/N/N, wait—can we talk for a second?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. Didn’t even acknowledge his voice.

Peter quickened his pace, cutting through a group of freshmen to catch up to her. His chest already felt tight.

“Please, I just—”

She reached the classroom door and yanked it open.

Then shut it in his face before he could say another word.

A few students inside glanced up at the sound. One of them snickered. Peter blinked at the glass panel for a long beat, the sting sharp and immediate.

He sighed. Shoulders sagging.

Then turned around and walked back the way he came.

Slower this time.

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Y/N spotted MJ by her locker between periods and didn’t even pause. She grabbed her friend’s hand and immediately broke into a sprint.

MJ stumbled after her. “Why are we running?!”

“Just trust me!”

They bolted past two security guards, through the gym doors, and out onto the football field, gasping for air by the time they reached the empty bleachers.

MJ bent forward, hands on her knees. “God, what is it with you and Parker just dragging me wherever you please?”

Y/N threw herself onto the grass and sprawled out dramatically. “I need to tell you about what happened during training.”

MJ dropped her backpack with a sigh and sat down beside her, pulling out a crumpled paper bag. “Alright. Spill.”

They split a sandwich and a bag of chips, the sun warming their backs as Y/N recounted every excruciating detail— Peter webbing her to the mat, being on top of her, rambling about the Gwen kiss, telling her he wanted to kiss her instead. The moment she told him "If you want me, then show me.”

MJ chewed slowly, brows raised.

“It’s not ideal,” she said finally. “But at least he’s showing up. And trying. That’s something, right?”

Y/N stared up at the sky. “Maybe. I just… I don’t know what to do with that. What does trying even mean if he won’t do anything?”

MJ nodded. “Fair. But… does Harry know about all this?”

Y/N blinked. “No. Not yet.”

“Well,” MJ said with a smirk, “he’s gonna be even more pissed off at Peter when he hears about this.”

Y/N laughed. “You’ve been talking to him a lot lately.”

MJ shrugged, trying (and failing) to be casual. “I mean… mostly about the messy love triangle. And other stuff.”

“Mhmm.” Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, grinning. “I wouldn’t hate it, you know. If my two best friends dated.”

MJ stared at her. “Oh my god. Shut the hell up.”

She stuffed the rest of her sandwich in her mouth just as the bell rang in the distance.

Y/N stood with a groan, brushing grass from her jeans. “C’mon. Back to hell.”

They walked off the field side by side, the tension from earlier momentarily eased.

The hallway was buzzing with post lunch energy, students crowding around lockers and sluggishly heading to class. Y/N and MJ had just stepped back inside when Peter spotted them.

He was halfway down the hall when he froze. There she was. Laughing. Actually laughing. It hit him like a gut punch.

He weaved past a group of seniors, practically speed walking toward her.

“Y/N!”

She didn’t stop walking.

“Y/N, please—just for a second!”

MJ winced. “Oh god.”

Peter finally caught up to them just outside their classroom.

“I just want to talk—”

Y/N didn’t even glance at him. She reached for the door handle, pulled it open, and spoke over her shoulder.

“I can’t hear you.”

Then she disappeared into the classroom.

Peter stood there, blinking. “She—did she actually just pretend not to hear me?”

MJ looked at him with the flattest expression possible. “Peter. Babe. That was rough.”

He ran a hand down his face. “Was it that bad?”

“You sounded like a kicked puppy,” MJ said. “And she walked away like you’re pestering her.”

Peter groaned. “I’m trying, okay?”

“I know,” MJ sighed. “And hey, I’m rooting for you. Kinda. But maybe dial it back one notch? You’re losing dignity by the second.”

He glanced at the classroom door, then back at MJ. “I don’t care about dignity. I just want her back.”

MJ’s face softened a little.

“Then… good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

The bell rang. MJ patted him on the arm and walked in, leaving Peter alone in the hallway, still staring at the door like it might magically open again.

It didn’t.

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The final bell rang, but Peter didn’t move. He stood near the lockers, scanning the hallway like she might still be there. But Y/N was gone.

He checked the front steps. The courtyard. The back lot. Nothing.

Just like that—vanished. Again.

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Later that afternoon, Peter stood on Gwen’s porch, eyes heavy, hoodie wrinkled, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. His shoulders slumped like he was carrying something too big to put down.

Gwen opened the door with a soft smile.

“You look like crap,” she said gently.

“Thanks,” Peter muttered, stepping inside.

They spread out their notes on her kitchen table, but Peter wasn’t really there. He kept fidgeting with his pen, glancing at the door, zoning out.

Gwen tilted her head.

“You okay?”

He paused.

Then, finally, he sighed and shook his head.

“No. Not really.”

She stayed quiet, waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About everything. I shouldn’t have let things get this far.”

Gwen leaned back in her chair. “Peter—”

“I don’t like you,” he said softly, but firmly. “Not like that.”

It came out like ripping off a bandage. Raw, but necessary.

Gwen blinked. Once. Twice. Her expression barely shifted, but her hands clenched a little in her lap.

Peter swallowed.

“You’re amazing, and kind, and funny, and any guy would be lucky to—”

“Yeah,” Gwen said, cutting him off gently. “I know.”

Peter’s mouth opened, then closed again.

“I just thought…” Gwen started, then stopped herself. Her voice was quieter now. “I thought if I tried hard enough, maybe I could make you like me. Even if it was fake. Even if it was just to make her jealous.”

She gave a soft, self deprecating laugh. “It felt good. To be chosen. To be picked by you.”

Peter looked like he was about to cry.

“But I always knew you were in love with her,” Gwen continued, gaze falling to her hands. “I always knew you weren’t mine. And you’re not mine to lose either.”

She looked up at him again. “So… I’m not mad. Not really. Just tired.”

