#mcu peter parker x stark!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdreamydoodles · 4 months ago

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Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought��oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

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thollandsgirl2013 · 5 months ago

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Hi! Can I request a Peter Parker X Stark! reader and she wants to try on Pete’s spidery suit and web shooters and he thinks she looks really good in it so he kisses her and Tony comes in and thinks they’re doing some weird type of role play?❤️

Hello there! I had so much fun writing this one! I'll probably say it turned out to be one of my favourite fics. Thanks for requesting! Hope you enjoy reading it too.

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𝐒𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐔𝐩, 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐩

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → Fluff, Humor, Slight Spice, Making Out, Overprotective! Dad! Tony, Embarrassment, Light Suggestiveness.

Summary → You blackmail Peter into letting you try on his Spider-Man suit. It fits too well, leading to making out—and Tony walking in.

"Pleeeaaase, Pete?" You whined, leaning over his desk with the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

Peter didn’t even look up from his notes, his pen gliding across the page. "Nope."

You groaned dramatically, throwing yourself back onto his bed. "Why not?! I'm the one who worked on half of your suit!"

"Keyword: half," Peter quipped, turning his chair slightly to smirk at you. "Mr. Stark did the heavy lifting, and, oh yeah—it’s my suit."

You sat up on your elbows, pouting. "That’s not fair! I bet it would look so cool on me."

"It’s not about looking cool, babe," he said, finally turning to fully face you. "It’s dangerous tech, Y/N. The suit has all kinds of built-in features, and I don’t want you accidentally webbing yourself to the ceiling or activating instant-kill mode."

You rolled your eyes. "As if I don’t know how the tech works! I built most of it with Dad. I probably understand the suit better than you do."

Peter gave you an unimpressed look. "That’s debatable."

Frustrated, you crossed your arms. If begging didn’t work, it was time for drastic measures. You sat up, narrowed your eyes at him, and smirked. "Fine. You leave me no choice."

Peter arched a brow. "Uh-oh."

You stood up, placed your hands on your hips, and announced, "No kisses for a month."

Peter froze. "Wait. What?"

You grinned, seeing his reaction. "Yep. No kisses. No sex. No cuddles. No cute little nose nuzzles. No hand-holding. No forehead kisses. Nothing."

His jaw dropped. "That’s—That’s cruel and unusual punishment!"

You fake-sighed, placing a hand over your heart. "Well, if my boyfriend refuses to let me try on the suit that I worked on, then I guess I have no choice but to take extreme action."

Peter looked genuinely distressed now, running a hand through his curls. "That’s so unfair. You can’t just—"

"And!" You interrupted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You’re so ungrateful! I spend hours helping you upgrade that thing, and you won’t even let me try it for five minutes?" You dramatically turned away, placing a hand over your forehead. "Oh, the betrayal!"

Peter groaned loudly. "Ugh! Fine! "

You immediately spun around, grinning. "Wait, really?"

He gave you a deadpan look. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just—just don’t break anything, okay?"

You let out an excited squeal, doing a little happy dance before rushing over to grab the suit from where he pulled it out of his closet. "This is the best day of my life!"

Peter crossed his arms, watching you with a defeated sigh. "You’re ridiculous."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately, yes."

You snickered before holding the suit up in front of you, inspecting it. The fabric was smooth under your fingers. "Ooooh, I feel powerful already."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Okay, just—put it on already before I change my mind."

You nodded and started unzipping your hoodie, shrugging it off before kicking off your sweatpants. You were left in just your bra and panties when you noticed Peter had gone completely silent.

You turned to see him staring.

Blatantly.

His lips were parted slightly, his brown eyes locked onto your figure as if he had just seen the most captivating thing in the world.

You smirked. "Pete."

No response.

You snapped your fingers. "Peter Parker, my eyes are up here."

He blinked rapidly, his face immediately flushing. "I-I wasn’t—! I was just—!"

You crossed your arms, tilting your head playfully. "Just what?"

"Admiring my girlfriend," he admitted, looking sheepish but utterly smitten.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide your grin. "Uh-huh. Sure, Romeo. Now turn around."

Peter huffed dramatically but turned his back to you. "You act like I haven’t seen you in less."

"Yeah, well, you don’t get to ogle while I’m trying to be Spider-Woman for the day," you quipped, stepping into the suit.

As soon as you pulled it up over your shoulders, it felt huge. The fabric sagged, the arms hung loosely, and the legs were way too long. "Oh my God, Peter, your body proportions are so weird."

He laughed. "Hey! I have a perfectly normal body proportion, thank you very much."

You pouted, looking down at yourself. "It’s so baggy! Ugh, I look ridiculous."

Peter turned around, smirking. "You could always take it off."

You shot him a look. "Nice try." Then, you pressed the spider emblem on your chest.

Immediately, the suit shrank.

The fabric adjusted perfectly to your body, molding to every curve, every inch of your skin. Your stomach, chest, legs—everything was snug.

Peter stopped mid-breath.

His eyes traveled from your legs to your ass to your chest, and suddenly, his Adam’s apple bobbed. "Uh…"

You turned to the mirror, blinking. "Oh. Damn."

The suit hugged you perfectly. The fabric stretched in all the right places, highlighting every dip and curve of your body. Your ass? Amazing. Your boobs? Fantastic.

Peter made a strangled noise.

You turned to him with a smirk. "You okay there, bug boy?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Then, without a single word, he took two long strides forward, cupped your face, and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a peck. No, Peter devoured you, his lips molding against yours hungrily. His hands found their way to your jaw and waist, pulling you against him as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, melting into him as he pressed you against the wall. His hands started wandering—one settling on your jaw, tilting your head up, while the other slid down to firmly grab your ass.

You gasped into the kiss, breaking apart for just a second. "P-Peter—"

"You look so hot in my suit," he mumbled against your lips, kissing you again, voice breathless and desperate.

You giggled between kisses. "I knew it!"

Peter groaned, nipping at your bottom lip as his hands squeezed your ass. "Not fair," he muttered, moving down to your jaw, leaving soft kisses.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I mean, if you wanna keep making out with me in your suit, I’m not stopping you—"

Then.

The door opened.

"Ay, kid, I need Y/N for a sec—WHAT THE HELL?!"

You and Peter immediately froze.

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open, looking horrified.

You and Peter were practically glued together—your arms around his neck, his hands on your ass, both of you looking like deer caught in headlights.

Tony blinked. "What. The. Actual. Fuck."

"Dad!" You yelped, shoving Peter off you.

Tony raised his hands, shaking his head rapidly. "Nope. Nope. Nope. I do not wanna know why you’re in the Spidey suit and sucking face with Spiderling. I do not wanna know what kinda freaky roleplay stuff you two are into."

You turned bright red. "IT’S NOT—"

"Oh my God," Tony muttered, rubbing his temples. "I need bleach. No, I need therapy. I need Pepper."

Peter, looking about five seconds away from fainting, squeaked out, "M-Mr. Stark, I—I swear—"

Tony pointed at him. "You. Out."

Peter blinked. "But… this is my room—"

Tony turned his glare up to maximum dad mode, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Peter swallowed hard. "I'm out."

And with that, he bolted straight out of the door.

"You. Family meeting. Now."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Kill me now."

Tony sighed, mumbling to himself as he walked away. "Why couldn't she date a nice, normal guy from down the street?"

From the hallway, Peter called out, "I am a nice, normal guy!"

You groaned again. "Oh my God, Peter, shut up!"

