So imagine a fic based off the song "boy in the bubble" by Alec Benjamin where reader gets in a fight on the way home from school the one time she doesn't walk with Peter. Preferably have her father be Tony Stark and he'd take place of the mother in the story.
first, i wanted to say that i loved writing this and i love song prompts :) i hope you enjoy this !!
second, i want to apologize to the anon who told me i better not disappear for months because oopsâ
WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) â hurt reader, mentions of blood, mentions of pain/wounding, swearing.
â¨masterlistâ¨.
3.6k.
Typically, stepping into your downtown apartment on a Friday evening would be more exciting for you. It meant that your week of stuckâup students and nerveâwracking tests could be long forgotten. It meant that you had the weekend to live freely from academic cages. At the beginning of that day, you wouldâve thought today would be like any other Friday; with Peter accompanying you and your father for dinner like every week.
But Peter didnât walk back with you.
Your tired limbs ripped from the floor with every step, hobbling out of the elevator with as much grace as you had room to carry. That room was slim, making space for the array of bruises and blood tainting your clothing. You carried the last bit of dignity you could, and tried to replace the sinister words spat at you from your attacker:
âWhat a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.â
See, till now, youâd been grateful to be excused from the attention and popularity that accompanied your title. You didnât care for followers or anything that catered to your birthright. Your father was your best friend, and you were lucky to be a Stark just to have his light in your life. However, there were some who werenât like your classmates or peers â people who hated the Stark name, and wouldnât rest until the family name died at their hand.
Tonight, youâd met the first of who knows how many. The thought alone sent a serpentâlike shiver down your body.
And Peter wasnât with you.
The fumes of Tony Starkâs cooking filled your senses as you limped further into your family room. You consciously knew you were late for dinner, but the pain throbbing throughout your body put that knowledge on the back burner. The sunset was just beyond the apartment windows, and it made you wonder whether Peter had beaten you to your own house or not. It was 6:48 after all, he was bound to be there.
Youâd nearly forgotten that the subtle ping of the elevator doors announced your arrival. You heard your dad set down his spatula. âYou kids are late.â He greeted, hollering from the kitchen. âI hope you two didnât stop for Delmarâs on your way back!â You processed the undertones as your knees gave out, left hand pressing into the top of the sofa back.
White knuckles gripped onto your couch as you tried to gain your balance, wincing through gritted teeth. Your right arm remained hugging your abdomen, palm pressed onto a soreâspot on your torso. Every fiber in your body ached for some sense of relief. To sit down. You were a bit too stubborn for your own liking, trying to hike up the steps and get to your room without being spottedâ
âJesus Christ!â Your father cried from the archway of the dining room. You heard his hurried steps across the hardâwood flooring, almost too nervous to meet his eyes. He made his way over quickly, and the first thing you noticed through your periphery was the âkiss the cookâ apron he kept tied around his waistline. âKid, what the hell happened?â Your dad crouched down beside you, finally locking eyes with you.
The cold air hitting your eyes made you realize just how quick the tears were welling. You swallowed the lump in your throat, whether it was sobs or embarrassment or dried blood from thrown punches. âI was jumped.â Your bottom lip trembled a bit before you mustered the words out.
Your dad scanned over your body, eying just how tattered your clothes were, and how much blood painted your outfit. His eyes glistened with a parental lookâ a look shimmering with something mixed of worry and sadness and anguish and apology. âAnd Peter wasnât with you?â
That confirmed that your best friend, in fact, had not beaten you to your apartment.
And for some reason, it made things all the more worse. Your jaw clenched a bit, both of concern and frustration. Disappointment nagged at the corners of your lips as you shook your head. âNo, he said heâd meet me here later.â Your imagination got the best of you, replaying your evening but if Peter actually had been with you. The thought alone made you shutter. âBut it was probably for the best.â
âDid he say what he was doing?â The look in his eyes said something that he wasnât communicating. They said something unspoken that made you feel like there were things that you werenât being told.
You ignored it, feeling a surge of pain in your abdomen. A quiet hiss fought its way up your throat. âHe didnât. But itâs fine.â No, it wasnât. âPeter canât throw a punch to save his life.â
A laugh actually left your fatherâs lips. âYouâd be surprised.â He muttered, his tone speaking the same tongue that his eyes were. There was definitely something that you didnât know, but your intuition couldnât place its finger on what.
It wasnât your fault that you were oblivious to your best friendâs vigilante status. You were kept in the dark about what webâslinging activities Peter Parker kept behind closed doors. Tony and Peter kept it secret that you were best friends with SpiderâMan. They hadnât let the news slip yet, and Tony wasnât about to. They both agreed it was in your best interest to keep you safe.
Apparently, their efforts werenât enough.
Your eyebrow rose, trying to cut through the bullshit. âAre you kidding, Dad?â You asked, maintaining eye contact as your father rose from his crouched position beside you. âItâs Peter Parker weâre talking about here. He wouldnât even kill a fly.â
Tonyâs hands creased his hips, shoulders shrugging gently with his response. âI donât know, hon. He told me May had him take Karate years back.â He didnât leave time for a response as his eyes trailed back down to the developing bruises along your arms. Seeing the crusting crimson on his daughterâs body was a sight that made him lose his appetite. âIâll go grab my medical kit. Youâre lucky that Pepper taught me a thing or two before she got promoted.â
The room fell quiet as Tony put pause on dinner and soon rushed back over with a firstâaid kit. You didnât want to stain any furniture, so you managed to sit on a wooden coffee table until you were given further instruction.
It didnât take long before your mind wandered off to worry about Peter, and what could be keeping him so long. He did tell you before youâd parted ways that heâd join you guys for dinner? Right? You swore that he told you heâd be there by 6:30, and even you were late. Thinking back to the details made you recall some harsh memories. Your wounds throbbed at the recollection of how they came to be, and the blood that was shed, and the words that were spatâŚ
âWhat a weak, pathetic excuse for a Starkââ
âWe should call Bruce.â Your dadâs voice of concern and reason brought you back to the moment. All you could do was stare. You hadnât noticed that heâd started to examine your wounds, or just how defeated and pained for you he was.
The look made your stomach twist at the insults your own selfâcritic threw back at you.
Before you knew it, you were standing up, choking back a wince, fighting against yourself. âNo! Noâ itâs just a few scratches. Itâs fine.â Was it? Even though the pain was searing, and you wobbled as you stepped to the bathroom. Clearly your father was overreacting. He had to be. You werenât weak.
Tony followed your footsteps, treading close behind in case you were to trip. âHon, Iâm serious! You look like you went through a paper shredder!â
You looked at him with a grimace, disbelief shone in your eyes. Almost as if he were calling you pathetic. âDonât make it so intense! Iâm sure itâsââ You halted. Everything froze. The air sucked right back into your lungs at the sight of your bloodied figure in the mirror. Flicking on the light, you couldnât breathe.
The color palette that covered your body couldâve painted an entire canvas worth; the shirt you wore was hanging onto your shoulders with two threads and a miracle, not to mention the slashes at the thighs of your jeans. Youâd nearly forgotten that your attacker had such a thick knife until you saw itâ saw yourself. A shiver snaked down the length of your spine, leaving a splintering chill behind it.
It wasnât until Tony turned off the bathroom light that youâd realized you were staring at yourself. He carefully grabbed your hand, leading you back into the living room. âWe donât have to call Bruce, but can I at least clean you up a bit?â
You didnât have the words to respond to him. A nod was all you could muster before he sat you back down at the coffee table. âShould Iâ uh.. Should I shower first?â
Tony shook his head beside you. âUntil I figure out if you need stitching, no.â He went to investigate the damage, but hesitated, trying to navigate an approach. âSweetheart? You decent enough to take your shirt off? I could grab you a blanket if that would helpââ
But before your dad finished his thought, you went to try and peel off your shirt. It was a lot more difficult than you thought. Painful, too. You were cold and hot and sweaty and sticky and pins and needles dug their way into your limbs each time they moved. You were grateful your dad didnât even pause before assisting you. He grabbed his medical scissors, snipping off the sleeves of your top.
You and your dad were really comfortable with one another, so this didnât bother you. You were more blinded by the burns and the harshness to each ache and blemish coating your limbs and torso. Daggers upon daggers of pins and needles sunk into your flesh, yet it hurt you the most to know that you had to present yourself so battered and bruised to your dad. It made you feel soâŚuseless. SoâŚpathetic.
A minute of silence passed, filled with nothing but pity and the sear in your eyes, holding back tears. You wanted to be strong. You needed to be strong. Showing weakness would mean that your attacker was right. Your throat burned, swallowing hard and pushing back your damaged narrative. The feeling of how feeble you felt.
The subtle ping from the elevator made your blood run cold. Your head snapped up to look at who entered the apartment, eyes wide and teary when they met the pair of Peter Parker. And the second he jogged out of the elevator, he stopped dead in his tracks. He gasped quietly, staring back at you with the same gaping eyes.
You didnât see the way Tony glared at Peter from beside you, but you felt the way heâd stopped inspecting you. Peter walked closer, taking cautious steps as he minimized the distance. âWhat happened?â His voice was gentle, perhaps because he noticed the tears coating your cheeks.
Wiping your eyes, you realized your hands were trembling. Your whole body shook from the endured trauma, and you shivered like you were in the midst of a blizzard. Had you been shaking that whole time? You didnât have time to overthink it. You felt like you were being whisked away into a whirlwind of panic.
Tony stood up, his expression crossed with some unspoken irritation. âI need to finish dinner.â His words were short. âKid, could you help patch her up? She mainly just needs disinfectant.â There was no room for response from Peter before your father started walking. You didnât see him leave, but you felt the gentle kiss he placed on your head before he left one final comment with Peter:
âAnd you and I are going to have a talk later.â
You werenât sure what was going on with the two. Quite frankly, you werenât sure what was going on in general. Shaking like this, being emotional like this, it was far from anything you were used to.
It felt like you were being violated, forced open, nakedâ and that wasnât just because you were without a shirt. You felt exposed, and you couldnât hide anymore. There was nowhere you could go and nothing you could do to shield from the fact that you were vulnerable right now.
Peter sat in front of you, kneeling so that you could see him. So that he could see you. âHey..â His voice got soft, gentler, and somehow it broke you. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth to try and stop the way it shuttered. Metal lingered on your tongue and your throat felt hollow and thick with the cries you held back. But Peter was your best friend, and he knew you.