Peter let out a breath like it knocked something loose inside his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said, and smiled. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They sat in silence for a while after that. The air between them finally cleared but it didn’t feel better. Just… honest.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter slumped into his seat just as the bell rang for second period. Ned was already there, digging through his backpack for a pencil. He looked up as Peter dropped his stuff on the desk with a groan.

“Okay, first of all—hi,” Ned said. “Second—what happened? I was out yesterday, I had a bad stomach ache, but MJ texted me something cryptic about you getting electrocuted?”

Peter blinked at him. “Oh. Right. You missed everything.”

Ned gave him a look. “Well? Start talking.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “We had to train together. At the compound. Just us.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “No supervision?”

“She shocked me like three times.”

“Okay but… that’s kind of progress?”

Peter ignored that. “She didn’t want to talk. But I made her. Not in a bad way—like, I talked and she listened. Sort of. She told me she’s tired of the mind games. That if I really want her, I have to show her.”

Ned nodded slowly. “Okay… that’s huge. Right?”

Peter made a face. “It gets worse. After training, she ignored me all day yesterday. At school. Wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t talk to me. Literally slammed a classroom door in my face.”

“Oof.”

Peter leaned forward. “So last night I went to Gwen’s.”

Ned blinked. “You what—”

“Not like that. For the project. I told her I don’t like her. That I never really did. That I—” he exhaled. “That I’m in love with Y/N.”

Ned stared at him. “So… you talked to Gwen. You cleared it up. That’s what Y/N wanted. Why is she still mad at you?”

Peter pulled out his phone. Opened his messages. Tilted the screen so Ned could see.

Peter: Y/N please Peter: i’m trying Peter: i need to talk to you Peter: i meant what i said at training Peter: i miss you Peter: just give me a chance

All left on read.

Peter’s voice cracked, just slightly. “Because she doesn’t know, Ned. She won’t talk to me. How am I supposed to show her I’m ready and I’m all about her if she’s just ignoring me?”

Ned looked between Peter and the phone screen, face falling. “Dude…”

Peter dropped his head into his arms on the desk. “I’m gonna throw up.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

By the end of the school day, Peter was practically losing his mind.

Y/N had done an annoyingly good job at avoiding him all day. He hadn’t seen her once—not at lunch, not in the halls, not even in the distance.

But he knew she was there.

He passed by her locker during fifth and caught the faintest trace of her perfume.

Of course she was there.

She just didn’t want to see him.

Now, standing at the top of the school steps, Peter finally caught sight of her—walking beside MJ, her bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, laughing at something MJ said. And just ahead, leaning against his sleek black Mercedes, was Harry Osborn.

Peter felt his pulse spike.

He moved before he could stop himself.

“Y/N!” he called, jogging down the steps. “Y/N, stop running from me—please, we need to talk.”

Y/N turned her head just slightly, barely acknowledging him. “I’m kinda busy right now, Parker.”

Peter’s chest tightened. He kept going. “Then when?! When, Y/N?! I’ve been trying to talk to you for two days now and you won’t let me!”

By now, MJ had stopped walking. Her mouth was tight, her eyes flicking between the two of them anxiously. Harry, who had been smiling lazily at Y/N just moments ago, straightened up, the amusement slowly slipping from his face as he started walking toward them.

“Peter…” MJ said quietly. “Not here.”

“No! Yes, here!” Peter snapped, eyes still locked on Y/N. “Y/N, please—how am I supposed to make things right if you don’t let me?!”

It was raw. Desperate. His voice cracked on the last word.

Harry stepped between them.

“Okay, Parker. Enough,” he said coolly, jaw tight. “I get that you need to explain yourself to her. But she doesn’t want to talk to you right now. Simple as that.”

Peter’s expression twisted. Anger flaring in his eyes.

He stepped forward. Just slightly. “This doesn’t concern you, Osborn.”

Harry didn’t flinch. “She’s my friend too.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. MJ exhaled hard through her nose.

Peter's fists clenched at his sides.

“I’ve known her longer,” he said, his voice sharp. Defensive.

Harry didn’t miss a beat. “Actually, that’s not true.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to—”

Y/N cut in fast, tired and exasperated. “Okay. We are not doing this. We’re not playing the ‘Who Knows Y/N Better’ game. That’s not what this is.” She turned, grabbing Harry’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Harry.”

Peter stepped forward, almost pleading now. “You’re really gonna go with him? You seriously rather go with him than just talk to me?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away.

Peter’s chest rose and fell like he was fighting to breathe.

Harry’s hand curled into a fist, just barely.

MJ stood frozen, eyes wide.

“You don’t get to play the victim, Peter,” Y/N said, low and furious. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one being unfair here.”

Peter looked like she’d hit him.

“I’m not playing anything!” he snapped. “I’ve been trying to fix this—you won’t even give me the chance!”

“Because every time I do, you find a new way to make it worse!”

Harry stepped closer, voice cold. “She said let’s go, Parker. That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Peter’s glare shifted to him. “Stay out of it.”

“I’m not the one who made her cry for two straight weeks.”

Peter’s face crumpled at Harry’s words.

“I know I made her cry,” he snapped. “You think I don’t hate myself for that? You think this has been easy for me?”

Harry scoffed, stepping forward again. “You’ve been ‘tortured’ for what—two days? Try watching someone you care about break over and over because some idiot keeps yanking her heart around.”

“That’s not fair—”

“What’s not fair is how you keep showing up like you’re the victim when you’re the one who keeps breaking her, man.”

Peter’s fists balled. “You don’t even know what’s going on between us—”

“I know enough.”

And then Harry shoved him.

It wasn’t a light push.

Peter stumbled back a step, caught off guard—but his instincts kicked in fast. He surged forward, grabbed Harry by the front of his hoodie, and shoved him right back.

“Okay—OKAY!” MJ shouted. “Stop it!”

Y/N grabbed Peter’s wrist, trying to pull him off. “Both of you, stop—”

Harry didn’t stop.