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

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lumosflairr · 16 days ago

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 - 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫

masterlist

summary: When peter swings through your window and asks you to build Star Wars legos with him, how could you say no? [stark!reader]

warnings: suggestive jokes like twice.

word count: 2.1k

Taglist: @shadesofcoolxo @scaredraccoon @plumbum4 @moramaybe @iluvhrj

The soft glow of your bedroom lights bathed the walls in a warm hue as you lay sprawled across your bed, a tablet propped up against your knees while lo-fi music hummed gently from the speakers. It was late afternoon at the Tower, and the kind of peaceful quiet that followed a day without villains or rogue.

You had your window cracked open, more out of habit than anything else. Somewhere far below, you could faintly hear the city’s buzz. But up here, it felt like your own little sanctuary—until you heard the distinct clink of the latch sliding open.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow smile tugged at your lips as you glanced sideways toward the tall windows just as they cracked open fully, letting in a gust of wind and a very familiar, curly-haired boy who stumbled in with a bit more flair than necessary.

“Peter,” you drawled without looking up, “you know there’s a door, right?”

He straightened, brushing wind-tangled curls out of his face and grinning. “There's no fun in that."

You turned your attention to him, a smile pulling on your lips as you placed the tablet away. You stood up from your bed and walked over to him, placing a soft kiss on his lips that he flourished into. Peter's hands found your waist as he moved you both from left to right earning a giggle from you. Time felt like it slowed down every time you kissed Peter. He was always so soft, so loving- so unreal.

You pulled away first, wrapping stray pieces of hair around your finger and twirling it. His eyes were glued to you-full of admiration and love. He let out a sheepish laugh before he removed his hands from your waist to pull his backpack off.

"Almost forgot, I have a surprise." He mentions, crouching down so he could unzip his backpack before rummaging inside.

"A surprise?" You ask, eyebrows furrowed.

Peter looked up at you through his lashes, a small awkward smile tugging at his lips. "I, uh… brought something. It’s kinda nerdy. Okay, it’s really nerdy. But I was thinking—maybe you’d wanna do it with me?"

You let out a breathy laugh at your boyfriends remark. "Pete, I don't care how nerdy it is if it means I get to spend time with you."

He chuckled nervously before pulling out a LEGO set. It had a massive gray spaceship and a number that read '7,541 pieces', the unmistakable title in the corner: Millennium Falcon.

Your mouth fell agape. “Peter, that thing’s huge.”

He laughed, cheeks flushing. "Ned and I pooled together some money a while back to buy one, and we built it together over a couple weekends. But then this one went on sale, and I kinda… saved up again. I was gonna build it solo, but I thought it'd be more fun with you."

Your heart warmed at the thought.

He looked up at you then, eyes a little uncertain. "I know it’s dorky. I just thought—if you don’t want to, it’s totally fine—"

You leaned forward, reaching out to cradle his face with your hands. "Peter, that’s really sweet of you. I’d love to."

Relief washed over his face like a tide. He beamed, leaning forward to kiss your cheek before immediately beginning to unload bag after bag of LEGO pieces from his backpack. Within minutes, your floor was covered in numbered plastic packets, the massive instruction manual flopped open.

You settled onto the carpet, legs crossed beneath you. Peter sat opposite, already sorting out the first few bags.

"Okay, so bag one is all the base plates," he said, eyes skimming the instructions. "And fun fact—did you know the actual Millennium Falcon in the movies was twenty-five meters long? The UCS model is over thirty inches! They had to build a full-size cockpit for some of the original shots."

You let out a giggle at his comments, "Really?" you asked teasingly. You loved it when Peter would give you random fun facts and would become completely absorbed in his interests.

Peter’s eyes lit up. He nodded eagerly, clearly thrilled you showed even a dime interested. "Yeah! But I think this is the updated model,” Peter murmured, nose buried in the instruction book.

“It’s more accurate to the Force Awakens version—but it still has the classic round dish instead of the rectangular one, which is way better, honestly.”

You smiled as you sorted. “You sound like you’ve memorized the schematics.”

“I have. Pretty much.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Peter shot you a proud look. “Did you know the Falcon’s hyperdrive is a Class 0.5? That’s faster than an Imperial Star Destroyer. Han bragged about it all the time.”

“Oh really?”

"Also," he added, glancing up, "did you know that its hyperdrive was a class 0.5? That’s one of the fastest ratings in the galaxy."

You gasped dramatically. "Scandalous."

“And the reason it looks so weird is because George Lucas originally designed it as a flying saucer, but changed it at the last minute. The final design is based on a hamburger with an olive on the side.”

You paused, mid-sort. “Wait. What?”

Peter grinned. “Yeah. The olive is the cockpit.”

You reached across the instruction booklet to boop his nose. "You’re such a nerd."

"You love it," he teased.

"I do."

An hour in, your floor was buried in baggies, bricks, and half-assembled engine cores. You’d lost count of how many times Peter had given you little Star Wars facts. Every single time, you smiled and gave him soft, amused responses:

“That’s so cool.”

“Really?”

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

He always flushed a little when you said that. It made you want to keep doing it just to watch him try not to squirm.

The Falcon began to take shape. Compartments, smugglers’ holds, the cockpit frame. Peter showed you how the dish connected, and you helped him attach the forward mandibles. Each piece that clicked into place made the whole thing feel like a game.

You were reaching for another gray tile when the door cracked open behind you.

“Hey, kiddo, I was gonna ask if—”

Tony Stark stopped cold in the doorway. His brows furrowed as he took in the scene: you and Peter Parker sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, surrounded by a colorful minefield of LEGO, instruction books, half-built Falcon parts, and a disturbing amount of laser blaster minifigures.

He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing.

“What’s Spider-Boy doing here?”

Peter stiffened like he’d been hit with a stun gun. “Uh… hi, Mr. Stark.”

You looked up with a calm, practiced smile. “He wanted to hang out. We’re building LEGO's.”

Tony squinted. "That’s aggressively nerdy."

"Dad!"

He held up his hands in mock defense. “Hey, hey. Not judging. Just… observing. Judging a little, but still.”

Peter smiled awkwardly. “It’s a really advanced set.”

“I can see that.” Tony squinted. “Wait—when did you get here?”

Peter blinked. “Uh… not long ago?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. "Wait a sec. When did you come in? I didn’t see you at the door."

Before Peter could speak, Tony looked at the two of you- then the window.

Tony pointed at Peter and looked directly at you. "Did he come through your window?"

Peter and you tried to speak at the same time once again- but were cut off.

"How long has that been going on? Is this, like, a nightly thing? Is he Batman-ing his way in here every week?"

“Dad,” you sighed, “we’ve been over this—”

Tony held up a finger. “You know what? Nope. Gonna circle back to that later. But in the meantime—Peter, dinner’s at seven. You’re staying. No arguments.”

Peter nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

“And next time,” Tony added, walking toward the door, “just use the damn door, kid.”

The hours passed in a whirl of bricks and giggles. Peter occasionally scooted closer so you could see the finer parts of the manual. Your arms would brush, and he’d blush, but neither of you mentioned it. At one point, he explained how the Falcon’s sensor dish was knocked off during the Battle of Endor, and that’s why it has a rectangular one in The Force Awakens.

Suddenly, Peter began looking around. He checked beside his legs and around the partially built spaceship. "Where’s the trans-clear radar tile? The one with the circular etching?"

You looked around, then frowned. "It was right here a second ago. Did it fall under the rug?"