He knew how stubborn you were with your own emotions, and how guarded you kept yourself from showing that part to other people. He knew that you couldnât hide forever, either. And maybe heâd figured that out when his right hand went to cradle your face, and the tears finally washed away the walls youâd been keeping up.
Somehow seeing him safe was your undoing. The downfall of the avalanche youâd been hobbling in attempt to support, but you couldnât seal the dam anymore. The relief of knowing that Peter was unharmed, the ease to all your worries, it made you forget why youâd been trying to stop your tears in the first place.
Your body broke out into violent shivers the second you let it, and your shoulders shook with every sob. Peter didnât say anything. He merely took you into his arms and held you to him, careful not to press against any wound. It terrified you to think about what wouldâve happened had Peter walked home with you, unbeknownst to you that he probably wouldâve protected you from any of this happening in the first place.
It took you a minute or two to cry it out before Peter set you back on the coffee table. It seemed effortless to pick you up, and that made you realize just how strong he was. Your dad was right, Peter did surprise you.
Peter knew exactly how to mend these kinds of wounds, too. Where did he learn? It might always be a mystery. Still, it came in handy now. He draped his zipâup jacket over your shoulders, before dabbing a cloth of rubbing alcohol against every cut on your torso. He was so focused. Tensed jaw and creased eyebrow, not wavering for a second until you gained the courage to ask him a question. You took a shaky breath.
âPeter?â You murmured, immediately grabbing his attention. Peter glanced at you, the cold glisten in his focused stare began to thaw when he did. He took a breath, perhaps needing to be broken from the train of thought heâd started to entertain. With his attention, you took another breath, nervous.
Your fingers gripped the edge of the coffee table with white knuckles. If youâd been any stronger, maybe youâd broken the table, or even your fingers. âDo you.. think Iâmââ You had to suck in another chunk of air just to muster out that taunting, despicable word. âWeak?â Even in your efforts to say it straight, your voice broke in an instant.
Without a beat, his eyes met yours again and he stopped everything he was doing. âWeak?â He repeated back. âNo.â The word was so instantly rejected, youâd almost felt stupid bringing it up in the first place. âYouâre so far from weak, Y/N. Youâre one of the strongest people I know.â
Your hands went to hide your face, too ashamed of how quickly you broke before him. From the solitude behind your fingers, you couldnât see the way Peter also broke at the words. He wasnât sobbing as you were, but he couldnât help the sulking of his shoulders. Peter truly blamed himself for this. Setting down the rag, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists. âAnyone who thinks youâre weak is blind to who you are. That, or theyâre idiotically stupid.â He spoke softly, pulling your hands from your face.
âYouâre the most courageous person. The amount of bullshit you put up with, and the reporters you call outâ Fuck, I canât even imagine walking away from a fight like you did tonight..â His words of endearment warmed your heart. âYouâve seen the unthinkable, are still going, and you think youâre weak?â He shook his head. âImpossible.â
You and Peter stared for a beat or two before he stood up, carefully helping you to your feet. âI think youâre all set to shower. Do you want me to walk you upstairs?â
Taking a breath, you took Peterâs words to heart. You got this. âI think Iâll be okay.â Ignoring the shakiness in your voice, you took paces to the stairwell. âIf Iâm not back in thirty, you have permission to make sure I didnât pass out.â
Peter cracked a small smile at you, âNoted. Text me if you need anything!â He added the offer, to which he saw you nod to, and he caught a glimpse of your timid smile. He knew youâd be okay, but it still didnât shake the weight of how to blame he was. The sound of Tony clearing his throat from the kitchen only seemed to remind him. And with a second clearing of his throat, Peter realized that Tony was trying to communicate.
Walking into the kitchen, Peter saw Tony leaned back against the counter, arms crossed with a cold stare. âMister Stark, Iââ
âWhere the hell were you tonight?â
The tone changed the entire atmosphere. No amount of savory fragrances from the cuisine could take away from the fact that Peter was in trouble.
Peterâs shoulders squared at the intensity carried with Tonyâs aggravation. He took a breath, pausing in the doorway. âSir, there was an armedââ
Tonyâs fist met the marble counter in a startle. âDamn it, Pete!â Kid couldnât get a word in if he tried. âDamn it, you had one job!â His index finger went up to emphasize his point.
âWhat was I supposed to do??â Peter felt like he was fighting a losing battle. âI had no idea what was going to happen!â In the midst of his hushed defense, his voice broke a bit from the weight of his guilt. âMister Stark.. I think itâs time we tell her.â
A scoff was what Peter was met with. A rush of air caught on Tonyâs disbelief, throat, and dismissal. âWeâd tell Y/N what? That youâre SpiderâMan? That weâve been lying for this long?â
It was a tough call, and Peter knew that. Peter also knew that Tony couldnât keep this shit up any longer than he could. âShe deserves to know!â He planned to plead his case. âWhoever attacked her tonight planned this. It wasnât by chance, she was targetedââ
âYou donât know thatââ
âAnd you donât either!â Peter wasnât about to get cut off again. He let out some of the steam heâd began to bottle. âThe way sheâs acting.. Somethingâs off about what happened. And I think she deserves to know why I wasnât there to defend her tonight.â
As much as the two had raised their voices, or grown to anger, they let the reality of the evening sink into the space between them. The thickened air sat within the walls as they both took a breath and collected themselves. Tonyâs expression melted, and he finally reached over to turn off the stove.
Dinner was almost ready.
The back of Tonyâs hips met the marble countertop behind him, supporting his weight as he crossed his arms, looking at Peter sympathetically. âLook, kid. I donât blame you for what happened tonight.â
A weight or two instantly lifted from Peterâs guiltyâconscious. âI know.â He lied.
Tonyâs lips curled ever so slightly at the hasty quip. âAs much as I agree with your conspiracy theories on Y/Nâs attacker, I donât know if coming clean about everything will solve this.â
There was a subtle sinking to Peterâs mending optimism. âThen when do you plan to tell her?â
A pause. Tony sighed, releasing a breath heâd been holding since Peterâs spider bite. âI donât know..â Genuinity. Tonyâs paternal protocol kicked in, and he wasnât sure how to navigate it entirely.
On the one hand, his daughter deserved to know the truth. You deserved to know the truth. His wisdom and knowledge was such a curse when it came to fatherhood, because while being honest was what his role as a father called for, logic came right back to remind him of just how many lies were piled on top of each other. What if there was no coming back from this?
Tony shrugged, appearing more open to the idea of being truthful. âIâll tell you what.â He started, âYou tell me how youâd suggest telling Y/N youâre SpiderâMan, and Iâll consider itââ
âPeterâs what?â
Ice. The room turned to ice too quickly, both Tony and Peter snapping their heads to look at you in the doorway. They hadnât noticed youâd been listening. Youâd been standing there for who knows how long, considering that you hadnât even showered yet.
Both of the men in front of you exchanged glances of sheer panic before Tony cleared his throat to get your attention. He held up the frying pan, looking you dead in the eyes with the most falseâconfidence youâd ever seen your father carry.
âDinnerâs ready.â His voice cracked.
Yeah, there was absolutely no coming back from this.
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come back
okay okay đŠ
uniâs kicking my ass bUT iâm finally at a place where i can start writing for fun now :) so be on the lookout for some pieces soon !!
rn iâm working on a request for a song prompt (hint: it was 6:48 i was walking home), a steve harrington fic, and an imagine where peter reintroduces himself to reader after forgetting ab him !!
lmk if you want me to work on any other requests !!
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yâall i might start writing fics for ACOTAR cause oH MY FUCKâ
iâm a little too obsessed :,) iâm reading through ACOMAF rn
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so whatcha workin on đ
right now iâm working on some anon requests đźđź all for peter parker, but all things iâm excited for!!
one is a request inspired by âboy in the bubbleâ by alec benjamin! i should have that one out by the end of the week
another one is an angst request where stark!reader gets dusted and peter/your dad has to witness :0 (and then id do a pt. two where reader comes back and watches tiny die cause iâm super evil-)
i do want to start writing imagines for different characters/fandoms, so iâm brainstorming those but id love some requests/prompts if anyone has any !!
is there any request youâd like me to work on/more specific work youâd like to see??
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omggggg can i request billingual reader and maybe peter finds it cute that when shes explaining stuff she has a thinking face of what to say next cos she wants to be sure of how to say it in english 𼚠or maybe hearing her speak in her mother tongue/native language does he find it cute or smn :(((((((
as a white englishâspeaking woman, i only feel comfortable writing for a bilingual reader with a language/culture that iâm relatively familiar with and could properly represent, which isnât many :,)
so i will write an imagine for a bilingual reader with a language iâm going to school for: â¨sign languageâ¨
i hope thatâs okay :)
a/n â i am still a student and iâm constantly learning, so if thereâs a detail or some information that iâm incorrect about, please tell me asap !!!
â¨masterlistâ¨.
2.5k.
Sitting alone at cafes was a custom for you. People watching, spectating murmurs and laughter but never quite grasping it. You lacked the understanding of how the sound captured their conversing, but you werenât missing anything. Your focus was mainly set on finishing your chemistry homework, anyways.
Midway through an equation, the light shifted over your table. You felt the dip in the booth on your left and looked up to see who sat beside you. Your eyes met the deepest brown pair you swore youâd ever seen. It was almost like the rest of the room lit up with color after you first caught a glimpse.
You certainly recognized the boy. He went to school with you, but youâd barely crossed paths other than having a class or two together. And from the way he glanced at your paperwork, you assumed that chemistry was on his schedule too.
His lips moved, and your eyes studied their shapes as best as they could. Perhaps he was nervous, or overly caffeinated, but the movement was too swift to distinguish.
Slowly, you shook your head at him, right index finger pointing to your ear. Apology and disappointment weighted your eyelids. You really did want to see what he wanted to ask you, but your expectation was for him to up and leave.
Instead, sudden understanding washed over him; a look of epiphany. Quickly after, patience overtook the presence beside you. You were shocked. He tried to slow his words of choice down, using his hands to illustrate but not really communicate. You could tell he was trying, so you didnât want to make fun of his efforts. The smallest fit of laughter threatened to slip from your lips as you gestured at him to stop.
From the table, you grabbed your notebook and flipped to an empty page. Your pencil flew over the page to jot down a question:
âDo you know any sign?â
You figured that was a start.