He swung.

The punch cracked against Peter’s jaw, sharp and ugly, sending him stumbling sideways into the bike rack with a grunt.

“Harry!” Y/N yelled.

Peter’s head snapped back up, blood blooming on his lip.

And that was it.

He lunged.

The two of them crashed to the pavement hard, fists swinging, legs scrambling for leverage. MJ was yelling, Y/N was trying to drag one of them off, but it was chaos—pure, violent chaos.

Peter got a hit in to Harry’s ribs.

Harry elbowed Peter in the gut and went for his face again.

“GET OFF HIM!” Y/N shouted.

She shocked the ground—not hard, but enough to jolt them both.

Peter flinched. Harry cursed under his breath.

They both stilled.

Breathing hard. Bloody. Bruised.

“You’re both idiots,” Y/N hissed.

Peter looked up at her from where he knelt. Hair mussed. Lip split. Eyes glassy.

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he said quietly.

But Y/N was already turning away.

“C’mon,” she muttered to Harry, who was still trying to catch his breath. “Let’s go.”

MJ stayed behind for a second, crouching beside Peter as he sat on the curb.

“Was it worth it?” she asked softly.

Peter didn’t answer.

He just wiped the blood from his lip and stared at the ground.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Harry slammed the apartment door behind them, practically shaking with anger. His jaw was clenched tight, his knuckles still red and raw.

“Fucking Parker,” he growled, storming across the room. “I swear to God, the way he acts like he’s some heartbroken little hero—like he’s the one we should all feel bad for—”

“Okay, calm down, tough guy,” MJ muttered as she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the couch. “You already punched him.”

“That wasn’t enough.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. She stood near the door, frozen. Her hands were shaking a little.

Harry turned, catching her expression and his whole posture softened instantly.

“Shit,” he said, voice lowering. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

She blinked at him.

“This is so not like me,” he continued, stepping closer. “But after everything you’ve told me, everything I’ve seen—I just couldn’t hold back anymore. Watching him treat you like you were disposable, like your feelings didn’t matter—god, it made me insane. It’s not fair to you. None of this is. And I’m sorry if I made it worse.”

Her lip trembled.

“You didn’t,” she whispered. “I dragged you into this.”

Harry shook his head. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I walked in on my own.”

Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. She turned her head, wiping them quickly—but Harry was already there, pulling her into a hug.

She folded into him, letting herself shake. Letting the tears fall.

He held her tightly, warm and steady.

And then, gently, he kissed her forehead.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Always.”

From the couch, MJ watched in silence—then glanced at Y/N. “If you wanna check on him… you can. You don’t have to stay.”

Y/N sniffled, stepping back slightly to look at them both.

“I can’t leave Harry like this…”

Harry gave her a crooked smile. “I think he got the worst of it, sweetheart. I’ll be okay.”

He paused.

“But if you need me to punch him again, just call me.”

Y/N let out a teary laugh, even as she grabbed a tissue off the counter.

“I won’t be long,” she mumbled, heading for the door.

Once she was gone, MJ got up and crossed the room, tossing Harry a towel from the bathroom.

“You good, champ?”

Harry smirked despite the swelling in his cheek. “I just threw hands with Parker. I’m incredible.”

“Yeah yeah,” MJ said, rolling her eyes as she wet the towel. “Sit your ass down. Let’s patch you up before the bruises set in.”

Harry winced as MJ dabbed the damp towel against the cut on his brow.

“Ow—fuck, MJ, gentle.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” MJ deadpanned. “Didn’t realize the delicate trust fund baby couldn’t handle a paper towel.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t pull away. The swelling on his cheekbone was worse now that the adrenaline had worn off.

“I gotta say,” he muttered, glancing at his reflection in the TV screen, “I didn’t think Parker had it in him. Kid’s built like a praying mantis.”

MJ stiffened just slightly. “Yeah, well… he’s got sleeper build.”

Harry snorted. “What does he bench, like… 90?”

MJ smiled tight, her hand hovering as she gently blotted the bruise. “You’d be surprised.”

They both went quiet for a beat. The soft hum of the air conditioning filled the silence as MJ moved around the couch to grab the antiseptic.

She returned, kneeling beside him again.

Harry watched her hands work—calm, careful, uncharacteristically delicate. For someone who wore sarcasm like armor, she was surprisingly gentle.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

MJ looked up.

“For what?”

“For… helping me not make it worse.”

MJ blinked. “You started a fist fight in front of the school steps. I don’t think we get to claim the moral high ground here.”

“Still,” Harry said. “Thanks.”

Their eyes locked. Her hand was still on his cheek, the towel long forgotten. The tension stretched, sharp and fragile.

Neither of them moved.

Then—something shifted.

Harry’s gaze flicked to her mouth. MJ didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

And then, just barely, she leaned in.

Harry did too.

It was maybe two inches. Maybe less.

But then—

They both pulled back.

Fast.

Harry coughed. MJ turned abruptly, standing up a little too quickly and pretending to fix the towel on the counter.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “You’ve officially ruined my afternoon. I hope you’re happy.”

Harry leaned his head back with a small smirk, hiding the flush in his face.

“Ecstatic.”

MJ didn’t turn around.

And neither of them brought it up again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The apartment window creaked faintly.

Peter’s head snapped up from his pillow, brow furrowing as he sat up. He was still in the same clothes from earlier, his knuckles bruised and his heart somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

Another soft noise.

And then—

She appeared.

Y/N.

Climbing up the fire escape like it was second nature, hair a little messy, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands. Her eyes met his through the glass, cautious, uncertain.

Peter scrambled up and unlocked the window, sliding it open before she could change her mind.

She stepped inside silently. No words. No sarcastic greeting. Just… walked in.

Peter stared at her.

“You—what are you—?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said softly.

Peter swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I know.”