The two of you searched every corner of the carpet. Peter was halfway under your bed, legs sticking out like some kind of reverse-spider-crab.

"Got it!" Peter popped back up, hair sticking out in every direction and holding the piece triumphantly. "I found it!"

You grinned. "Oh, my hero!"

He placed it delicately in your palm like he was bestowing a rare jewel.

By the time you reached the final few pieces, the sun had dipped beneath the skyline, casting golden light across the floor. Peter clicked the last turret into place and leaned back, breathless.

You both stared at the completed Falcon. It took up nearly half the floor space between you. In Peter's words, it was 'the second most beautiful thing ever made because you came first.'

Peter exhaled, satisfied. “I’m really glad I got to spend today with you.”

You turned to him and gently cupped his face in your hands. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you.”

He blinked, clearly trying not to melt.

“Even if it’s just building LEGOs and me nerding out about Star Wars?”

You smiled, thumb brushing his cheek. “Especially that.”

He gave you that crooked, sunshine smile you adored—one that lit up his whole face.

Right on cue, FRIDAY’s voice filled the room:

“Miss Stark, Mr. Parker: dinner is ready. Mr. Stark has requested your presence. His exact words were: ‘tell the lovebirds to wash their hands and drag themselves to the kitchen before I come up there and hose them down.’”

You and Peter both burst out laughing.

Peter ran a hand through his curls, grinning. “That’s definitely your dad.”

You groaned with a smile, pushing off the floor and stretching. “I should’ve known he’d call us out eventually.”

He gave you that boyish, shy smile that made your heart melt. “You sure he’s not gonna kill me?”

You looped your arms around his neck. “If he was going to, he would’ve the first time you came through my window.”

“…So just mild intimidation tonight?”

You grinned. “Very mild.”

Right then, the door swung open without warning. You were greeted with none other than your father, who looked mildly annoyed.

“You two elope and forget to RSVP to dinner?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself up slightly. “We were on our way.”

Tony stepped further into the room, gaze narrowing just slightly at Peter, who immediately sat up straighter, like being caught slouching was somehow the real offense.

“You okay there, Underoos?” Tony asked, lips twitching. “You look like I walked in on something scandalous. Should I knock next time?”

Peter’s face turned an impressive shade of red. “N-no! I mean—no, sir. We were just building the—uh—Falcon. That’s all. Just the Falcon. LEGO Falcon. Nothing else.”

Tony gave you a knowing look. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Dad.”

He smirked. “Hey, I’m just saying—you tell your daughter and her spider-boyfriend dinner’s at 7:00, and 7:10 hits so I come looking and find his hands suspiciously close to your knee and you sitting there making oogly eyes at him."

Peter let out a noise that might’ve been a panicked laugh.

“We were literally talking about Star Wars,” you deadpanned.

“Uh-huh. Nerd foreplay,” Tony muttered. “The most dangerous kind.”

You gave him a look. “Can we not, please?”

Tony held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. You’re right. I trust you. Mostly.” He gave Peter a long look. “Sixty percent.”

Peter squeaked out a “Thank you?”

Tony’s gaze dropped to the LEGO Millennium Falcon laid out in all its half-built glory. He tilted his head.

“Huh. Not bad.” He gave a small nod, then added, “I could probably build it faster.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sure you could.”

He smirked. “Excuse me, I’m a mechanical genius. That thing’s like baby’s first blueprint.”

“You still couldn’t figure out how to open a cereal box this morning.”

“That was sabotage. Who triple seals Frosted Flakes?”

Peter tried and failed to stifle a laugh, to which Tony turned, mock-offended. “Oh, so now you’re on her side?”

Peter put his hands up, smiling nervously. “I’m neutral! Switzerland!”

Tony pointed at him. “Stay that way. Smart man.”

He took a final glance around the room, nodding once more before backing out. “Wrap it up, lovebirds. Dinner’s getting cold and I’m not reheating lasagna for two teenagers who chose LEGO bricks and whatever the hell you two were doing up here over my homemade masterpiece.”

You snorted. “You didn’t make that lasagna. FRIDAY ordered it.”

“Semantics,” Tony called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hall.

#lumosflair #fluff #x reader #Peter parker #Peter Parker x stark!reader #Peter Parker x reader #tom!peter parker x reader #tom!Peter parker #marvel #mcu #Peter x reader #Peter Parker fluff #lego #stark!reader #stark!daughter

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psychoticfemmm · 8 months ago

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Hia! Can you do another Peter Parker x Stark! Reader, I absolutely loved your last one. Could the plotline be along the lines of : Tony walks into your room and finds you and Peter asleep cuddling after you snuck him in the night before. Maybe the whole team gets involved and starts taking photos for blackmail 🤣 Thank you!

Caught in the Act

pairing: Peter Parker x stark!reader

summary: read the request

The sunlight streamed through your bedroom curtains, falling perfectly on the two of you. Peter Parker’s arm was draped over your waist, his face nuzzled into your neck. His warm breath tickled your skin, and you groaned softly, stirring from your sleep.

The events of the night before were hazy but thrilling: a whispered phone call, Peter scaling the side of the Avengers Tower, and an impromptu movie marathon that ended with the two of you tangled up in each other’s arms.

Peter shifted in his sleep, his nose brushing against your collarbone. A soft hum escaped him, and you smiled, reaching up to lightly ruffle his messy curls.

“Good morning, lovebirds.”

The unmistakable voice of Tony Stark shattered the moment.

Your eyes snapped open, and your heart dropped. Standing at the foot of your bed was your dad, his arms crossed and an expression caught between amusement and absolute mortification.

“D-Dad?!” you stammered, sitting up abruptly. Peter groaned at the sudden movement, blinking himself awake.

“Morning, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled sleepily before realizing where he was and who was standing there. His eyes went wide, and he bolted upright. “MR. STARK! I—uh—this isn’t what it looks like!”

Tony raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Really? Because it looks like Spider-Boy snuck into my daughter’s room and decided to cuddle his way into trouble.”

“Dad, it’s not like that!” you protested, though your flushed face said otherwise.

“Oh, so it’s worse,” Tony quipped, cutting you off. “Got it. And by the way, the entire team is outside, loving this.”

Your jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” Tony replied smugly. “Because if I have to suffer through this, everyone else does too.”

Right on cue, the door creaked open, and Steve Rogers stepped in, his phone out and snapping a picture. “Morning, kiddos. Cute couple pose, by the way.”

“STEVE!” you yelled, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at him.

Natasha followed, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Aw, I remember young love. You guys were adorable—until Stark called us in for backup.”

“Seriously?” Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh, it’s not just us,” Natasha added as Thor poked his head in.

“Why was I not informed of this bonding moment?” Thor boomed, grinning. “Ah, Spider-Man and Stark’s offspring. A powerful duo!”

“Can you all get out?!” you shouted, grabbing another pillow.

“Not until I get my blackmail photo,” Natasha teased.

Peter tugged you closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You know, if this keeps up, I might have to climb out the window.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you muttered back, glaring at the group.

Bruce finally showed up, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “Tony, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I like to think I’m setting the bar,” Tony said smugly.

Finally, the team filtered out, laughing and bantering as they went. Tony lingered for a moment, fixing Peter with a look. “You’re lucky I like you, Parker. But if I catch you sneaking in again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter stammered.

As the door shut, the room finally fell silent. You let out a sigh, flopping back onto the bed. Peter lay beside you, covering his face with his hands.

“Well,” you started, “that went about as horribly as it could’ve gone.”