Watching the way he smiled, you nearly forgot to hand him your pencil to reply. Your eyes followed his hand as it met the parchment and scribbled so gently, it surprised you to see writing even stuck. He pushed it over to you. âYes, I know oneâ
Your eyes met, and you studied him patiently. His right hand sat atop of his left elbow, holding a fist that excluded his pinky and index fingers; a rockstar skull. His left hand rested beneath his right elbow, opening and closing a fist with a flicking motion. It was a sign you knew all too well. âBullshit,â you watched him mouth.
The giggle bubbles through your throat with physical feeling, and your hands gently pressed his arms to make it stop. You shook your head, smiling as you corrected him.
Your dominant hand met your chin with an open hand, lightly touching the tips of your fingers to your face. As you moved your hand to the space in front of you, you closed your hand into a fist.
âBullshit,â you mouthed back at him. The crinkle in the boyâs brow marked his confusion.
Pen met paper again as you wrote out the explanation. âHearing people came up with a fake sign to act like they knew shit.â
He looked up at you with some disgust to his expression, and you simply shrugged at him.
Politely, he held his hand out for the pen, and you gave it to him with the trust that heâd return it soon after.
âThen maybe you could teach me some instead?â
The grin on your lips was unbreakable, and only seemed to grow the more you kept up the conversation. You nodded your head, writing a simple âsure:)â beside his note. You met his eyes again, pointing to your chest before swiftly fingerspelling your name. The boy marveled at your hand, equally lost and mesmerized.
His pointer finger rapidly twirled the air, circling near his face four or five times; you assumed that meant he wanted you to repeat yourself. So, you agreed.
Slowly, you held out each hand shape of your name a little longer, waiting til the twinkle in his eyes indicated that the letter was registering for him. It was fairly entertaining to watch.
He wrote it on the notebook once he got it just to clarify with you. âY/N?â He seemed nervous for your reply.
You signed yes, then gestured for him to do the same. You wanted to see what his name was.
Hesitantly, the boy tried his best, bouncing each hand shape to the letters of his name. It made you happy to see his attempt, and you were fond of his efforts.
Pulling the notebook closer, you jot down his name. âPeter?â
Youâd never forget the way he smiled at you afterwards. âYes:)â He wrote back. âYou want help with chemistry?â
And thatâs how you met Peter Parker.
You were an unlikely duo at Midtown. It was nice to have somebody in the classroom to have secret conversations with, and to teach sign to. Peter picked most things up pretty quickly, especially because he had an excellent teacher. Plus, little did you know that he watched ASL courses off YouTube in his free time.
That is, his freetime when he wasnât being SpiderâMan.
He never told you that he was SpiderâMan. In fact, you didnât find out he was until a few months into your friendship. After months of study hours and movie nights, you watched SpiderâMan signing to a Deaf kid on the news; the webâslinging superhero signed what like salad.
That was a classic Peter Parker mistake.
So, when were you planning to tell me youâre SpiderâMan? You asked him, signing nonchalantly. Youâd waited all week until you two were alone, studying like you normally did on the weekends. You sat back on his desk chair, raising a brow, calm and collected.
It took everything in him not to forget how to respond. Peter had been practicing sign, but he still wasnât nearly as versed as you were. What? He started. Poor way to respond on his part. You pointed at his hands, trying to call him out.
That! You were so determined to catch him in his coverup, opening your laptop.
His hands flailed to try and capture your attention. However, your laser focus was something he couldnât cut.
Having the clip ready, you played it, turning the screen towards him and showing him the fluke in his signs.
Peter facepalmed when he noticed, face red as a tomato but you couldnât care less. You felt more than accomplished to have deciphered his secret. You owe me!
Signing, Peter got over himself a little, rolling his eyes playfully at you. Whatever, fine!
To help Peter practice his signing, youâd dismissed your inâclass interpreters the second the bell rang and had Peter translate your questions to your teachers. Perhaps it was selfish to put him on the spot, but when youâd asked him about it later, he said he was more than happy to help you out.
He enjoyed learning sign, almost as much as he enjoyed his time with you. Peter had never met anyone as amazing as you; nobody that heâd met before watched the world with your eyes, or lit up a room so vibrantly. You always asked the right questions, saw straight through peopleâs bullshit, and put othersâ needs far before your own. Donât even get him started on the fact that youâd never even heard your own laugh before.
Peter couldnât wrap his head around all the things he thought you were missing out on. That was how he saw it, at least, til you changed his mind. He was grateful to know how your fit of giggles sang to him, but there was more things to life than that. Sound was only one way to see the world; if you choose to act like itâs a principle more than a privilege, youâll get nowhere. He knew heâd waste time dwelling on things you werenât even sad over.
Instead, Peter would marvel at how fluently and beautifully youâd sign when you were passionate about something. The choreographed tangents that youâd go on absolutely mesmerized him, even though he could only pick up one or two things you were saying.
Your hands moved so fast, he second guessed whether you were actually communicating or just painting a masterpiece with the shapes of your hand.
That blissful, ecstatic look in your eyes told Peter everything he needed to know. He was the luckiest boy in the world to know you.
You were the most joyous person he knew.
That joy was a strength that youâd gained overtime, though.
Rushing down the school halls, you had memorized the rhythm underneath your feet as you pattered down the tile. You always pictured the sound like something fragile, or feathered, especially seeing as your shoes had rubber soles. Sometimes, when you walked slow enough, you could feel the rattling steps of other students around you.
Today, specifically, the rumbled pattern beneath you threw you off your rocker.
Especially as the charging steps behind you tread right in your direction.
A hefty pair of hands shoved your shoulder blades, pushing you toppling into the floor beneath you. The sound of chatter couldnât be heard, but you certainly felt the energy in the hallway shift. Pressing off the floor with your hands, you noticed the eyes now mindful to your presence. You had an audience.
You flipped yourself around to look at the shadow towering over you. Some flimsyâlooking, curly haired, short classmate of yours stood above you. His hands perched on his hips as he spewed words at you, mouth moving far too quickly to lip read. You stayed there, staring up at him with a glare, merely making out the words âstupidâ and âParkerâ from his muted speech.
You were used to bullies, but you couldnât sit while this dickhead kept Peter Parkerâs name disrespectfully in his mouth.
Just as you pressed up to rise to your feet, this bitchass shoved the toe of his shoe right in the center of your chest, pushing you back into the ground and leaving dirt all over your favorite top. You felt the gasp leave your throat, trying to fight against it.
Thatâs when Peter Parker swooped in and forced the boy away from you. Anger wasnât an expression youâd seen on Peterâs face, and you couldnât tell whether it was something to awe at or fear.
Their echoed shouts and feuds and insults bounced from the floor and into your fingertips. You could tell the words they exchanged were ugly, considering that the two were face to face and both had such crease to their eyebrows. Fists clenched, shoulders squared, you could tell they were about to brawl.
Peter threw the first punch, taking you by surprise but still sending a smile to your lips. The two boys had a displeasing fight to the eye, but you couldnât find it in yourself to look away.
A girl to your left offered a hand to help you off the floor, to which you signed a quick thank you before both of you saw the boys getting caught by a set of teachers. All it took was a second before the two boys froze dead in their stances and peacefully walked with the teachers down the hall to the principalâs office.
In an instant, all eyes found their way to you and your dirtâstained top. Before you let them react to the heat growing on your cheeks, you rushed off, going to the one place you knew you wouldnât be disturbed in.
Two and a half hours passed before Peter walked through the open door of his bedroom, a small smile on his lips as he greeted you. Are you okay? He signed quickly, soon shutting the door.
Are you okay? You signed right back, swift to press off your spot on his bed and walk over to him. Peter was the one with the blackened eye and busted lip. Clearly he should be the one to worry about. Your hands found his cheeks and gently cupped his face as you looked at his injuries. The sight broke your heart.
Although, you werenât expecting to see his pale cheeks brighten with red in your grasp. You could feel the second when his breath stopped fanning your face, and thatâs when you realized that his breath had been fanning your face; you were inches away from him. The atmosphere of the room changed.
âWhat?â You mouthed, brows creasing together with concern. You werenât stupid, but you were definitely choosing to ignore the obvious. There was no way that Peter Parker was flustered by you, right? That was preposterous.
His eyes threatened a glance at your lips before you felt his fingers curl around your wrist. Peter moved your left hand to his chest, pressing against his heart. The skin beneath his shirt pulsed against you, and quickened by the second. Things felt very intimate, things felt very thick and hot and heavy. You didnât notice it til right then that the room was getting hotter.
Your eyes caught a glimpse of his lips and you hadnât noticed that you were staring at them. Peterâs face moved closer to yourâs and thatâs when you decided to be bold. You captured his lips with yours, kissing him tenderly, careful. The caress of his hands down your sides and grasp he held around your waist told you that you didnât have to tread as cautiously.
Peter kissed you and every inch of you felt warm. You swore youâd lifted off the ground when his hands held your back, your hips, your waist. His lips against yours truly felt something like magic and you never wanted to leave this moment. A moment where his hair was silk between your fingers and his body became one with yourâs.
Pulling back, Peter kept his arms around you, now taking the time and the close proximity to study you and your injuries; you learned to recognize the protective look in his eyes. His stare stopped and stuck itself to the dirt smudged between your breasts. He moved his right hand from your waist. Your shirt.. Peter couldnât help but stare at the stain.
You couldnât care less about it. What? You want it off? You joked, watching the immediate shift in his expression, and feeling the laughter he admitted through the tips of your fingers on his torso. Peter pulled you back into a kiss and you knew right then and there that things would be different.
Never in your life did you think youâd get so lucky as to meet Peter Parker, but now that you had him, you knew youâd never let him go.
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I think one of the most beautiful things about x-reader fanfiction is discovering pieces of the writer sprinkled throughout the fic. Whether it's in their characterization of the canon character or the reader or details about how they like to be touched or loved, or little bits of dialect and personal habits, it's just so endearing. A homage to one of the most basic forms of self expression, and a vulnerable baring of one's soul for others to see. It's so, so special
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â cuddleâbugs. ,,
(( REQUEST FINAL PART. ))
mcu!peter parker x reader.
!!! read parts one | two | three | four here !!!
IN WHICH â the avengers wouldnât let you and your best friend live down cuddling on the couch, but after an intense mission, you realized confessing to him was the only thing left to do.
â¨masterlistâ¨.
2.1k.