But she didn’t leave.

And he didn’t ask her to.

Instead, she crossed the room quietly, crouched beside where he’d left the first aid kit on his desk, and opened it. She pulled out antiseptic and a cotton pad, then sat down next to him on the bed.

Still, not a word.

Peter flinched slightly as she dabbed at the cut on his cheek.

Her hand paused for a second.

“Is Harry okay?” Peter asked quietly. His voice cracked a little on the name.

Y/N hesitated. “Yeah. MJ’s with him.”

Peter nodded slowly. “Good. That’s… good.”

She went back to cleaning the cut.

He watched her.

Watched the way her eyes stayed low, the way her fingers moved gently despite everything. Like she still couldn’t stand to see him hurt, even now.

Her hand trembled slightly.

And when she blinked, a tear slipped down her cheek.

Peter reached up without thinking. Wiped it away gently with his thumb.

She leaned into his touch.

Just for a second.

Just enough.

His hand lingered against her cheek, and her eyes fluttered shut.

She was so close.

But they both knew it wasn’t time.

“This is not how you make it up to me, by the way,” she whispered.

Peter exhaled hard, a broken little sound caught in his throat.

“I know,” he said. “I’m really fucking sorry.”

Neither of them said anything after that.

Peter reached for her hesitantly, and she let him. Fell into his arms like she was made for it. Like she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

They held each other for a long time. Just breathing. Holding on.

No kiss.

No promises.

But she was here.

She came to him.

And he knew what that meant.

She was still waiting.

The ball was in his court.

Again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

When Y/N finally stepped into the Tower that night, the lights were low—quiet in the way that only the private floors could be.

“Welcome home, Miss Stark,” FRIDAY chimed gently. “Mr. Stark and Mrs. Potts are out for a date night. Would you like me to alert them that you’ve returned?”

Y/N dropped her bag by the couch and shook her head. “No. Let them have their night.” She padded across the room and collapsed into the corner of the sofa, knees pulled to her chest.

The living room was dim. City lights filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything felt too quiet. Too still.

Her phone buzzed once beside her.

Harry.

 i’m okay, in case you were wondering. also— don’t feel bad. i knew what i was doing when i stepped in. your feelings for him are real. and if that means he’s the guy you end up with, then i just hope he’s worth it. i’ll never hold today against you, sweetheart.

Her throat tightened. She blinked hard against the sting in her eyes.

She didn’t text back.

Instead, she turned her phone face-down, curled tighter into herself, and cried quietly into the sleeve of her hoodie—her other hand still faintly aching from patching Peter up.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The buses lined the front of Midtown like usual, bright yellow and humming with noise. But the vibe? Way off.

Peter climbed the steps a little slower than usual, scanning the rows. Y/N was already seated halfway down, headphones on, one leg crossed over the other, MJ next to her.

She looked up for a second. Their eyes met. Then she turned away.

Peter sighed and made his way to the back.

“Dude!” Ned whisper shouted from his seat. “What the hell happened to your face?!”

Peter dropped into the spot next to him. “Harry happened.”

Ned blinked. “Harry Osborn?!”

Peter nodded. “Yup.”

“Wait—did you win?”

“Not even close.”

Ned stared. “You’re literally Spider-Man. How did you lose that fight, dude?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “That’s exactly why I had to pull my punches.”

“Oh,” Ned said. “Yeah, I guess no one would believe it if your scrawny ass won any fight.”

Peter frowned. “Dude. I have sleeper build…”

“Sure, man,” Ned said, patting his arm. “So why did you guys fight?”

Peter snorted and leaned back against the seat. “We fought because he said some stuff. And I said some stuff. And Y/N was there, and I was trying to talk to her, and then—yeah. It just kind of… happened.”

Ned raised a brow. “So like… did anything good come out of it?”

Peter’s voice softened. “She came over last night. After. Helped me clean up. She didn’t really say much, but… she stayed.”

Ned nodded slowly. “So… progress?”

Peter shrugged. “Define progress.”

A few rows ahead, Y/N leaned her head against the window, watching the sidewalk blur past. MJ sipped iced coffee beside her, lazily scrolling her phone.

“Shit really hit the fan yesterday,” MJ muttered. “I’ve never seen Peter like that.”

Y/N let out a quiet breath. “It was a lot.”

“You good?”

“Not really.”

MJ nodded. “Fair.”

There was a pause before Y/N added, “I think he meant it. All of it. I just don’t know if it’s too late.”

MJ didn’t push. She just opened her texts and opened her chat with Ned:

MJ: what the hell are we gonna do now we’re really children of divorce

Ned’s phone buzzed a second later.

Ned:i want thanksgiving with Y/N but i’ll do new years with peter 😔

MJ turned her phone so Y/N could see. Despite everything, she smiled.

It was going to be a long day. But maybe not the worst one.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The buses pulled into the parking lot of the aquarium just after ten. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that made everything feel a little softer. The junior class filed out in clumps, buzzing with energy.

Their teachers barely tried to wrangle them.

“As long as you stay inside the aquarium and check in at 2:30, do whatever you want. Walk around, go to the touch pools, hit the cafe, go to the 3D show—just don’t disappear,” one of them announced, already halfway over it.

Peter hovered near the back of the group, eyes scanning until he found her.

Y/N stood off to the side, backpack slung over one shoulder. MJ was next to her, arms crossed. They were listening to the instructions, kind of. Mostly, Y/N was sneaking glances at Peter.

He was doing the same.

As the group broke apart and started spilling into the exhibit halls, MJ gently grabbed Y/N’s wrist and tugged her toward the left.

Ned clapped Peter on the shoulder and pulled him toward the right.

But both Y/N and Peter looked over their shoulders the entire time, stealing glances until they turned opposite corners.

MJ sighed. “You’re dying to talk to him.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

A few paces behind, MJ pulled out her phone.