Peter groaned. “They’re never going to let me live this down. Your dad is probably going to build a tracker for me now.”

“Probably,” you teased, rolling onto your side to face him.

He peeked at you through his fingers, his face still flushed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted with a grin.

Peter leaned in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You know, we could’ve avoided all of this if you hadn’t convinced me to stay the night.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I convinced you? Last I checked, you were the one who said, ‘But I can’t leave you now, you’re too cute when you’re sleepy.’”

His cheeks turned redder. “Okay, fine. Maybe I did say that.”

You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his. “Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me later.”

Peter’s breath hitched, but before he could respond, you pulled back, smirking. “Now, get up, Spider-Boy. We’ve got breakfast to deal with—and probably a million jokes from the team.”

“Great,” he muttered, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “But next time, we’re sneaking into my room. May wouldn’t call the Avengers on us.”

“Deal,” you replied, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door.

#peter parker x stark!reader #Peter Parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #marvel mcu #fanfiction #the avengers #marvel #Peter Parker x avenger!reader

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zwartexxroos · 2 months ago

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[🧸] Headcanons of Marvel Men react to you giving them a custom Build-A-Bear dressed like their superhero self:

(including Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker, Loki Laufeyson, Logan Howlett, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, and Steven Grant)

Tony Stark

"You... made me a plush Iron Man? Seriously?"

Acts all cocky at first, but you can see the soft smile creeping in.

Places it right on his workshop desk like a trophy.

Sometimes talks to it while working.

Lowkey proud and posts it on social media with the caption: "Someone special made this. Eat your heart out, world."

Steve Rogers

Stares at it for a long moment, heart swelling.

"You made this for me?"

Gets so flustered he can't stop smiling

Places it neatly on his nightstand, and if you tease him, he just clears his throat and says: "It's good to have reminders of people who care."

You'll catch him glancing at it more than once.

Bucky Barnes

Blinks at it like: "You got me a bear... with a metal arm?"

Picks it up, turning it around and poking the little plush arm with a smirk.

"Looks just like me, huh?"

Keeps it on his bed, and if anyone teases him, he'll straight-faced say: "My emotional support bear. You got a problem?"

Peter Parker

Absolutely loses it, pure sunshine grin.

"You built a Spider bear??? For me?? I'm framing this!"

Hugs it immediately and definitely shows it off to Ned and MJ like a proud dad.

Sleeps with it the first night

Probably names it something cute like Spider-Bear Jr.

Loki Laufeyson

Looks at the little horned plush and lets out a soft chuckle.

"A miniature version of myself? You've got good taste."

Pretends to scoff a first, but he's deeply touched.

The bear is always sitting on his bookshelf or desk like a tiny prince.

Use magic to make the bear nod or wave at you when you enter the room.

Logan Howlett

Holds it awkwardly, staring at the little bear with its tiny claws.

"…You made me a bear that looks like me?"

Grumbles about it, but you catch him resting it on his nightstand, where it stays forever.

When you’re not around, he probably mutters at it: “They got a weird way of showing they cares.”

Charles Xavier

His face lights up with genuine delight.

“You thought of this for me? That’s adorable.”

Places it somewhere close, like on his desk or the shelf in his study.

Will definitely tell others about the gift like a proud boyfriend: “They made me a little Xavier bear, can you believe that?”

Erik Lehnsherr

Raises a brow at the Magneto-themed bear.

“You’ve got a twisted sense of humor.”

But the way his fingers linger on the helmet and the small detail of the cape says it all — he loves it.

Keeps it somewhere safe, maybe in his study, and if you ever visit, he’ll always point at it with a soft smile: “I never thought I’d look good in fluff.”

Steven Grant

Literally gasps, wide-eyed: “Is that me? In plush form??”

Over the moon. Hugs it and even gives it a name like “Little Stevie”

Sleeps with it, puts it on his desk at work, and shows it off to anyone who will listen.

“I’ve never had anything this thoughtful before... I’m gonna treasure this forever, you know.”

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m00ngirl777 · 4 months ago

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Can I request a oneshot with that trend where girlfriends go sit in their boyfriends laps while they're gaming or studying, it has so much potentiallllll for fluff and smut

If This Was a Movie

Peter Parker x reader

REQUEST

“Man, I can’t, I gotta study, I told you, I gotta do well on these midterms… I’ll hang out next time, have fun buddy,” With that he hanged up, and grabbed the stack of books, papers and his bag, when he heard a knock on his door.

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you.

Summary: Sitting on peters lap, he’s busy AF, college peter, you go visit him in Boston , he’s so happy to see you but it’s midterms week, but you haven’t seen each other so you can’t keep your hands off, so then you find yourself in this situation, in the library, he’s studying like crazy, coffee and food runs for your boy, sitting on his lap, and you can’t help but tease him until he’s had enough pent up frustration from all the stress of his first midterms and not seeing you, so he lets it out on you when he grabs your hand and drags you to the old literature section because no one in the engineering building is going near there, and fucks his frustrations out on you against the Jane Austen collection. Sue me babe.

A/N: hi so, as I was writing the summary, that scene from YOU, literally came to me, where joes like, youre not wearing a bra blahblahblah, if this was a movie id grab you and wed go a it at the stacks, or smth along that, hence the title, anyways enjoyyyyy. again I am sososososo very sorry I took nearly three months to answer this request, I don't know why I am the way I am, I sorry. anyways hope you love it, thxx for reading, love u, byeeee. xoxo. -N.

p.s. my requests are open my loves<333 but I might take three months to answer :( SORRY

TW: SMUT, RAW, NO PROETECION BABES.

WC: 2008

- - -

“Hey man…yeah…yeah… I-I know… but I gotta… g-uh…yes… mhm,” Peter really wanted to end the call, don’t get him wrong, for the first time in his life he felt like finally he fit in, even if he didn’t, college treated him different, he didn’t only matched, but surpassed the intelligence of his peers, accompanied by great humility which for the first time gained him respect instead of a shove, or a push, or a basketball to the head, or his lunch on the floor, the teachers encouraged him, as faithful as he was to you, and as uninterested as he was in in any other, he felt a little taller anytime a girl would smile, or giggle, or blush at him, something he had never known. He still had Ned at his side, but he was also very pleased at his new friends, the guys that were on football scholarships, that had urged him endlessly to join the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity, and how they would, what felt to him, beg him to come to endless parties, and hang outs and so on. He was cool, he was respected, he was wanted, he was admired, and if he didn’t study for the upcoming midterms he would also be very fucked.

As wonderful a boy as Peter is, this type of attention can get to anyone's head, because for the first time in his life, people cared, not that he was Spider-Man, but that he was Peter Parker, he wasn’t failing, god knows hes too smart for that, he simply could not afford to fail anything or he would fail the course.

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you.

“Peter?”

He pulled you in the tightest hardest hug you've ever felt, you instantly wrapped your arms around him, hands traveling to his, of course shaven head, it was an initiation ritual, it was more a buzzcut now anyway.

“Miss me, baby?” He nodded hysterically, face buried in your neck, as he pulled you in the dorm, shutting the door, he couldn’t let go of you.

He pulled away to kiss you, cupping your face, moving his lips against yours with a familiarity unmatched. You spent about five minutes against the door, Peter whispering the sweetest nothings into everywhere he kisses, I love you for your neck neck and jaw, gorgeous and beautiful for your cheeks, I missed you into your mouth, and a combination of all for your ear, temple and forehead. You kept scratching the back of his head, caressing his neck, touching him, telling him with your hands everything he was saying with his words, your hand went down to his sweats, pulling on the waistband to reach for him, but before you could get a grip he gently pulled your wrist away and let out a soft groan, head on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong baby?” You cupped his face.