Peter woke up suddenly, gasping, cold. Cold and unsettled, with heavy breath and urgency. He woke up recalling that Bucky made him leave you in the medical wing, knowing that he needed to get sleep. He remembered just how much he resisted, just how much he wanted to stay by your side. But the team knew he needed to rest just as much as you did. Still, he woke up knowing damn well that he needed to make sure you were alright.
Were you alright?
The question sent a splintering shiver down his spine, giving him only more motive to toss off his covers and get out of bed.
Stumbling to his feet, Peter fully fathomed just how much of a blur the past few days had been. He had nearly forgotten about how teasing Sam and the team had been, or just how nervous he was that his best friend was slipping through his fingers. He was practically in denial that the two of you hadnât been on speaking terms before this mission.
Now, Peter was nervous for other reasons that you were slipping through his fingers.
Bruce had discovered just how lethal this winterâkissed poison was in the midst of you being unconscious. Heâd said that the antidote wasnât entirely stable yet, either. But it was between giving the antidote to you raw, or risking that your bloodstream freeze overnight. Either choice was a gamble.
So when Peter came across your empty bed in the infirmary, he was met with a sigh of relief. Still, he was restless as ever. He wouldnât ease until he knew you were okay. Until he saw you for himself.
He peeled his head through the neckline of his crewneck, shaking off the chill of December as he walked. He paced down the empty early morning halls of the compound, each step quicker than the last as he searched for you. It wasnât long before he found you, seated on the couch in the meeting room. The two of you met eyes immediately.
âWhat are you doing awake?â Both of you asked in unison, equally concerned for the other.
You stood from the couch, slow and sickly. You watched Peter as he stood beside you, arms carefully corralling around you in case you were to topple over. He seemed more focused on you than answering the question at hand. So, you answered first. âIt was getting stuffy in there. I couldnât sleep.â
Taking in Peter, you could tell he at least got a little bit of sleep. His curls spouted in eight different directions and his body still radiated the warmth of his covers. Despite how much his eyes studied you, they looked weighted by the ghosts of slumber. You could tell he was fighting them off. His presence was a lot more alert than anticipated for someone whoâd just gotten shutâeye.
âPeter, why arenât you sleeping?â Your voice came out gentle, eyes tracing him with worry. You, too, disregarded just how bitter the taste of his name had been for the past day. Youâd forgotten that he said what he did, and quite frankly, you didnât care anymore. Death seemed more hefty than a mere misunderstanding.
He blinked away the remainder of slumber, his body weight drawing closer to you. Perhaps it was the thickness of night, or just how dark the room was, but you could see just how little the space was between you. Inches kept you apart, but your warmth kept drawing the two of you together.
âI had to make sure you were okay.â Peter replied, his tone soft and sincere. He went to grab your shoulders, but he found himself tensing a bit at the contact. His eyes glanced down your body before catching your stare again. âYouâre still cold..â His voice came out barely above a whisper just before tracing his hands down your arms slowly and cupping them around your own. He never broke eye contact as he breathed into them, trying to warm you up as best as he could.
The effort didnât really change much about your condition, but the thought of it did warm your heart with how sweet it was. Then and there, through the dark, you swore you could see it. You couldâve sworn that he looked at you with admiration. You swore he looked at you lovingly. It was a look that shoved away every insecurity you had. The look reminded you of the vow you had made yourself the night before.
Taking a breath, you bit back your nervousness. âPeter, I need to tell you something.â Your voice almost came out a mere breath, but you could still hear the fragile nature of your tone.
The look Peter caught in his eye gave you the courage to keep going. âYeah, anything.â His voice was so earnest, you couldâve kissed him right there.
However, you didnât. The race of your heart and the shakiness coating your throat were already too much to handle. You swallowed your pride, needing to rip the bandaid off.
âPeter.â You took a beat, glancing from either of his eyes to try and gage his reaction. âI love you.â
And there, he smiled. Peter smiled at you in a way you wish you had photographed. He let out a small chuckle, squeezing your hands in his. âI love you too.â
You realized of course. Of course, Peter loved you. The two of you were best friends, and had been for as long as you could remember. Of course he loved you. And you did love him platonically, too. That just made all the more difference now to make sure he understood what you meant.
A smile touched your lips, letting out a gentle laugh. âRight. And I love you for that.â You started, âBut Iââ The words got caught in your teeth, hesitating. âThe thing is, uhââ Should you even tell him? Was the friendship worth risking? Well, fuck, the words were already halfway out of your mouth. âWell, the difference is..â You made sure to breathe, âIâm kind of, sort of, a little in love with you.â
A shift. The air changed, and you felt it. You watched as Peterâs expression shifted, his eyes widening and his posture straightening out. All you felt inside was a scolding rush of panic. Watching the way his lips parted, you startled, just knowing that he was going to reject you.
So you kept talking.
ââ And I donât want it to change anything in the friendship!â Shit, you were talking fast. âIn fact, if you donât feel the same, thatâs fine! Just donât say anything and Iâll be on my way and we can just forget about everything in the morning!â
Peter squeezed his hands around yours again, his lips curling. âY/N, Iââ
You kept going.
âAndâAnd with Harleyââ You laughed a little, âGod, Iâm so sorry.â Head shaking, body quaking, panic still running rampant; you couldnât think. âI just got so hurt that you didnât want to kiss me, and I think I just wanted to make you jealous? But itâs stupid. You shouldnât have to kiss me, or force yourself to, and sure as hell you shouldnât get forced into a mission just toââ
Nerves had clouded your senses as you spewed off explanations, so much so that you hadnât noticed just how close Peter got to you. You werenât sure whether it was the feeling of Peter tracing his hands back up your arms that cut you off, or the feeling of his palms cupping your face. You stared up at him, scanning his face for any hint or look of detest or rejection.
What you found was the opposite. His hands cradled your jaw carefully, and Peter looked at you like the words he heard were ones taken right from his tongue. He looked at you with genuine wholeheartedness, and it made you feel like there was nowhere else you would rather be than right there in his touch.
âI do want to kiss you.â The words were so smooth, you swore heâd rehearsed it. It made your cheeks flush, not only because you were flattered, but it also felt a bit humiliating to have kept rambling when he couldâve just said so.
You stared at him, eyes widening for a second. âOh.â Was all you could muster, quickly captured by the sight of his lips so close to yours. Perhaps, it was Peter who leaned in to close the gap, but you felt so eager to kiss him that you couldnât keep track.
Kissing. You and Peter Parker were actually kissing. Finally. It was all smiles and sincerity and sickly sweetness. Hands around his body, holding each other close, it was absolutely beyond everything you couldâve dreamt for. It was perfect.
Peter broke back from the kiss, looking at you with a grin that said everything you wanted to. You both shared the same feeling, and it was wonderful.
âThe thought I was planning to tell Sam the other day was that I didnât want the whole team watching the first time we kissed.â His words immediately warmed your heart, and made you feel a little foolish for not hearing him out sooner. âI didnât want our first kiss to have an audience.â
âItâs a little too late for that.â
The voice startled you so bad, you stared out at the figure like a deer in headlightsâ Well, it wasnât exactly headlights, more than shuttered flash from a cellphone camera.
Shit.
Blinded from the light for a second, it didnât take you more than a second to recognize the voice as Sam, and to notice that he was accompanied by someone. You heard Bucky chuckle beside him, looking at the photo. âThatâs a good one.â He stated, âIâm making that my lockscreen.â
You and Peter held each other, in the dark, both looking out at Sam and Bucky. You both took the moment to catch your startled breaths.
âAs much as Iâm happy for you two love birds, could yâall keep it down?â Sam kept his voice quiet, yet still had a stern tone to it. âItâs three in the morning.â
âYes sir!â Peter spat out quickly.
Sam and Bucky left soon after, both saying hushed goodnights before heading off to their rooms. You and Peter shared a silent laugh before Peter took your hand and guided you back to his room where the two of you could sleep. Together.
Which brought you to Christmas morning.
The entire team sat around the meeting room, opening gifts and sipping hot beverages. They were all gleeful and filled with gratitude. It felt so peaceful and warming to be a part of the Avengers. Which made it all the more conflicting when Sam handed out his gifts for you to open.
You held the large boxy gift in your hand, unsure whether to feel nervous or not to open it in front of the team. Still, when everyone else started to open their presents, you felt a bit left out.
Once the wrapping paper tore off your gift, you saw the photo Sam took of you and Peter in the thick of night, clinging to each other and staring at the camera in shock and surprise. The photo made you laugh, giggling to yourself as you read the postâit note stuck to the bottom.
âGlad I could help you out ;)â
You fought back an eye roll before Peter called out to you across the circle.
He smiled at you, âY/N, you gotta see this!â Peter gestured to the box on his lap. Curious, and mirroring his smile, you stood from your seat and walked over.
Confusion met your face when you saw that the small box was empty. âWhat exactly am I looking at?â Meeting his stare, you noticed the hand he stretched up above you, holding a piece of mistletoe overtop of the two of you. You didnât even take a second before leaning down and kissing him, not caring who was paying mine to you.
You could hear some audible reactions from the group, some encouraging, and one annoyed and childish grimace from a little ways away.
âYou and your cuddleâbug boyfriend need to get a room.â Bucky spoke with distaste. You and Peter both stretched your arms out to flip him off, kissing just a little more to get on his nerves.
âShut the hell up, Bucky!â Sam responded back. You could feel the way that Peter smiled from the comment, laughing quietly.
Sam was right. Heâs definitely invited to the wedding.
tagâlist: @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger @abucketofweird @thievin-stealing @hawkinsavclub1983
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âmewâ âi told you we needed more glitterâ
this is incredibly poetic :,)
the trolls movies are incredibly overlooked and i love them đŤśđŤś
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you better not leave for half a year again đ
im not planning to!! yâall better bet your bottom dollars !!
i have some good fics lined up and im planning to finish cuddle bugs on part five :) so yâall keep an eye out for those!!!
i apologize for leaving for so long :,) it actually makes me so sad :((
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â cuddle bugs. ,,
(( REQUEST PART FOUR )).
mcu!peter parker x reader.
!!! read part one | two | three | five here. !!!
IN WHICH â you fell asleep on your best friendâs shoulder during movie night and now things arenât going the way you anticipating. how far will things go before one of you confess your feelings?
â¨masterlistâ¨.
3.2k.