MJ: this is so annoying       i miss hanging out as a group

Ned: imagine how much fun we’d be having rn dude         i would’ve made you scream in the shark tunnel by now

MJ: i would’ve pushed you into the touch pool by now :(

Ned: we need to get them together at one point         like a mission         operation reunite the idiots

MJ stifled a laugh, glancing over at Y/N, who was still walking quietly beside her, occasionally staring a little too long at a jellyfish banner on the wall.

MJ: yeah       let’s be the heroes they don’t deserve

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The café was warm and dim, filled with quiet chatter and the hum of the espresso machine. Most of the students were still wandering the exhibits, so Y/N and MJ had managed to snag a booth near the back.

Y/N sat slouched, her matcha latte barely touched. The strawberry foam had started to collapse.

MJ stared at it. “Okay, this sucks.”

Y/N didn’t look up.

“I get that you’re upset,” MJ continued, peeling the wrapper off a granola bar. “And still shaken up from last night. And trust me, so am I. But you can’t let Parker ruin the aquarium for you. You love aquariums.”

“I know,” Y/N said quietly.

MJ eyed her. “You haven’t even touched your matcha. You always finish your matcha.”

Y/N shrugged, still poking at the lid with her straw.

“I want to talk to him,” she admitted after a beat. “God, I do. But I don’t even know what I’d say.”

MJ stayed quiet.

Y/N exhaled. “I went to check on him last night. I patched him up. That was me putting the ball in his court. And I meant it. I’m not gonna pursue him anymore. If he wants to fix this—really fix it—he has to come to me.”

MJ nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

She took a sip of her iced coffee, then raised a brow. “Did you tell Tony and Pepper about the fight?”

Y/N snorted. “Hell no.”

MJ laughed. “Yeah, maybe don’t. I don’t even want to imagine Pepper’s reaction. She’d lose her shit.”

Y/N cracked a smile. “Imagine my dad, bro. I think part of him would be disappointed to know Peter lost the fight.”

“That was so bad,” MJ groaned, laughing. “You could see it on his face, too. He was holding himself back the whole time. Like he knew he could land a punch but didn’t want to.”

She took another sip of coffee.

“Honestly? I’m kind of grateful for that,” she added. “It was easier to clean up Harry’s face.”

Y/N looked up.

“Oh?” she said, perking up just a little.

MJ immediately raised a hand. “No. Don’t start.”

Y/N grinned, already leaning forward. “You’re deflecting.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Harry.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Mmm.”

“There isn’t. That would never work out.”

“Sure.”

MJ rolled her eyes. “He’s rich. He’s dramatic. He probably owns, like, silk cashmere underwear. And I’m… me.”

Y/N sipped her matcha for the first time. “Right.”

“We argue like, every day. He makes everything a performance. I hate when he calls me ‘darling.’”

“But you like it a little, though.”

MJ didn’t answer.

Y/N just smiled.

“Mhm,” she said smugly, leaning back in the booth.

MJ groaned. “This is why I didn’t want to bring it up.”

There was a beat of silence as they both slowly drank, letting it settle.

Then Y/N shifted. “Is this a safe space?”

MJ narrowed her eyes. “Are you for real right now? Do you even need to ask?”

Y/N bit back a smile. “Well, because I want to say something but I know it’s gonna piss you off.”

MJ sighed dramatically. “Ugh. What.”

Y/N leaned in, lowering her voice like she was confessing a sin.

“...It was kinda hot,” she whispered. “I mean, I’ve trained with Peter before, but this was different. Maybe it was the fact he was fighting himself to pull his punches. My body almost had a reaction.”

She sipped her matcha all innocently.

MJ recoiled. “You are so gross. I can’t believe you’d find that attractive…”

Then, under her breath: “Me too, though.”

Y/N cackled.

“I knew it! You’re not immune to two conventionally attractive guys fighting!”

MJ covered her face. “I just didn’t know Trust Fund Osborn had it in him, okay? It caught me off guard.”

“So you admit it?” Y/N said, already sliding out of the booth. “You think Harry punching Peter in the face was hot?”

“No! I did not say that!” MJ protested, scrambling after her as Y/N laughed and walked away.

“Y/N/N, I didn’t say that!” MJ called again, chasing her out the café.

Y/N just grinned over her shoulder. “Too late! You’re in denial!”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The gift shop was crowded with middle schoolers, their shrieks echoing off the glass walls as they dug through bins of plush stingrays and shark teeth necklaces.

Peter stood awkwardly near the bracelet rack, flipping a blue and purple woven one between his fingers. It had a tiny lightning bolt charm attached to the center.

He swallowed. “This… reminds me of Y/N.”

Ned, holding an octopus plushie, looked over. “Then buy it for her.”

Peter blinked. “Do you think she’d wear it?”

Ned gave him a look.

“You ask as if you don’t know her. She wears that necklace May got her for Christmas every day.”

Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah…”

“She wears that dumb red bracelet my Lola gave her.”

Peter smiled, remembering. “The one with the black dots?”

Ned nodded. “Exactly. Y/N is the most sentimental person I know, bro. You could give her a gum wrapper and she’d find a way to turn it into a keepsake.”

Peter looked back at the bracelet.

It wasn’t fancy. It cost $6.99. But it was her favorite colors, and the lightning bolt made something ache in his chest.

“…Okay, fine,” he muttered, snatching it off the rack and heading for the register.

Ned grinned. “Softie.”

“Shut up.”

Peter paid in cash and pocketed the bracelet, heart thudding just a little faster than normal.

He didn’t know when he’d give it to her.

But he would.

Eventually.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N was in the bathroom, rinsing her hands at the sink and frowning at her reflection. Her eyes were still a little puffy, but she looked mostly put together. She sighed and dried her hands on a paper towel, before pulling out a lipgloss from her bag to reapply.