“I gotta…study,”

“Awww, you gotta study baby?,” He nodded against your neck getting closer to your chest.

“You… you can stay here… or,”

“No way, I’m studying with you,” It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just knew he’d get nothing done, still he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you, so here you were, in the mostly empty library, attempting to study.

“Peter, why are you so stressed? You're probably the smartest guy here…like… I remember seeing a lesser version of this in highschool, and I was in none of the AP’s, you totally got it,” You were practically sitting on his lap, your hand caressing his neck.

“I know… I really don’t want to fail,” He said, concentrated on the problem.

“You won’t,” You kissed his cheek before getting up, grabbing your bag.

“Baby, where are you going?” Damn those puppy eyes.

“I swore I saw a coffee shop just outside, want anything?”

“Coffee, just regular,”

“‘Kay, I’ll be back,”

Soon you where back with a caramel latte, and a cold brew with cream. Peter thanked you and let you back in his lap, and in an attempt to adjust yourself you ended rubbing down on him.

“Y/n,” He grasped at your hip to keep you from moving more, which led you to relax back into him, biting your lip softly when his thigh ended up being nuzzled between yours, slightly pressing on your core, just enough to want more.

“Sorry,” Your cheeks flushed slightly as you sipped your coffee, feeling the cool bittersweetness aid the heat you were starting to feel.

He nodded, and went back to concentrate on his problems, equation after equation, number after number, variable after variable, just never ending engineering stuff your history lit majoring brain didn’t even want to begin to understand. He kept mumbling the problems quietly, going over them as he wrote, it always turned you on how smart he is, even in highschool with way simpler material it impressed you, watching him know made your mouth dry.

“Did you like your coffee?” You asked going to sip it.

“Yeah, its nice, thank you babe…” He answered in automatic, and it still made you giddy, very softly grinding down on his thigh with the excuse of adjusting yourself, you were really trying to cut him so much slack. It wasn’t his fault that you showed up unannounced in his midterms week, you’ve just missed him so much, and you needed him so bad, but he really needed to get this done, so you took deep breaths, and settled on sitting down on the cushioned booth, your thighs over Peter’s, leaning against him in a way that wasn’t too constricting, and your fingers playing with the very short hair at the back of his head, placing the softest kiss every other minute along his jaw, or neck, or face.

Peter was trying to be grateful you were being understandingly loving, and tried to concentrate on studying, with your warm thighs over his, your arm around him, your hands on him, the combined natural scent you had, the smell of your growing slick, and your perfume, clouding him, he was really trying, but he was also excruciatingly hard.

“Wanna see something?” Peter asked, a little fed up.

“Uh… sure, yeah,” You let him grab your hand and a little forcefully drag you into the book shelves, going through one after the other, until you were at a dark little corner, dust settled in a full collection of Jane Austen, the first, united edition, you were in between probably the only two shelfs of classic literature in this multiple story library.

“Oh my god… how old are these copies? Is this what you wan-” He turned you around and shoved you against the shelves, kissing you with a sickening hunger, so different from the softer initial kiss you had shared, “You are… the only person… here… that gives… a crap… about those…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, jerking, as he grinded against your inner thigh, your hands would usually pull at his hair, but right now you could only scratch his scalp, which he still very much enjoyed.

“Hmm, baby please… please,” He whined in your ear, as he rutted against your thigh, and how could you deny him, your needy, frustrated boy, that missed you so very much.

“Shh, yes… yes whatever you want Peter… shh,” You didn’t know what you were about to do, but you knew you had to be quiet, you whispered in his ear as you cradled his head, he picked one of your legs up, and his other hand went between your legs under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your panties, as he kissed your jaw and neck, he pushed the panties to the side, and massaging your bud, wanting you to get as wet as possible, his mouth on yours, swallowing any moans that were a little too loud.

Effortlessly, he lifted you up wrapping your legs around his torso, hands on his neck and shoulders, as he freed himself, giving a couple jerks before aligning his member to you, biting your sweater to prevent him from crying out, one of his hands went under your sweater, massaging your breast as he kissed your neck and whispered sweet nothings to you, perfectly still, letting you start to rock against him if you needed it.

“I love you so much baby, I’ve missed you so much,” Peter had dreamed for weeks of seeing you again, he’d figure you’d come visit, you’d never stay at a frat house, so of course you'd book the nearest lush hotel you could find, and he’d make love to you all night long, in a fresh big bed, he’d imagine that, and other scenarios very similar to that, sometimes he just asked for you to send him a voice note of your day and that along with the polaroids you had sneaked into his bag with a couple of your panties would be enough for him to satisfy himself in these two months he’s been in Boston. Never would’ve he imagined this scene, where he grabbed the shelves, fingertips and nail beds white as he started to drill into you, breathing hard, slam after slam, leaving you to do nothing but take it, as you clung to him, face on his neck, letting out the smallest of whimpers, that just fueled him to pistol even harder into you.

You felt everything, how his length reached the deepest inner most part of you, stimulating the nerve endings, making you feel the tingles all the way to your chest, his pelvis, lined with hairs not as kept as usual due to the lack of need, rubbing you with every thrust, his desperation and way he fucked you, like he’d die if he didn’t feel the walls of your pussy around him right this moment, feel how they clench around him when he makes you come, theres nothing he wanted more, but you were absolutely cockdumb, no words, no actions, no will in your body, you just felt your pussy and how it was being fucked raw.

He bit down harder on the sweater to stop himself from moaning and grunting in this library as he stilled inside you, very deep withing you, feeling how his warm spend pumped inside you, like gasoline, fuelling your quiet mewls, even more when he rubbed you until you came so he’d feel that perfect extra pressure as he finished coming, almost as soon as him, leaving you both breathless, shaking, and frozen.

“Peter…what the fuck…” You leaned your forehead o his shoulder, breathing hard, baffled by what you just did.

“I know… I know…fuck,” He breath out softly as he pulled away, making you whine, he put you back down and readjusted your underware, then pushed himself back in his pants, “fuck, I’m sorry, I-I ju-”

“Shh, it’s okay…” You ran fingers through your hair, trying to re-adjust yourself, starting to feel soaked from your combined spends, knowing there was no way you could just go back and sit down to keep studying.

“I’m gonna go back to my hotel… you should finish studying and you can come by later… yeah?” You cupped his face placing a soft kiss on his mouth and cheek, he nodded, wanting to be around you, but knowing he needed to finish this.

“Okay… yeah, I’ll just finish with the guide,” He said, but made no effort to move.

“I love you, I’ll see you later, Pete,” You kissed his cheek, pushing him away gently to walk him back to his table.

“Yeah, I love you too,”

#peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker angst #mcu #marvel #spiderman #peter parker #tom!peter parker x reader #shifting realities #stark!reader #one shot #fluff #smut #reader insert #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

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sunshine-lux · 1 month ago

Text

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.

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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.”

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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.

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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!!!

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tldrthor · 7 months ago

Text

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.”

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

================================================

“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence.

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other.

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors.

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again.

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them.

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again.

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response.

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all.

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation.

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough.

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign.

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused.

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking.

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible.

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face.

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing.

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

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thealtoduck · 5 months ago

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*(Civil war era): Tony doing an interview with Peter to see if he should really make him an intern*

Tony: So Peter, where do you see yourself in 5 years?