Peter found it quite amusing how every single trip to the compound kitchen somehow involved Sam Wilson. He wasnât sure how or why, but perhaps, Sam had been planning this strategically. Every time he went to grab a snack, or make a cup of cocoa, Sam happened to beat him there and lurk in the corner. He also happened to make it his goal to tease him about his feelings for you.
âYou going to the holiday party tomorrow night?â Sam asked, a smirk coating his lips. âI heard thereâs gonna be mistletoe.â His eyebrows wiggled as he went to sip from his drink. âYou should take Y/N and go find it.â
Just the idea of kissing you made Peterâs legs turn to jelly. Heâd tried to picture what such an intimate moment would be like with you, but he couldnât fathom it. He especially couldnât fathom it when he had to try and picture the rest of the team there, watching. Peter knew he had to make the moment extra special, and if the team was there ogling you both, that would make things extra awkward.
Taking a deep breath, Peter sighed to try and tame how big his grin had gotten. âIâm not gonna do that. I canât.â He saw the way Samâs eyes widened a bit, and Peter figured that it was because heâd gotten confused. âI just donât want..â Peter trailed off, wanting to find a way to explain without getting extra cheesy. He wasnât sure why Sam wasnât holding eye contact anymore, leering behind Peterâs shoulder, or why he looked so shocked, but Peter knew he needed to find his words sooner than later.
âYou donât want to kiss me?â
Fuck.
Cold. Everything ran cold with panic. Panic and regret and sadness and desperation to fix this. Peter turned on his heels, meeting your eyes in the state they were; in a state he hadnât been exposed to. You were hurt, and he could tell. What was so painful for Peter to realize was that he could read that you werenât just hurt by his words, you were hurt by him and his actions. It sliced at his heart in a way that he didnât think was possible. He couldnât tell if the sound of shattered glass came from your heart, or his.
âY/N, Iââ
It absolutely crushed him to see you take distance when he got closer. Peter knew he didnât set up his point well, but he hated that he couldnât explain it to you. He hated every second that he couldnât spend giving you the security that you needed.
âNo, no. Itâs fine.â You seemed to understand it. Or, you tried to make it seem like you got it. Like it registered the way he wanted it to, but it didnât. It could never. Peter felt like the scum of the earth; unforgivable, and douchey unlike any other. He felt every single hurting syllable when you said: âBut you donât have to make kissing your best friend sound like such a chore.â
Your tone of voice when you snapped at him was almost as haunting as the sight of you walking away so quickly. Peter wanted nothing more than to rush after you and explain everything, but he also wanted to respect your boundaries. Luckily, Sam rushed after you so that he didnât have to.
He turned back to face Peter, âDonât worry, Iâve got a plan.â And that was all he needed to say to give Peter some peace of mind. At least, a little peace of mind.
Peter didnât know that Samâs plan was to dupe him into a partnered stakeout with you. He didnât know that the two of you would be stuck, in a car, alone, for hours. He didnât know that it was an actual mission. A serious, dangerous, very important mission; and Peter had no idea that Sam and Bucky fully went out of their way to be your guys' backup for the stakeout if it started escalating.
Yet, there you were: alone, in a car, Peter in the driverâs seat, and you riding shotgun. The Prius was parked on a street corner, just as Peter was instructed to leave it by Fury himself. It had already been two hours. Two hours had gone by, and neither of you had spoken a word to the other. Silent, in superhero suits, listening to the wind rattling the windows and the car occasionally click and hum in the quiet.
It was awful.
It was the third longest period of radio silence between the two of you, right next to when you had laryngitis in the fifth grade and when you avoided him senseless three days ago. And Peter didnât want the silent treatment to go on any longer.
He knew he had to say the first word. He needed to. He just didnât know how to fix the mess he made, or get you to stop staring out the dashboard like you were mad at it. He knew that the anger you expressed to the sheet of glass was actually directed at him.
Peter tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, pulled at the spandex fabric covering his fingers, and tried to run through and rationalize any and every outcome that could occur once he opened his mouth. You were his best friend, and had been for as long as he could remember. He wasnât going to let this be the rift that tore your friendship apart.
His eyes finally stuck to your figure for longer than a secondâs glance. He saw the way your face was barren, relaxed. It was a look you had when you were lost in thought. Taking a deep breath, Peter tried to suck as much of the thickened tension as he could.
âY/N, Iâm sorryââ
Your eyes shut tight, and your face scrunched in a way that had regret immediately wash out Peterâs bloodstream. You didnât even look in his direction when you said the word: âDonât.â Your tone was sharp, trying to slice off any remnants of the conversation; a conversation that you were well trying to move past.
Peterâs lips pressed into a thin line, hiding how frantically he wracked his brain for the right words to say. âBut I need to explain myself! Canât you let me do that?â His body posture craned towards you. One leg tucked beneath the weight of his torso as he looked at you. His brows knit together in desperation, and his eyes sent you a leer that could break you into pieces.
But your walls were becoming too thick for his shattered stare.
You huffed out a breath of frustration. âPeter, I donât see whatâs there to explain.â Your tone was short, stiff, and stuffed with something you hoped sounded like a backbone. Lying to yourself wouldnât stop the fact that you were hurting, silently grieving over the loss of your expectations. Grieving over the loss of what couldâve been between you and Peter Parker. âYou donât want to kiss me! What else is there to understand?â
âThatâs not true!â Peter was quick to defend himself, his voice growing a bit in the process. âI do want to kiss youââ
Scoffing, you also raised your voice a little. âGod, Peter! I donât want your pity!â You couldnât believe him. He was just pulling shit from his ass to try and make you feel better. âI donât need your pity either!â You sunk deeper into your seat, a crossed expression staking claim in your eyes, and your arms folding over your chest to hold your ground.
Peter could physically feel the distance you were putting between the two of you. He studied you, how irritated you were, how much hurt he caused. âY/N, itâs not pityââ
âHarley asked me out.â You cut him off, finally looking at him. It was the first time your eyes had met since yesterday. The first time you let your guard down a little. And the way his eyes widened at you, you could tell this was the first time heâd seen you in such a dimming light; perhaps you really were slipping through his fingers, out of his grasp.
His silence said millions of words, yet none of them were satisfying. It felt so much worse, quite frankly. What you really wanted from him was the reassurance that he felt the same way. It wasnât just about a kiss, rather than wanting a romantic connection. It wasnât about the misunderstanding, but the way heâd go about fixing it. And it wasnât about Harley asking you out, you wanted to see how Peter would react.
The look in his eyes mirrored yours. It was a glisten of betrayal, and the lingering stare of denial. Peter looked at you like it would be the last time he was allowed to. He didnât know where to go from here, and it was obvious.
You let out a sigh, irritated and remorseful and heartached. âHarley asked me out, and Iââ Pausing, you looked straight ahead, unable to meet Peterâs eyes while the words muttered from your lips. âI think Iâm going to change my answer.â
Peterâs breath caught, and you could hear his hushed thought process. He filtered through the words you said, and kept searching for the phrase or touch or look that would convince you to stay with him. To choose him.
âIââ
You couldnât even stomach the sound of his voice. Your nerves spiked much higher than youâd anticipated. What were you even getting at? Making him jealous? All you felt was guilt. Embarrassment. Suddenly, you were nervous. âI need some air.â You choked abruptly, fleeing from the passengerâs seat and exiting the vehicle.
Peter sat in the driverâs side, frozen in his place as he watched you walk further from the car. He couldnât deny how much of a gut punch your words were, but he also kept replaying the way youâd phrased it like a broken record.
âI think Iâm going to change my answer.â
Even you seemed uncertain about it, and if Peter had any chance with you, he knew he needed to act now. Just as went to get out of the car and follow you, he felt his spider sense heighten. Blood ran cold and the world moved slow as he watched the scene. From behind a bush merely fifteen feet from where Peter was, you were grabbed and pulled out of sight.
âShit!â Peter panicked. He slipped his mask on, updating KAREN to alert Sam and Bucky. He was lucky that whoever had taken you didnât spot him, but he felt every fiber of his being spiral about how to get you back. When Peter said he was afraid of losing you, this was not what he meant.
And he was going to do everything in his power to bring you back safely.
Shuttered and softened gasps fell from your lips as your eyes opened, and you watched your breath visibly leave your mouth. Was it below freezing in the room? It had to be. It was the middle of December, after all. Your skin ached as you gained consciousness, every inch of your body screaming for warmth by the time youâd finally come to.
Some scrawny white man with disheveled hair and a shortâsleeved t-shirt stood in front of you, holding you in whatever darkened room you seemed to be in. He stood rather close to you, much closer than your comfort levels permitted. He didnât seem any bit irked by your presence in the slightest.
Maybe that was because your wrists were tightly chained to exposed waterâpipes spouting from the floor, or because heâd finally discovered your superâheroine identity. Either way, the light in his eyes was anything but frightened or angered or even confused.
In fact, his eyes scanned your body with marvel and awe. It sent a shiver down your spine.
âAstonishing..â His accent was thick through his words, letting the statement fall heavy with the sigh it traveled through. âItâs workingâŚâ
Your blood ran even colder at the words, stilling your posture for a millisecond. What chilled your bones even more was when your body broke out into an intense fit of shivers, and the man laughed. A laugh that was maniacal, entertained, psychopathic. Psychopathic, and relieved.
Thick clouds of steam left your mouth as your breaths drew faster in panic, indicating just how below zero the temperature was. You could barely muster out the words that your throat shoved out: âWhaâwhatâs so funny?â You asked, clearly freezing.
Now, a bit more serious, the man leaned disarmingly close to your face, eying you in a way that sobered your mind, soul, and being.
âYouâre cold.â
The muttered words only caused more confusion, until you finally noticed the two broken syringes on the ground to your left, and how the liquid oozing from the shattered glass had frozen over. It was ice. You became aware of the sweat caking the hairline of the man in front of you, and how disgustingly consuming the warmth of his breath was.
The room wasnât cold, you were cold. And you were left to assume that it was only a matter of time before you froze to death.
Quite frankly, as much as the dude yapped your ear off with his âdiabolicalâ plan, your brian was clouded with more pressing matters: how you left things with Peter. You didnât know how long it would take for the team to find you, or if youâd even make it to see this guy get his ass kicked. Either way, you knew Peter was overthinking.
And so were you.
The wave of relief that cast over your body when Sam broke the door down was indescribable. You hadnât known how long it had been, or how much time you had left, but pins and needles pricked every inch of your body and youâd spent however long shivering just to try and shake the feeling.