Outside, MJ leaned against the wall, scrolling through her phone.

That’s when Peter and Ned turned the corner.

MJ looked up and immediately snorted. “You got your ass beat, Spider-Man.”

Peter groaned. “For the last time, I had to lose that fight. You think Y/N would even breathe in my direction if I’d actually hurt Harry? She’s barely talking to me now. Imagine if I didn’t pull my punches.”

MJ raised an eyebrow. “For the record? She’s dying to talk to you.”

Peter blinked. “She is?”

“I’m serious,” MJ said, stepping closer. “You know what she told me? She said she thought it was hot. Something about you pulling your punches really did something to her.”

Peter’s entire face lit up red.

Ned nearly doubled over laughing. “DUDE. You’re so red right now. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and talk to her!”

“I—I shouldn’t bother her right now,” Peter muttered.

MJ rolled her eyes. “Okay, listen to me very carefully. She’s been wanting to go to the jellyfish room all day. I’m taking her there in like an hour. Then I’m going to fake a bathroom run, you’re gonna come in, and you’re gonna talk to her.”

Peter looked like he might explode. “And say what?!”

“Apologize. Start making it up to her. Do something.” MJ crossed her arms. “Now go. Before she sees you out here.”

“I—I got her something,” Peter said, fumbling into his hoodie pocket. “It’s not much but—”

“Perfect,” MJ said, already waving him away. “You’ve got an in. Now move.”

Ned was practically vibrating. “YES!! Peter, it’s your chance! I’ll guard the door so no one else goes in!”

Peter took a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I can do this.”

MJ rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “God, you’re pathetic.”

The boys darted off down the hall just as the bathroom door creaked open.

Y/N stepped out, brows knitting. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“I’m not,” MJ said quickly, straightening. “It’s nothing.”

Y/N gave her a look. “Ohhh. Did Harry text you?”

MJ blanched. “Y/N, no! Stop it.”

Y/N just smirked, falling into step beside her. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not!”

“You sooo are.”

“I’m gonna throw you into the shark tank.”

“Worth it.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter paced in slow, tight circles near the edge of the stingray touch pool, eyes darting around as if Y/N might materialize out of thin air.

“She’s not here yet,” Ned said, arms crossed. “You still have time to practice.”

Peter groaned. “I don’t need to practice.”

Ned raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then just freeze like a moron in an hour.”

Peter stopped pacing. “Fine. Okay. Let’s do it.”

Ned perked up. “Great. Pretend I’m Y/N. Start talking.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “This is so dumb.”

“Come on, you’re the one who said she makes your brain melt. Let’s fix that.” Ned cleared his throat, then dramatically pretended to flipped his hair over one shoulder. “Hi Peter. I’m not mad, I’m just emotionally repressed and you hurt my feelings but I’m gonna pretend I don’t care because I’m an icon.”

Peter snorted. “That was actually—way too accurate.”

“Thank you.” Ned nodded. “Now go. Speak from the heart.”

Peter took a breath. “Y/N, I’m really sorry for—”

“No. You gotta look me in the eyes and say it like you mean it.” Ned batted his lashes. “Make me swoon.”

Peter cracked up. He doubled over, laughing. “I can’t do this.”

Ned threw his hands up. “Whatever. At least you tried.”

Peter wiped at his eyes, still smiling. “How are you better at pretending to be Y/N than I am at talking to her?”

Ned smirked. “Because I’m emotionally stable. Unlike some people.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I hate you.”

“You love me. Now go make your move, lover boy.”

Peter and Ned ducked behind the oversized “Aquatic Life in Motion” display, poorly camouflaged by a rack of reusable tote bags just as they heard the girl’s voices approaching.

“They’re coming,” Ned hissed, peeking out.

Sure enough, Y/N and MJ strolled into view, mid-conversation, heading straight for the jellyfish room.

Peter held his breath.

Y/N didn’t see them. She walked right past, matcha in hand, shoulders hunched like she was trying not to feel anything at all.

But MJ caught sight of the boys instantly. Her eyes flicked to Peter. Then Ned. Then back to Peter.

And then she smirked.

“Ohhh,” MJ said suddenly, clutching her stomach. “I have to pee.”

Y/N blinked. “We just got here.”

“No, yeah, but—don’t come with me. I’ll be back in a bit. Just stay here. With the vibes. It’s nice in here.”

Before Y/N could argue, MJ spun on her heel and practically sprinted out the door. She didn’t stop until she reached Peter and Ned.

“Now’s your chance, Parker,” she said, catching her breath. “She’s in there. She’s got her back turned. I bought you five minutes—don’t blow it.”

Peter swallowed. Hard. “Okay. Okay.”

MJ grabbed the door. “We’ll guard it. Go.”

Ned gave him a solid shove. “You got this, man.”

Peter stepped through the doors—and they closed behind him with a soft click.

The room was dimly lit, blue and violet light rippling across the walls from the glowing jellyfish tanks. Y/N stood alone, facing the largest one, her back to the entrance.

She was still holding her drink.

Peter took a step forward.

His voice was soft. “Y/N/N?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t turn. But she’d heard him.

Another step.

This was it.

The room glowed in soft purples and shifting blues, bioluminescent jellyfish pulsing slowly behind the glass. Y/N stood still, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, matcha long forgotten in her hand.

Peter hesitated—then took a deep breath.

“Y/N/N.”

She didn’t turn around. Not yet.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now,” he started, voice low, thick. “And I don’t blame you. But I have to say this. Please.”

A beat.

Then, slowly, Y/N looked over her shoulder.

Peter stepped closer. His voice didn’t shake, but it was clearly coming from a boy who had been thinking about this for days.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything. For sidelining you when Gwen transferred—when I should’ve been paying attention to how you were feeling. For not telling you my plans changed that night. For showing up with her at the gala and acting like that wouldn’t hurt you.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped. But she didn’t stop him.