*Peter’s brain: Don’t say ”Doing your wife”! Don’t say ”Doing your wife”! Don’t say ”Doing your wife”!*

Peter: Doing your-…

*Sees a picture of Y/n Stark on Tony’s desk*

Peter: -Son…

Tony: …?

#source: family guy #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x stark!male reader #peter parker x stark!male!reader #marvel x male reader #marvel x male!reader #x male reader #male reader #mcu x male reader #x male!reader #avengers x male reader #avengers x male!reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x male stark reader

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mellowmadds · 1 year ago

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Casual Study Dates | Peter Parker

(MCU) Peter Parker/Fem Stark Reader

Warnings - slightly suggestive

Summary - Avenger’s compound a usually busy place hustling with activity seems unusually quiet for the day. leaving y/n and Peter in a sticky situation (pun intended)

Word Count: 1,237

°°••....••°°

Avenger’s Compound, a place that’s usually bustling with activities and combat training sometime’s has quiet days like this where super-powered humans who have insanely intense hearing can hear a pin drop from across campus. For you though being one of the youngest on the team you hated those days because it seemed as if everybody always wanted to see what you were up to. You weren’t necessarily an avenger but you were extremely smart and helped out around the lab and worked on some Stark Industries projects with your dad every once and a while. And that’s how you met Peter Parker and during those first two years of awkward conversations and study dates you two seemed to find some comfort in all that awkwardness.

“Are you nervous about MIT sending out their decisions soon?” Peter asked while getting comfortable on your bed while staring out at the beautiful city view.

“Why would I be nervous Peter? Most of my family are MIT Alumni.” You said a bit cocky if you really think about it.

“I- know it’s just I figured maybe you’d be experiencing the same nerves I was. It was a stupid question nevermind sorry” Peter stuttered out.

“You don’t have to be sorry Peter and you definitely don’t have to worry my dad put in a good word about you. You’re one hundred percent getting into MIT” You told him confidently.

You knew Peter was an anxious person and you’d do anything to take his nerves away.

“Now are we going to keep stressing about MIT or are we going to figure out these formulas that Bruce gave us to solve?” You asked while holding up the stack of papers labeled ‘Top Secret Formulas’.

Peter nodded his head yes while lifting his body off your bed to instead sit on the edge of the bed closer to your desk where all of your work was scattered across your laptop.

“But first I need to put some music on or else I won’t be able to focus” You said before sliding the miscellaneous papers off your laptop.

“That’s the Stark in you talking, how can you focus better with music blasting in your ears?” Peter asked while laughing.

“I guess you are right, that is a classic trait of my dads. But it just helps me focus better. I don't know, I can't explain it.” You turned on your playlist before flipping to the first page of the stack of formulas Bruce assigned you to solve.

Your speaker was loud but who cares it’s not like anyone cared or was listening everyone was off doing their own things. The first few songs were upbeat and fun but the farther you got into your playlist the more guilty pleasure songs started playing, but Peter didn’t mind he was blocking out the music anyways so he could focus better on the formulas in front of him. What you didn’t know was that Steve and Nat were standing outside your room listening.

“Knee deep where? doing what?” Steve said worriedly looking over at Nat.

“It’s just a song Steve stop being so old-school” Nat smirked back at him.

“But Peter’s in there with her, what if they aren’t actually studying?” Steve asked as any worried uncle would.

“The song is talking about having relations in the bathroom during dinner time, that’s not appropriate Nat” Steve said firmly not accepting any excuse now.

Nat wasn’t interested in continuing this conversation any further and started walking toward the living quarters where there sat Bucky, Clint, Bruce and of course Tony.

“What’s got you so tense Cap? Your boyfriends right here if you have to relieve some tension” Tony laughed making fun of Steve and Bucky’s unusual bromance.

“I think you should worry more about what your daughter and Peter are doing upstairs” Steve said, crossing his arms.

“What? What are you talking about Cap? His vigilant ass better not be corrupting my innocent perfect daughter” Tony angrily stated as his face turned a shade of red nobody expected.

“They are listening to a song about having relations in the car and bathroom” Steve said pointing upstairs to your room.

“And you didn’t shut it down the moment you heard that? What kind of uncle are you?” Tony asked running up the stairs to take a listen for himself.

“Oh my gosh the lyrics are filthy but it sounds so calming, how does an artist achieve that?” Tony muttered under his breath before harshly knocking on your bedroom door and bursting in unannounced.

“What’s going on here?” Tony yelled loudly only to be met with a view of you sitting at your desk and Peter sitting on your bed leaning against the headboard with a textbook and stack of papers sitting on his lap.

“What dad? We are busy figuring out the formulas Bruce gave us. Why the hell is everyone crowding outside my room?” You asked, pointing towards Steve, Bucky, Nat, Clint and Bruce all huddling in a circle outside your bedroom door.

“Well we heard the song you guys were listening to and were a bit concerned. You guys aren’t acting on those lyrics are you? You guys better not be under my roof” Tony questioned with a look of disgust on his face.

“What the hell are you going on about dad?” You asked looking over at Peter who looked like he'd seen a ghost.

“Are you guys having sexual relations?” Tony asked in disgust as your playlist suddenly skipped to the next song which would make your case even worse.

“Head so good, she's an honor roll she’ll ride your what like a carnival?” Tony repeated the lyrics.

“I am on the honor roll though, so it’s not entirely a lie” You replied back smirking like a smartass.

“This is not a laughing matter young lady, we are talking about something serious here, answer my question right now” Tony stated with a straight face not joking around anymore.

“Yeah we are and what about it?” You said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Y/n not in front of everybody” Peter said shyly.

“Who cares Peter they were going to find out sooner or later anyways, might as well just tell them now” You said looking back at everyone’s shocked faces. As you looked past your father behind him stood Bucky handing Clint a ten dollar bill.

“You guys had a bet going on about us?” Peter asked, looking back and forth between them but also keeping one eye on Tony just in case he might try to kill him.

“This conversation is not over and from now on this door stays open” Tony said sternly ignoring all the giggles and snarky remarks coming from his fellow avengers. Your playlist then starts playing a different song which lightens up the mood just a little.

“This one has a dance to go along with it, watch H-O-T-T-O-G-O it’s like the YMCA'' You said while doing the dance.

“I like doing the YMCA” Steve said, smiling now entering your room.

“Of course you do because you're ancient” Peter said jokingly.

As you can expect you didn’t think you’d be ending your day teaching Steve Rogers the Hot To Go dance however you wouldn’t trade the quiet days at the compound for anything because at the end of the day you’re just one big family and you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

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urdreamydoodles · 9 months ago

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MCU Characters x Reader (Part.1)

How they react when you are angry with them (Part.1)

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange & Thor Odinson

I'm back in my MCU era, thanks to Agatha All Along, so expect a lot of MCU headcanons, feel free to request those!

Tony Stark

- When you’re angry with Tony, he’s a little stunned. He’s used to being able to charm his way through things or brush issues off with a joke, but the moment he realizes you’re genuinely upset, he feels the ground shift a little. Tony’s mind races, calculating what he did wrong, and for a second, he considers ignoring the problem—but not with you. You mean too much to him, and he can’t stand the idea of pushing you further away.

- He doesn’t immediately know how to apologize, so he leans into his classic defense mechanism: humor. He’ll try to make you laugh, throwing out quips, hoping you’ll crack a smile. When that doesn’t work, he gets a little awkward, mumbling things like, “This is why I avoid real feelings, you know?” as he fumbles through an apology. He’s not used to admitting fault, but with you, he’s learning to swallow his pride.