Peter immediately swooped down from the ceiling at Samâs cue, webbed the guy to a wall, and rushed to your aid in the blink of an eye. Not a word was said until he unclasped the restraints and pulled you into a hug. It was the quickest hug heâd ever given you; record time of pointâtwo seconds. âJesus Christ! Y/N, youâre fucking freezing!!â It were though he hadnât heard your teeth chattering this entire time.
You could only look at him with a concerned crinkle in your brow, unable to speak through the chill you kept continually catching.
âKAREN!â Peter called out, his mask still on over his face. âTurn on the thermalâheaterâprotocol thing!! Pronto!â Hearing his panicked demands almost brought you peace, yet nothing could compare to how nice it felt to finally come in contact with warmth.
It barely helped at all, but the contrast was enough to notice. All and every part of you melted into Peter, giving him unspoken permission to pick you up and carry you to the Quinjet. His touch didnât waver as he sat down on the plane, and his jaw didnât unclench until his response was requested. His protective demeanor provided a sense of safety, yet it felt tugged from beneath you with one quick statement.
âWe should probably call Harley and tell him youâre alright.â
The disappointment tugging at his expression was enough to shatter your heart into a million pieces. You could tell that it broke his just the same, too.
Your head shook against his chest as he sat you down on a bench, seating himself closely beside you to keep you from whatever fridged feeling this kidnapping brought upon you.
âHarley doesnâtâ He doesnât need to know.â Confusion washed over Peterâs face so quickly, you nearly forgot the rut you dug yourself in. âPeâPete.. I owe you an apoâology.â The words were almost impossible to mutter out. You were only getting colder by the second.
His attention was so fixated on you, eyes glued to yours, brows sewn together, and thoughts racing circles trying to grasp whatever you could mean. Peterâs eyes studied your face for the possible answers, but he was getting ahead of himself.
There was nothing left to do other than to come clean. The confession was yours to make, and the look Peter gave you only made that more apparent. His emotions pierced your soul, all his sincerity and curiosity and genuity and eagerness. It was almost like he knew what you were trying to choke out between shivers. Or as though it were his job to fix whatever you presented broken.
You couldnât tell whether the rapid rhythmic heartbeat was your own, or Peterâs, but either way, you had to force these words out before they staled with the lump in your throat. âIâIââ You took a deep breath to still your chattering teeth, feeling Peterâs grip tighten reassuringly around you in the midst of it. âI was upset that you didnât want to kiss me.â
The apology flashed in his eyes just as he went to open his mouth, but you werenât finished. âI was upset, because Iââ You nearly sped through the sentence, but halted. âIââ And it were though you froze in place, right then and there. You completely froze, stopped moving, stopped breathing.
Panic. It washed over you like panic, sheer uncontrollable unexpected panic. Your blood ran cold, and if it werenât for the feeling of your body washing white, you wouldâve thought you were dying.
Peter calling your name almost sounded fake. It was so distant and faint that you swore you were dreaming. However, with a small hitch of your breath, reality hit you a lot harder than necessary. Your entire being shook, spazzing in this cold and freezing state. So much so, it was painful.
You knew you were being hugged and blanketed by Peterâs protection much more intently. The press of his biceps communicated that he felt like he was to fault for this. The dazy holler of his voice told you that he felt responsible and sorry and nervous. There wasnât anything in the world you wanted to do more than to fight against this and assure him that you were okay. You were going to be fine.
Bucky walked over with a sense of urgency, relaying to Peter a medical analysis that Bruce laid out. He stated things about your condition that the author was far too lazy to look up you couldnât make out in this fridged trance.
Every inch of your body had stopped shouting for warmth and instead now screamed for it, for relief. It begged and pleaded and bruised its knees just for some sense of stillness from whatever blizzard was injected into your system.
So cold, too cold, everything blurred to white. Every sound was washed out, every sensation pricked in spears and spikes against you, and every thought felt too heavy to handle. You werenât sure how or when, but at a certain point, you passed out. Consciousness suddenly became too overwhelming for your fragile limp little body.
Part of you wasnât sure whether this was better than feeling the sting of Peterâs rejection, but you knew that was a demon youâd have to face sooner than later. You made a promise to yourself right then and there that regardless of what and when, the next time you saw Peter Parker, youâd tell him how youâd really felt.
You were going to tell your best friend that youâd been in love with him. And still very much so were.
tagâlist : @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger @abucketofweird @cayleejx16 @thievin-stealing
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hey yâall !! firstly, i wanna say thank you thank you THANK YOU!!! for all the support yâall have shown me and given my work :)
i know itâs been an eon bUT iâm gearing up to publish cuddle bugs pt. 4 tonight, as well as put out other work very soon đđ
comment on this post if you wanna be added to the tag list!! i plan to put the chapter out this week ;)
and lmk if yâall have any other work you wanna see or other requests yâall have!
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cuddling w peter đđŤś
my favorite đŤśđŤś
hereâs a cutesy lil blurb that iâve had in the works for a while :) ik itâs mid september but this concept was just too tempting !!
inspired by a prompt on my pinterest feed:
â letâs get you home. youâre freezing and i donât want you catching a cold. â
â¨masterlist.â¨
1k.
You love cuddling with Peter. His warm hands snug around you, his head hidden away from the world in your neck, and his gentle lips brushing your skin. It was a shelter for you; a comfort. Plus, you were the perfect size for him, and he was the perfect size for you. You fit each other in an unspoken understanding. An understanding met with touch and serenity.
When it was your turn to be the big spoon, you could easily drape your arms around him. His body flush to yours, you knew that nothing could ever harm you in the hold of your boyfriend. Itâs why you always cling to him whenever youâre together. You love to grab his hand, or keep your head rested on his shoulder. You know he loves your touch just as much from the way he hugs you from behind, and presses his knee to yours whenever youâre together.
You two are almost always together, except when youâre at work, or heâs patrolling, or when you need a healthy boundary set.
This time, his absence was requested by a regulated patrol. He invited you to sleep over, just like he usually did on the weekends. You camped out in his empty room, dressed in his clothes and finishing assignments in your pastime. May was more than happy with your unseen companionship and your presence filling his bedroom; just as long as her nephew came back intact, everything was fine.
Of course, your place of residence was New York City. Anything was possible. And blizzards, in January, were more than likely. The winds were blistering, and you could feel the chill seeping through Peterâs sealed window. Even with the heat on, you felt the shivers shake your figure in the protection of Peterâs hoodie.
Before you knew it, the window opened, revealing your frostbitten boyfriend and his shakingâsuperhero boots. Heâs all shiverâmeâtimbers and frigid and smiles. The sight of his smile after he takes off his mask momentarily warms the cold air bleeding in through the window, but as the winds howls louder, your trembling intensified.
You stood from your his chair, helping him inside without dragging in the snow. âJesus, babe!â The words came out as a gasp, âYouâre freezing..â You couldâve told him that his shoulders felt cold as ice through his suit, or warned him about the snowflakes freckling the shape of his curls, but you mentally argued against it. Instead, you pulled him in with a bit more urgency than before, and hastily shut the window.
And he just stood there, watching, grinning. You could tell he felt taken care of, and you hadnât even gotten started yet. His dopey grin was something contagious, and instantly spread itself across your cheeks. You kissed his frosty nose, lacing the warmth of your fingers through the icicles of his. âCâmon, Pete, I donât want you catching a cold.â You spoke gently, tugging him towards his closet for a change of clothes.
There was no need to address the newest drapes of purple under his eyes, or the shadows of extra crinkles and stress lines scribbling themselves on his forehead. There were no words necessary for you to pry on just how sobering the patrol truly got. It was an unspoken acknowledgement. An acknowledgement you addressed in the seconds added to the length of your hugs, and the extra kisses youâd dress his face with.
If Peter ever started the conversation, that was his decision. And when he did, you were there to listen. You were always there to support him, however he needed. Like right now, as you helped him change into warmer clothes.
Heâd put on a pair of gray sweatpants, and you helped him wiggle his way into a band tee, then added the extra layer of a hoodie on top of it. Immediately afterwards, you cupped your hands over his and breathed into them, trying to gift him back some of the warmth he always provided you. And he just stood there, watching. He smiled a smile of sickly sweetness and sunshine. It was laced with a familiar glisten. A glistening of admiration.
âI love you.â He lulled, appreciatively. Peterâs figure melted towards yours, still shaking from the cold, but relaxing in your touch. His forehead rested against yours, smiling at you with his famous smile of peace and security. âI love how you take care of me. And, God..â The last word nagged on his breath so adamantly, his eyes rolled lightly with it. âI missed you.â
His lips traced a thousand words into your knuckles as he kissed them, pulling you in and holding you like itâd be the last time heâd ever be allowed to. He held you like it was his purpose, like it answered all of the questions heâd been dying to ask. His biceps against your own and fingers pressed to your back, his legs intertwined between yours as two of you took rocky steps in the stumbled direction of his bed.
The embrace wasnât worth releasing to attempt at a safe venture to Peterâs mattress. Besides, he trusted his spideyâsense to alert him if he were about to take a tumble.
Laid and nuzzled together and husked into the warmth of his bed, you both released the weight that had been perched on your shoulders. All the crates of stress and homework and saving citizens and the outside world just beyond the walls of Peterâs bedroom suddenly vanished. All that was left was the hushed sound of Peterâs heart pressing to his chest and the faint chorus of your breaths whisked with the air.
Your fingers had a habit of drawing little shapes along the length of Peterâs body while you cuddled; tracing lines down his arm, writing out indescribable paragraphs of all that he meant to you with the tips of your fingers. He welcomed the notion by pressing kisses to your hairline and murmuring tongues of praises and appreciation into the space between you.
Body to body, huddled together, you knew there was no other place you wanted to be. Cuddled with your boyfriend was heaven; it was perfection, comfort and safe haven and eternity and shelter. Most importantly, it was yours. And no one could take it away from you.
Truly, you couldnât think of anything better.
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hey guys :,) sorry for dropping off the face of the earth for a hot second-
im transitioning back to uni rn so i havenât had much time to write bUT i still have things drafted and im hoping to get back into a writing routine by next week or the week after !! my top priority is cuddle bugs đŤĄđŤĄ
thank you guys for your patience!! i hope yâallâs semesters have been going swimmingly so far !!