“I’m sorry for the way I talked about you. About Harry. I was jealous and petty and stupid. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

He swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry for not being there for you when I should’ve been. For being so wrapped up in my own stuff that I didn’t see what was happening with you. And I’m sorry for acting like a child at the football game, like you were supposed to just know what I was feeling when I didn’t say a word.”

Y/N finally turned to face him, arms still crossed, but her expression softer now.

Peter’s voice cracked a little.

“I’m sorry for not kissing you at the party. I think about that moment every day, and how much I wanted to—but I froze. I wanted it so bad. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you.”

He smiled, just a little.

“That day you showed up at my apartment with Tony. And I realized I wasn’t just meeting Iron Man—I was meeting you. And you were the scariest person I’d ever seen. And the most beautiful.”

Her breath hitched.

“I’m sorry for letting Gwen kiss me. That was… I didn’t even think, I just reacted, and then it was too late. And I swear, I talked to her. I told her I don’t like her. I never liked her like that. And I’m sorry it took me so long to be honest.”

Peter stepped closer, his hands open at his sides, like he wanted to reach for her but wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

“I’m sorry for the fight. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry it got this far. I would do anything—anything—to go back and do it right. To slap myself from letting my fears get in the way. To stop this from dragging on and hurting you more.”

Y/N stared at him.

Her walls weren’t gone. But they were cracking.

And for the first time in a long time, she let him talk.

She listened.

And that alone felt like a miracle.

Y/N was quiet for a long time.

The lights from the tank shimmered across her face, casting her in a surreal, flickering glow.

Then, finally, she spoke—softly.

“You know what hurt the most?”

Peter blinked, barely breathing.

She met his eyes. And her voice cracked.

“How badly I felt about myself.”

He took a step forward, but stopped himself.

“I guess I can’t fully blame you for that,” she continued. “But I… I convinced myself that you just didn’t like me. That it was because of all the baggage I come with.”

Peter shook his head, already about to interrupt, but she raised a hand. Let me finish.

“I know I can be a lot. I have all this noise in my head all the time, and I get a terrible attitude with people when I don’t know how else to deal with it. I can be mean. And I’ve got these powers that I still don’t fully understand. It’s always too much.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“And I thought maybe you finally realized that. Maybe you just wanted someone soft. Someone pretty and quiet and easy. With less damage. Someone like Gwen.”

Peter’s eyes went wide, but he stayed quiet. Letting her speak. Letting her feel it.

“So I started spending more time with Harry. And even though I knew I didn’t like him like that, at least he never made me feel like I was too much. He never made me feel… unlovable.”

She looked down.

“And it was nice. It was nice to have someone in my corner while you were off spending all your free time with Gwen. Gushing about her like I didn’t even exist anymore.”

Peter took a breath like he’d been underwater.

“No,” he said immediately. “No, Y/N, that’s not true. None of that is true.”

His voice broke.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry for ever making you feel like that. I’m the awful one, Y/N/N. Not you.”

He stepped closer, the words spilling out now.

“You’re not too much. You never have been. You’re passionate and smart and sharp and yeah, okay, maybe you have a bit of an attitude—but it’s earned. You’ve been through hell and you’re still standing. That’s not baggage. That’s strength.”

He was close now, right in front of her, eyes shining.

“And I don’t want soft. I don’t want quiet. I want you. With the lightning and the smart mouth and the noise and the anger and all of it. All of it. I want the whole storm.”

Y/N blinked hard.

Her eyes were shining too.

And Peter, still breathless, added: “God, I wish I had told you that sooner.”

Silence.

The jellyfish pulsed quietly behind them, like the room itself was holding its breath.

And for the first time in weeks… there was nothing left unspoken.

Y/N reached up, brushing her fingers gently along the bruise on Peter’s cheek. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked quietly. “Better than last night?”

Peter leaned into her touch without thinking, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. Then he let out a soft laugh. “Oh, I’m great,” he said, smiling. “You should see the other guy.”

He winced. “Shit. Sorry. That’s not funny.”

Y/N giggled as she lightly caressed his cheekbone. “It’s fine. He’s okay. We’ll probably laugh about this in a few years.”

A beat passed.

Peter’s voice dropped. “You switched your AP Bio period.”

Y/N sighed, her hand falling back to her side. “I thought it’d be easier.”

“You did it because of me?” he asked quietly. His voice had gone smaller. More unsure.

“I just thought it’d be better than me skipping class,” she said.

Peter looked down. Then up at her again, his brow slightly furrowed. “I won’t be in there. If you don’t want me to be.”

“I want you to,” she said, honest and sure. “But sitting next to you every day when things were so tense… it just didn’t feel right.”

Peter’s breath caught, just a little. “You want me to?” he repeated softly, like he needed to hear it again.

She nodded, not looking away.

His expression cracked into something tender. Like he’d been holding his breath for days and finally let a little bit out. His lips parted, but whatever he was about to say—he didn’t. He just held her gaze like it was something precious.

They stood close. Closer than they had in days. Weeks.

Then he cleared his throat, blinking the moment away as he reached into his pocket.

“I, uh… I got you something.”

Y/N blinked. “You did?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It reminded me of you. I thought… I don’t know. I thought you should have it.”

He held out a small bracelet—purple and blue, woven, with a tiny silver lightning bolt charm dangling at the center.

Y/N stared at it for a moment before her features softened.

“Oh.”

Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I know you’re sentimental. That you keep stuff.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You’re not wrong.”

He reached for her hand gently, sliding the bracelet onto her wrist.

She looked down at it. Then up at him. Her voice was soft. “Thank you.”

Peter smiled, a little breathless. “You’re so beautiful.”

Y/N dropped her gaze, shy for a second, but he tilted her chin up with two fingers.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

She did.

And for a second, the world felt still.