- Tony goes all out when he realizes he needs to make it up to you. He’ll throw himself into making amends, maybe even a little too extravagantly. Expect some grand, over-the-top gesture—a private jet to Paris, a limited-edition piece of tech he’s been tinkering on, or a fancy dinner in some exclusive place with an outfit he’s bought just for the occasion. He’s not subtle, and he knows it, but he’ll do anything if it means a smile from you.

- When the big gestures don’t work, he takes a different approach. He shows up at your door, looking strangely vulnerable, with something small and meaningful. Maybe it’s a handwritten letter he’s scribbled out, confessing how much he hates it when things aren’t okay between you two. It’s raw, real, and completely unlike Tony, but he means every word. This time, he wants to show that he’s willing to put the ego aside for you.

- Once you finally let him back in, Tony wraps you in his arms and doesn’t let go. He’ll joke that he’s not letting you get mad at him again, and maybe throw in a flirty quip about “testing his limits,” but there’s something deeper there too. Being loved by you has changed him, and he’s willing to work on himself for the first time in a long time. With you, Tony’s found a softness he didn’t know he had, and he’s not going to risk losing it.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers doesn’t like conflict, especially not with you. When he realizes you’re angry, he immediately wants to address it and resolve it, hoping it won’t escalate. He tries to have a calm, level-headed conversation, but he can see that maybe it’s too soon. Steve’s patient, though; he’ll give you space if you need it, even if it pains him to let go for a while.

- While you’re cooling off, Steve takes time to reflect, replaying the situation in his mind, wondering where he went wrong. He’s his own worst critic and can be hard on himself, especially when it comes to you. He’ll try to see things from your perspective, understanding that sometimes his old-fashioned sense of right and wrong can be rigid. He’s willing to bend if it’s what’s needed to bridge the gap between you.

- When he approaches you again, he’s soft-spoken and earnest, offering a sincere apology. There are no excuses, no justifications—just him, owning up to whatever hurt you. His gaze doesn’t leave yours; he wants you to know he truly means it. And as he speaks, he promises he’ll do better, vowing to always listen to you and consider your feelings.

- To make it up to you, Steve chooses something simple but thoughtful, probably something he knows you love. It could be as quiet as a walk through your favorite park or as gentle as a handwritten note tucked into a book you’re reading. Steve understands that sometimes, it’s the little things that mean the most. He’ll give you the space to talk, letting you vent if you need to, always steady, always attentive.

- Once the air clears, Steve is more affectionate than usual, holding your hand, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, grateful to be back in your good graces. He values trust deeply and doesn’t take your forgiveness for granted. Steve knows relationships take work, and he’s fully committed to making it work with you, one respectful conversation at a time.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha doesn’t like it when things are off between you two, but she’s used to people being mad at her. Initially, she tries to shrug it off, acting like she doesn’t care, maybe even trying to ignore it. But you’re different. You’re not just anyone; you’re someone she actually trusts, and seeing you upset with her hits her hard.

- Natasha is far more comfortable dealing with enemies than emotional confrontations, so when she finally comes to you, she does it in a roundabout way. She might casually ask, “Are we good?” as if it’s not a big deal, but the nervous tension in her voice betrays her. She’s not great at apologies, so her attempt is awkward but sincere. It’s clear she’s trying, even if she doesn’t always have the words.

- To make it up to you, Natasha doesn’t go for big gestures but rather something deeply personal. She’ll take you to a place she loves—a quiet spot on a rooftop, a hidden café she discovered, somewhere she can let her guard down. She’s careful, almost shy, as she opens up a little about herself, sharing stories she rarely tells. In her own way, she’s letting you know how much she values you.

- Natasha doesn’t usually do comfort, but she’ll go out of her way to make you feel loved and safe. Maybe she’ll surprise you with breakfast or bring you something she knows you’ve been wanting. She pays attention, after all, even if she doesn’t always show it. Little by little, she’ll find ways to let you know that she’s there, committed to making things right.

- When you finally forgive her, Natasha breathes a sigh of relief, leaning in for a hug that lasts a beat longer than usual. She’s not big on words, but she’ll whisper something soft and sincere, just for you. Natasha’s fiercely protective, and after a falling-out, she’s even more attuned to making sure you feel cared for. She’ll stay close, a steady presence at your side, her quiet way of showing just how much she values you.

Bruce Banner

- When you’re angry with Bruce, he’s instantly anxious, worried he’s done something terribly wrong. Conflict isn’t his strong suit, and he’s painfully aware of his capacity for anger. He’s cautious, almost timid, when he realizes you’re upset, giving you space and time. He doesn’t want to make things worse or risk saying the wrong thing.

- Bruce spends time overthinking the situation, dissecting every detail. He questions himself, often getting caught in a loop of self-blame, wondering if he’s ever really been suited for a relationship. But even though he’s scared of confrontation, he values you too much to leave things unresolved. He wants to show you that he’s willing to work through whatever the issue is.

- When he finally comes to you, Bruce’s apology is soft, heartfelt, and a little self-deprecating. He’ll stumble through his words, not wanting to sound defensive, and there’s an earnestness in his gaze as he tries to convey just how much he wants to make things right. He’s not perfect, but he’s open to listening and doing better.

- To make it up to you, Bruce goes for something intimate and personal. He knows you appreciate small gestures, so he’ll show up with something that reflects his feelings for you—maybe a small book he thinks you’d love, or a little experiment from the lab that made him think of you. He’s shy about it, maybe a little embarrassed, but it’s his way of showing he cares.

- When you finally forgive him, Bruce visibly relaxes, wrapping you in a hug as if he never wants to let go. He’s careful, soft, and almost tentative, savoring the warmth of your embrace. Bruce cherishes the trust you give him and is deeply grateful to have someone willing to weather his insecurities. He might even joke, “You’re way too patient with me,” but the gratitude in his voice is genuine.

Clint Barton

- When Clint realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is a mix of regret and a slight laugh. He can’t believe he’s managed to mess things up this badly with you, of all people. He knows he tends to joke around a bit too much, so he tries to laugh it off at first, but when he sees how serious you are, his grin fades. He’ll look a bit awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing he’s got some work to do.

- Clint’s never been one to give big, elaborate apologies. Instead, he’ll pull you aside, speaking quietly and genuinely. He’ll admit that he messed up, explaining that sometimes he forgets to take things seriously or considers others’ feelings the way he should. It’s a simple, heartfelt apology, showing his honest side that not many people get to see.

- Once he’s apologized, Clint is all about making you laugh. He’ll start cracking jokes, doing his best impressions, and even pull some ridiculous faces just to get a reaction out of you. Clint knows humor is his best weapon, and he’s shameless about using it if it means making things right. He’s determined not to let you stay mad at him for long, no matter what it takes.

- When his jokes don’t quite cut it, Clint switches gears and puts effort into something he knows will mean a lot to you. He’s a guy who pays attention to the little things, so he’ll show up with your favorite takeout, a warm blanket, or maybe even a funny book he picked up just for you. He knows that it’s the small gestures that can speak volumes.

- After things settle down, Clint wraps you in a warm, comfortable hug, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, making you feel like everything’s back to normal. He’ll joke about how lucky he is that you put up with him, throwing in a wink, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind his words. Clint doesn’t take his relationships for granted, and he’s grateful you’re in his life, even when he messes up.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky’s heart sinks when he sees that you’re angry. He’s used to pushing people away, and now that he’s got you, he’s terrified of losing you over a misunderstanding. Bucky’s first instinct is to retreat, his mind already whispering that maybe he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you. He’ll avoid confrontation if he can, hoping things might smooth over on their own.