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iâm the anon, iâm doing well but i want you to know that prioritizing your mental and physical well being is the most important thing you can do.
hey anon!! sorry for the late response :,) bUT iâm glad youâre doing well!!
i want you to know that itâs anons like you sending check ins like these that keep me going :) i look forward to your little messages and encouragement, and i really appreciate them!!
i just got back from vacay and prepping to leave for uni shortly in a week or two, so iâm pacing myself and giving myself the reminder that tumblr/imagines are just a hobby. if and when i can get to them, i will, but if i donât have the strength, i donât push it! thank you for being understanding of that :D
iâm drinking lots of water and getting lots of rest !! i should be posting a request or two sooner than later and iâm getting quite excited ab them đź bUT i want your opinion !!
okay okay so iâm finishing a request for cuddly peter; itâs just cutesy wootsy fluff rn, and itâs ab peter coming back from patrol and then reader cuddling him and itâs simple and short and fluffy. what iâm conflicted ab is whether to add the flip side: where instead of reader cuddling peter after a long day, itâs peter cuddling reader! but iâm not sure :,)
i might just add the flip side as a part two after i finish and publish the first one, but i wanted to ask what you thought !!
i hope youâre having a good day! thanks for checking in :)
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Hi elle! I was wondering if you could do some angst in where reader is tony's daughter but shes the forgotten one and tony shows a lot of affection to peter and one day she just loses it. Its ok if you don't want to.
Stay safe and drink water!
iâve never felt so motivated to write somethingâ
content warnings (18+) â immense swearing, mentions of insecurity and negative outlook, yelling, author possibly projecting?, maybe too many italicized words/phrases.
â¨masterlistâ¨.
3.5k.
You knew your dad loved you. He had to. He said it to you a million times before, and made it a point to remind you of it once a day. However, there were moments nowadays where you began to question it. You didnât really question whether he loved you or not, but rather, whether he loved Peter Parker more than you.
Tony had referred to Peter as the son heâd never had. Heâd taken Peter on retreats and to expos when he hadnât taken you out on a trip since you were nine years old. Heâd bought things for Peter, and fixed things for Peter, and every meme or video or cat picture you found on the internet to show to your father would automatically get the response: âsend that to me, i want to show it to Peter.â
Peter this and Peter that. It sent you into a spiral of insecurity that youâd never known existed. You truly felt like Tony was trying to tell you something subliminally. You tried to drown yourself in coursework, go to engineering camps, and help out with the Avengers just to try and gain a better understanding of their bond. Of what you lacked. Nothing seemed to help. It jabbed at your feelings like a knife to the back, presumably left by Peter Parker himself.
And the worst part? Youâd never even met the guy. Youâd never been introduced to Peter Parker, despite how many times Tony mentioned the fact that heâd âlove for you two to meet,â and âyou two would get along great.â Yeah, sure. And heâs probably some gross ass dude with an untamed beard in his midâtwenties that your father took pity on. So much pity, in fact, that heâd invited Peter to stay over for the weekend in your penthouse apartment.
Fantastic.
It was such a sudden proposition, and a last second invite, but it happened. And Tony insisted, despite every protest you attempted to give, that youâd both greet him in the lobby.
So when you were face to face with a surprisingly attractive boy your age who had the deepest brown eyes youâd ever seen and barely packed a duffel bag, you were thrown off your rocker. You hardly had the composure to speak. Thus, your father did for you, smiling wider than youâd ever seen him smile before.
He was barely showing teeth, but you hadnât seen your father this excited about something in a while. âKid, this is my daughter, Y/N.â He stated proudly, grasping Peterâs shoulder as he started introductions. âAnd sweetheart,â Tony addressed you, turning his full focus to you as he gave Peterâs introduction. âThis is Peter Parker.â
There was something about him that caused for you to detest him. It wasnât seen on his clothes, or in his eyes. It wasnât dangling in the tension between you, or whispered through his silent stares, but it was there. Perhaps, it came from the depths of your subconscious, and the land of your imagination. You shoved that proposition deeper into your subconscious, too.
Because you were certain that you had a hatred for Peter Parker, and his little staycation with the Starkâs would prove it.
The first night was fine. Your dad didnât make you do any activities together, thank God, but he did surprise you with the news that he had to leave the next morning for a last second Avengers emergency. He didnât know when heâd be back, but Tony assigned you and Peter with the task of rewiring a circuit board in his lab before he returned.
Being the daughter of Tony Stark, youâd taken the initiative to finish the project yourself. It was your house, anyways. It was a request that your father had made to you, so you intended to do it. You just hated the fact that Peter persisted in being with you in the room while you finished it. You hated the silence he left in the room, and the way he kept checking over your shoulder. God, you just hated him. You were sure of it.
You could feel his presence watching over your hands as they worked. You could feel the weight of his judgment, his breath catching in hesitation. You could smell the fumes of his cologne, and the aroma of his hair products. It was infuriating. It was pressuring. It felt mocking, taunting.
He stepped closer, hands reaching over to where yours were tinkering, yet they didnât dare to touch your project. âAâactually, you should move the circuit focus closer to theââ
The audacity he had to question you. The nerve he struck with his comment, it filled you with rage.
Wrench and wire were thrown to the table, clanking and clamoring as they caved to gravityâs pull. Their sound was the only thing keeping you and Peter from shared silence. The shared silence of your anger. You turned your head to look at him, hoping that you werenât physically exhaling flames like you imagined you were.
âCan you just.. not?â The question almost came out as a laugh. You nearly laughed, in disbelief that Peter Parker thought he had any say in how you built a robotic contraption. âCan you just fucking not?â
Walls had been building up inside you, livid and rageful feelings clouding your judgment as you glared at him. You couldnât see just how shocked he was, thrown off at your irritation. You couldnât see how puzzled he was, or panicked that heâd done something to upset you so much. You just stared into the eyes of what felt like your replacement. You felt empty, worthless, as your figure reflected back at you through the glistening of his eyes.
âCan I not what? Did Iâ Did I upset you?â Just the sound of his voice crawled beneath your skin. It felt worse than the sleek of humidity, or nails on a chalkboard. It sounded teasing, coy.
It was the final straw.
Nails dug into your palm as your hands formed fists. One fist pressed to your forehead, almost speaking as a warning to tell you to keep composure, but you couldnât help it. You couldnât fucking stand it anymore. âCan you stop being so fucking perfect all the time?â The words slipped out before you could stop them.
There were several things that youâd been wanting to say to Peter Parker. Youâd wanted to tell him off for a long time, but youâd never gotten the chance. Now, youâd given yourself the opportunity to let the floodgates open and your tongue run wild.
âYouâre always making shit competitive and iTâS NOT OKAY. Itâs not my fault that my own father loves yOU MORE THAN ME! Doesnât mean you have to fucking rub it in my face every gODDAMN FUCKING HOUR!!â God, this felt good. âYou can just do my job for me!! Fucking move into my rOOM at this point, Tony wonât know the difference!!â You scoffed, âIn fact, heâd probably be tHRILLED that you FINALLY REPLACED ME!!â
Peter Parker blinked a few times at you. His mouth hung agape, too scared to say anything and interrupt what looked like things you had been needing to say. The look infuriated you.
âBuild the circuit board by your goddamn fucking self and leave me the fuck alone!!â And as you made the final statement, you turned to make your leave. The subtle breeze caught your face, and you felt the air hit your cheeks cold; you hadnât noticed that youâd started crying.
You also hadnât noticed the fact that your dad entered the room. You froze dead in your tracks at the sight of him, tears brimming your eyes again when you saw how upset he looked.
Shit.
It wasnât your intention for him to hear all of that, but you couldnât take back the truth once itâd gotten out. You took a staggered breath, choking back a sob as you rushed out. You didnât know which hurt more: to hear your fatherâs footsteps tread further from you, or to hear him ask Peter about what was happening rather than you directly.
Either way, it was an added punch right to the gut.
It felt like ten minutes of sobbing in your room went by before a knock was placed on your door. You were about to answer, but you werenât given the chance; your father opened the door as soon as heâd placed the knock, a solemn look coating his face as he looked at you from the doorframe. It was a solemn look that resembled disappointment.
He was disappointed in you.
Your dad was disappointed that youâd blown a fuse in front of your house guest. Disappointed that youâd ruined your chance at a good first impression. Disappointed that youâd shown such weakness. He was disappointed that you didnât meet his expectations. He was disappointed in you for not making his honorary son feel more welcomed. Your father was disappointed in you for fucking it all up. You could tell.
Tony took careful steps towards your bed, sitting next to you as you stifled your sobs down a bit. âDo.. You want to talk about what happened back there?â His tone was softer than youâd anticipated for someone who was disappointed in you. It almost sounded apologetic, sympathetic; you were certain that your mind was reaching for a false reality.
A sniffle caught your breath as you looked at him, fresh tears framing your face. âHow much of that did you hear?â You were almost too scared to ask, but you needed to know. You had to know which bit of air to clear first.
âAll of it.â Tony started, âFrom the part where you asked Peter not to be so fucking perfect all the time..â His tone got a little sharper, almost witty. It sounded like he was trying to make humor of your meltdown. As though he were trying to find a way to cheer you up, or tell you to grow up and get over yourself. You couldnât tell.
You averted eye contact for a moment, trying not to blow up again. Luckily, most of the anger in your system was boiling down to melancholia. Your tears ran rivers down your face as you tried to find the words to say. âI just donât understand..â You started, keeping your voice from breaking.
Every speck of humor fled from his face at how upset you were getting. Tonyâs brows pressed together, graveness and concern bleeding through his tone of voice. âDonât understand what, honey?â The gentleness of his tone reminded you of when heâd comfort you in childhood. It took you back to when heâd snapped at you and wanted to apologize, or when youâd scraped your knee and he rushed to patch you up. It started to ease the narrative in your head that Tony was angry with you for your little tantrum.
âI, uh.. I donâtââ A shaky breath cut you off. You werenât sure how to communicate this feeling lightly. Itâd been bottled up and growing inside you for a couple months now. You knew youâd have to tell him at some point, you just despised how raw it was. It was pure vulnerability. âI donât understand what I did to not be good enoughââ You couldnât even get through the sentence before your lip quivered.
That was when Tony looked at you like the entire world shattered. His entire world shattered. The disappointment flooded his expression once again, but it hit you that it was never directed at you â Tony was disappointed in himself. His eyes held the weight of failing as a father, of making you feel this rejected. He failed by making you feel rejected in the first place. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a suffocating hug; you werenât sure if heâd ever actually be able to let go of it, yet it was the kind of hug you didnât want to part from. A hug that shielded you from the entire world.