But then Y/N pulled back slightly, just enough to keep the space between them.

“We’re not kissing here,” she said, almost teasing. “This was a good start. But I need more, Peter.”

His expression didn’t falter. He nodded. “I know.”

He hesitated, then added, softer, “I just wanted to look at your eyes. You’re really glowing in here.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, her voice warm. “I’ll see you later, Parker.”

She turned and walked out the room.

Peter stood there for a moment longer, bracelet still warm from her wrist, her perfume still clinging to the air.

And for the first time in a long time… he smiled.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N walked out of the jellyfish room, still a little dazed from everything that had just happened — in a good way, though. Her fingers brushed lightly over the bracelet on her wrist as she scanned the exhibit floor.

She spotted MJ first, leaning over the touch pool and squinting suspiciously at a starfish.

Ned stood beside her, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual. Emphasis on trying.

“I swear to god, Ned,” MJ was saying, “if you splash me, I will end your bloodline.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” Ned protested.

Y/N smiled and walked over just in time to hear MJ mutter, “Try me, Leeds. I’ll push you in right now.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t take you down with me.”

They both turned at the sound of Y/N’s laugh.

“There she is,” MJ said, her tone light. “Looking suspiciously glowy, if you ask me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

But she was smiling. Really smiling.

And then—

“Hey,” came a soft voice behind her.

Y/N turned to find Peter standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, a little unsure but undeniably warm.

She didn’t say anything but she didn’t turn away either.

He stepped closer. MJ and Ned looked between them, then at each other.

And just like that, they all fell into rhythm.

Ned pointed dramatically at a sea cucumber. “I dare someone to touch that thing.”

MJ snorted. “You’re the one who dared me to come here, you touch it.”

“Absolutely not. I’m just the instigator. Not the executioner.”

Y/N nudged him. “You’re both cowards.”

Peter grinned. “I’ll do it if you do it.”

MJ raised a brow. “Peer pressure? Really, Parker?”

Y/N was already pulling up her sleeve. “Let’s just do it, losers.”

And for the first time in a long time, the four of them laughed.

Together.

No tension. 

Just dumb jokes and the kind of soft, warm energy that felt like home.

They weren’t fixed.

But they were finding their way back.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The bus ride back to Midtown was mellow.

Y/N sat beside MJ near the middle again, her head leaned against the window as the city blurred past. Peter and Ned were in the back, and though the space between them remained, it felt a little smaller now.

She looked over at MJ, narrowing her eyes.

“You planned that whole thing out, didn’t you?”

MJ didn’t even blink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But she was smiling. And it was very telling.

Y/N smiled too.

Back at school, they all piled off the bus together. A few kids sprinted to their rides. Others lingered to say goodbye.

Peter and Y/N didn’t say much.

Just a soft smile.

A little wave.

It was enough.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Back at the Tower, the elevator doors slid open and Y/N stepped into the floor like a girl walking on clouds.

Tony looked up from the sleek holographic projection on his tablet, brow immediately furrowing. Pepper lowered her book and blinked at the sight of their daughter literally beaming.

Y/N walked over to the couch flopping down dramatically with her arms spread across the cushions.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said sweetly.

Tony’s head tilted with suspicion. “Nope. Absolutely not. What happened?”

Y/N blinked innocently. “What do you mean?”

“You just called me Daddy.” He pointed at her. “You never call me that unless something’s seriously wrong or you’re buttering me up for a favor. I’m not buying it. Spill.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow, watching the interaction like it was a tennis match.

Y/N grinned, trying to suppress it. “Okay, fine. I may have had a conversation with Peter today.”

Tony didn’t move, didn’t blink. “That’s it?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “We talked. It was nice.”

He stared harder. “Don’t tell me you kissed him.”

Y/N sat up a little straighter, frowning. “No!”

“Good. Because I thought I raised you better than that. Where are your standards?”

Pepper swatted his arm. “Tony!”

Y/N jumped up, snapping her fingers sassily. “Actually ,he knows I’m holding him to higher standards now. Ugh—it’s like you don’t even know me.  I told him we weren’t going to kiss. He needs to chase me a little more.”

Tony sat back with a smug little smile. “There she is. That’s the Stark I know.”

Pepper gave Y/N a warm smile. “So it went well?”

Y/N nodded, the corners of her mouth tugging up again. “Yeah. It’s a start. We’re not magically okay or anything. But… he’s trying. And I needed to see that.”

Tony grumbled, folding his arms. “Trying better mean flowers. Jewelry. A grand gesture.”

“Or,” Pepper said gently, “just some honesty and consistency.”

Y/N smiled at her mom. “Exactly.”

Tony rolled his eyes and waved her off. “Alright, alright. Go get changed or do your teenage brooding thing or whatever. Just don’t get sappy on me.”

Y/N stood, already heading for her room. “Call me if you order pizza or something.”

Pepper smiled as she disappeared down the hall.

Tony shook his head. “She can be so dramatic sometimes.”

Pepper didn’t miss a beat. “That's all your DNA.”

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

taglist: @f2lix @the-faceless-bride @uhmellamoanna @lovely-foxes-exe @gyus-lvr @aomi04 @liaverse37 @pettypeety @pleasingregulus @theyluvmesblog @sqfewrd @ultrunning @boomitsallie1 @caramelfondu @404rogers @marcswife21

author's note: guys chapter 7 was supposed to end with y/n checking up on peter after the fight but it was too long post😭

let me say something. y/n and harry? platonic soulmates. y/n and peter? twin flames.

when i tell yall i literally almost got emotional writing the jellyfish room scene LMAO

lmk what yall think!!!

[letssee2468]

Yall let me be real with you…

YALL THESE PORN BOTS ARE GETTING OUT OF HAND!!!😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

I’ve had enough! I already scrolled 5 consecutive post of these porn bots

Some one pls help me filter them out cuz im annoyed