- But when he realizes he needs to talk to you, he’s hesitant, nervous, almost as if he’s bracing himself for rejection. Bucky approaches you carefully, speaking in a low, almost shy voice. He struggles with apologies, but he looks you in the eyes, opening up about how hard he finds it to express his feelings. He’s used to running, and being with you is the first time he’s tried not to.

- Bucky tries to make it up to you in the most low-key, thoughtful way possible. He’s not one for grand gestures, but he’ll do something meaningful and heartfelt, like leaving you a note explaining how much you mean to him or bringing you something that he knows you love. He’s nervous about whether it’ll be enough, hoping you can see the sincerity in his actions.

- When he feels things softening between you, Bucky relaxes just a little, offering his support in any way you need. He’ll stay close, maybe cooking a meal for you or sitting quietly with you, sharing a comfortable silence. He wants you to know that he’s there, without needing to say much, because he’s always believed that actions speak louder than words.

- When you finally forgive him, Bucky is beyond relieved. He’s more open with his affection, drawing you into a tight embrace, his touch lingering as if he’s afraid to let go. He knows he doesn’t have many people he can count on, but he’s grateful that he can count on you. Bucky’s still working on believing he deserves happiness, but having you in his life makes him want to try.

Sam Wilson

- Sam immediately notices when you’re angry, and his first instinct is to find out what’s going on. He’s straightforward and doesn’t like tension hanging in the air, so he’ll ask, “Alright, what did I do?” in his calm, genuine way, hoping you’ll be willing to talk it out. He’s good at reading people, but he wants to hear it from you directly.

- Sam listens intently when you explain what’s bothering you, nodding and giving you his full attention. He’s respectful and thoughtful, making sure you know he understands where you’re coming from. He’s not the type to dodge blame; if he’s at fault, he’ll own up to it right away. There’s no defensiveness, no excuses—just an honest desire to make things right.

- To make it up to you, Sam takes you on a simple, meaningful outing—something where the two of you can connect and have fun. He’s all about shared experiences, so maybe it’s a long walk, a favorite food spot, or even a small adventure he’s planned just for you. He’s careful, attentive, making sure the focus is on you and helping you feel valued.

- When things calm down, Sam offers a mix of humor and reassurance, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and promising to do better. He’ll look you in the eyes and say something like, “I don’t like seeing you mad. Tell me if I mess up again.” He’s genuine and open, showing you he wants to grow from this experience and be a better partner.

- Once everything’s back to normal, Sam goes the extra mile, making sure you’re laughing and relaxed. He’s always there to lift you up, pulling you in for a warm, affectionate hug and giving you his full, unwavering attention. Sam’s presence is solid, reassuring, and he’ll make sure you know just how much he values having you in his life.

Peter Parker (Tom H.)

- Peter’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s young, a little clumsy with emotions, and absolutely hates the idea of upsetting you. His mind starts racing, thinking of everything he could have done wrong. He gets a little panicked, maybe even rambling apologies before he knows what’s going on, hoping you’ll give him a chance to explain.

- When you tell him what’s bothering you, Peter listens carefully, nodding along with wide, earnest eyes. He’s genuinely sorry, his voice soft as he stumbles through an apology. He’s never been great at handling relationship tension, but he’ll try his best to make sure you know how much he cares and how sorry he is for letting you down.

- To make it up to you, Peter goes for something heartfelt, maybe even a bit awkward, but completely sincere. He’ll show up at your window with a little homemade gift, something quirky and thoughtful—perhaps a playlist he made just for you or a funny little gadget he put together in the lab. He’s earnest, a little shy about it, hoping you’ll see how much effort he’s putting in.

- Peter spends extra time trying to lift your spirits, using every ounce of his playful personality to make you laugh. He’ll crack jokes, do silly impressions, or even attempt a bad dance routine just to get you smiling again. He knows he’s a bit of a dork, but he doesn’t mind if it means cheering you up. Peter’s all about making you feel comfortable and loved.

- When you finally forgive him, Peter’s face lights up with relief. He’ll pull you into a warm, enthusiastic hug, holding you close and babbling about how he’s “the luckiest person in the world” to have someone like you. He’s young, optimistic, and just incredibly happy that you’re not mad anymore. To Peter, you’re his world, and he’ll always do whatever it takes to make you feel special.

Stephen Strange

- When Stephen realizes you’re angry with him, he’s a bit taken aback. He’s used to being right and doesn’t often see things from others’ perspectives, so it takes him a moment to understand the weight of the situation. His initial reaction might even be a little defensive, but he quickly catches himself, knowing that with you, he has to try harder to listen and understand.

- Stephen struggles with apologies, often trying to explain away his actions or getting caught up in technicalities. He’s intelligent and analytical, but that doesn’t always work when emotions are involved. Eventually, though, he manages to offer a genuine apology, admitting that he’s not always the easiest person to be with and that he respects you enough to take responsibility.

- To make things right, Stephen will probably use a bit of magic to create something special just for you. It might be a small charm to keep you safe, a little illusion to make you smile, or even a glimpse into some place you’ve always wanted to see. It’s his way of saying he cares, using the one skill he knows best to bring you a little joy.

- As he tries to smooth things over, Stephen is careful, more attentive than usual, and visibly trying to understand your emotions. He may not be great at expressing his own feelings, but he’s willing to try if it means keeping you close. He’ll listen to you, nodding thoughtfully, and maybe even opening up a bit about his past mistakes and how much he values you.

- Once you forgive him, Stephen is visibly relieved, though he keeps it subtle. He gives you a small smile and pulls you close, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms around you. He might even joke, “Guess I need to work on my bedside manner,” but there’s genuine affection behind his words. Stephen knows he’s lucky to have you, and he’s determined to keep learning how to love you better.

Thor Odinson

- Thor is visibly surprised when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s naturally cheerful and doesn’t take most things too seriously, so the idea that he’s done something to upset you takes him off guard. At first, he tries to brush it off with a booming laugh, but when he sees the seriousness in your eyes, his smile fades. He immediately wants to fix things, willing to do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.

- Thor is quick to apologize, his voice earnest as he promises he didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s not one to overthink things, but he’s deeply sincere, and his apologies come straight from the heart. He’ll look you in the eyes and tell you he values you and never meant to cause any harm, his words laced with the kind of honesty that only Thor can deliver.

- To make it up to you, Thor goes all out. He’ll sweep you off on a grand adventure, maybe a spontaneous trip to Asgard (or at least what remains of it), or he’ll bring you somewhere beautiful and awe-inspiring. Thor loves to celebrate life and wants to remind you of all the incredible experiences the two of you can share. His enthusiasm is infectious, and he hopes that a bit of excitement will make things right.

- As you spend time together, Thor is extra affectionate, showering you with praise and hugs. He’s genuinely sorry and makes sure you feel loved and appreciated, maybe even telling you tales of his own mistakes and what he’s learned from them. He might tease himself a bit, but it’s all to make you laugh and remind you of his dedication to you.

- When you finally forgive him, Thor’s smile lights up the room. He laughs, pulling you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet, and spinning you around. There’s nothing subtle about his relief and joy, and he’s not afraid to show it. Thor values you immensely and will do everything he can to make sure you know how much you mean to him, promising that he’ll try to be a little more mindful in the future.

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