His lips pressed to your temple, along with a few stray tears he couldnât catch beforehand. It was rare to catch your father tearful, yet you seemed to lower that guard when you started the conversation. He held you close, letting you cry out the feelings youâd locked away for so long.
âY/N, youâre more than enough..â He lulled, voice breaking ever so slightly, âItâs my fault you ever felt like you werenât..â His words were everything youâd hoped to hear. Youâd began to believe the possibility that actually hearing them wasnât actuality. This insecurity had driven you beyond wild, to the point where you believed that your fatherâs intentions were pinned against you.
They never were.
Tony held you in his arms for the next hour, letting you talk out your growing anxiety. You talked about everything from your fomo towards their retreats and trips, to how thrown off you were that Peter was your age.
âI actually think you two would make a cute couple.â Tony started, laughing at how quick you were to throw a punch at his bicep. The melancholy had worn off both of you, and the room started to fill with laughter. âIâm serious!â Tony threw his arms up to mock defeat before changing the topic a little. âBut really, I think he wants to apologize to you for what happened.â
Your face drew a blank, mixing shock and confusion as you blinked at your father a few times. âParker wants to apologize to me? For my meltdown?â
A shrug caught in your fatherâs posture. âYou two are more similar than you think, hon.â His tone was light and sincere as he chuckled, quietly, âYou both put the weight of other peopleâs mistakes on your shoulders.â His words draped a blanket of guilt over your body. Your own words from said meltdown began to replay through your brain like a broken record; the blame youâd thrown at Peter was wrongfully served.
You knew you needed to apologize.
After rebuilding trust with your father, and mentally rehearsing how to apologize to Peter, you made your way across the apartment to the guest room.
The door was already open, and gave you the perfect view of Peter seated on the edge of the bed. He was reading, fidgeting fingers at the edge of his pages, and chocolate curls shadowing his focused expression.
Now that youâd been able to release the steam of your selfâconsciousness, you realized that hatred wasnât the actual feeling you had towards Peter; it was envy. And once you had talked things out with your father, the clouds of your judgment cleared from your vision and you could finally see Peter Parker for who he really was: a boy. A boy your age who needed a place to crash for the weekend.
You felt guilty for interrupting his reading, but at this point, the feeling was a tiny speck to add to your growing pile of culpability. The knock was gentle, and immediately pulled his eyes to meet yours.
âMind if I come in for a minute?â You had to croak the words out, but still managed to keep a softness to your tone. You didnât want to yell at him again, or come across like you were about to.
The look he gave you wasnât one you werenât expecting; he eyed you like heâd committed an unforgivable crime, or like youâd break if he didnât hold you together. It gave you reassurance that this apology definitely needed to come out sooner than later.
Peter bookâmarked his place without looking, keeping his stare fixed on you while he nodded. âPlease,â He gestured to the foot of the bed beside him, âSit. Iâ uh, I was planning to find you and see if you were alright, but I didnât want to interrupt your space.â
As you sat down beside him, a smile touched your lips at how thoughtful he was. âI appreciate that, but IâI owe you an apology, Peter..â You never broke your eye contact, but the look in your eyes grew more urgent, pleading. âI am so sorry for speaking to you that way, andââ
You cut yourself off at the sight of Peter waving his hands in dismissal. He mirrored the look in your eyes, âNo, Y/N, Iâm sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I donât want you to feel like Iâm here to replace you.â His words held a direness that yours should have. Your dad was right, Peter really was putting the gravity of this into his hands.
To stop his spiral, you touched his arm for a minute, âPeter, that wasnât your fault. It was mine for assuming and unloading all of that shit onto you. And Iâm sorry for that.â
His eyes alone begged you to let him win the argument. âI still could haveââ
You cut him off, âPeter, itâs not your fault.â You tried to emphasize your point, noticing the way he read your expression. His eyes scanned every inch of your face, searching for what looked like a sign of your uncertainty. His lips parted to contribute his side of the argument, but one look from you shut his trap pretty quickly.
Peterâs shoulderâs eased, but his eyes still glistened with ambition. He wanted you to understand his perspective a little. âDid your dad tell you how nervous I was to meet you?â
That wasnât what you were expecting. Your eyes widened a little, shaking your head in response. Peter Parker? Nervous to meet you? The way your dad talked about him didnât set him up to be that way. Of course, seeing him in front of you changed your perception a little. âNo, he didnât.â You were honest.
He wet his lips, parting them with the warmest smile youâd ever set your eyes on. The laugh that spilt from them was melodic, laced with a bit of nerves. He rubbed a muscle on the back of his neck, suddenly choking up. âYeah, I was pretty nervous.â His brow arched slightly, complimenting his grin photogenically. âI was nervous âcause Mister Starkâs always talking the world to me about his amazing daughter.â Peterâs smile grew in your direction, stirring a hurricane of butterflies through your stomach.
It felt like the two of you were in the midst of a staring contest; though, instead of the intense anticipation glistening in each otherâs eyes, you mutually stared at each other in security. Youâd both had the immense pressure of making good impressions toward the other on your shoulders.
Peter repositioned himself on the bed, now seated facing you. His legs were crossed beneath him, his knee a hair from touching yours. âYou, Y/N, are not only his greatest accomplishment, but youâre his best friend.â His words spread like butter over every worry youâd had, melting away that crippling insecurity with it. âI think he wants to be you when he grows up.â
The laughs that bubbled up your throat brought attention to the tears brimming your eyes. You blinked them away, mirroring Peterâs earnest expression. âI can tell why my dadâs always talking about you.â You told him, âAnd here I was thinking youâd be some old ass dude living in his motherâs basement, but here we are.â
âAnd here I was thinking you wouldnât be dropâdead gorgeous.â His cheeks were ablaze with crimson, sending a pink glow of your own to your complexion. âBut, here we are.â
Your smile grew, rolling your eyes playfully at him. âAlright, casanova. Save it for the love letters.â It felt nice to share laughter like this with Peter. You were glad that you gave him a second chance. Not breaking eye contact, you slid off the bed and rose to your feet. âIâll let you get back to your readingâ
Peter watched you get up to go, looking a little disappointed. You were almost surprised, but likewise, both you and Peter hid the honesty of your feelings behind the curtains of a smile.
âYou donât have to. You could stay if you want.â He started, but a look flashed behind his eyes that was rather telling; he seemed to panic over his eagerness for your company. âUnless you donât want toââ
Biting the inside of your cheek hurt, but it was the only way to hide how wide your smile grew. âIâd love to, but I need to finish that circuit board.â And thus, the idea struck you. âYou doing anything later though?â
His brows pressed together in a curious way. âNot really. You planning something?â
âYeah. My dad and I usually have movie nights tonight.â You took paces backwards towards the door, but stalled from the moment youâd have to part ways. âYou should join us! Itâs my turn to pick.â
The sight of his dimples made you realize just how much youâd grown fond of his smile. It was already getting difficult to leave his presence; you knew if you didnât leave now, you probably never would.
âWell, then you better pick a good one, just for me.â He challenged. Youâd make it your goal to satisfy his request.
If even possible, it felt like your grin grew. âI plan to.â
And that said, the three of you met in the homeâtheater and watched Jurassic Park together. You had Tony on your left geeking out over the CGI technology from the 80s, and Peter on his left geeking out about how accurate the movie was from the book. It made your film decision that much better. It also was the best movie night youâd had in a long while.
Perhaps your dad was right: you and Peter Parker really would get along great.
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hey hun iâm the anon that sent u the burn out advice, how are you doing?
hey anon! i really appreciate you :) thank you for checking in!
iâm doing pretty good!! just started vacation w my fam, and halfway through book 2 in the shatter me series đŤĄđŤĄ i also mapped out my imagine concepts so theyâre easier for me to write
i think my biggest thing w writerâs block is, i forget that i can just start over. like, even if what i have written is a lot, if i donât feel motivated w the concept, i shouldnât push myself to finish it :,) iâm just stubborn
bUT iâm almost done w a few different imagines that i havenât been able to work on for a while đ itâs still a process and i am on vacay for rn, but they should be out soon !!
iâm struggling in some ways, but iâm thriving in others, and iâm more focused on my thrive rn :) thank you!!
how are YOU doing?? i hope youâre doing well!! đŤśđŤś
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â cuddleâbugs. â
(( REQUEST PART THREE ))
mcu!peter parker x reader.
!!! read part one | part two | part four | part five here !!!
IN WHICH â you fell asleep on your best friend during movie night and the avengers wonât let you live it down. meanwhile, peter plans to ask you out, but an old friend of yours gets in the way :0
â¨masterlist.â¨
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It felt good for you to finally get some sleep. It seemed like sleeping cuddled next to Peter was the perfect remedy for your sudden insomnia. You wouldnât trade it for anything in the world. Waking up in his arms, his biceps snug around you; his quiet snores that still sang through your thoughts. Their melody, and the leftover fumes of his cologne, kept you in a peppy mood. That, and Harleyâs holiday visit.
You hadnât seen Harley in what felt like a year, despite how it had only been a few months. Still, as much as seeing your friend got you excited, the whole Peterâdebacle kept you in a tizzy.
Tony had asked you to help circuit a drone prototype in his lab, which gave you a great opportunity to dwell on the fact that Peter definitely saw the framed photo Sam took of the two of you. And read the sticky note. The thought still made your heart rate spike a little, but you couldnât decipher what it was stemming from.
Part of this made you feel giddy. It gave you a chance to open the bottled up feelings youâve been rejecting for Peter, and really, truly, encourage them. The other part, however, made you incredibly nervous. Anxious, even. He could react in a way that would completely redefine the longâterm friendship that you two had.
His response could either be something equally as smitten, or something thatâd haunt you for the rest of your life. It was conflicting, but also you knew that at a certain point, you wouldnât be able to hide from your feelings anymore. Peter would inevitably find out. You just hoped that it wouldnât ruin the way he looked at you.
While reâwiring the droneâs hardware, you began to spiral down the dark abyss of how badly this could end. He wouldnât necessarily get angry with you. Peter Parker didnât have an angered bone in his body; but this could very well, quite possibly, most definitely, create an incredibly uncomfortable atmosphere in your dynamic.
Fuck.
You wished heâd react the same way he did when you both found out you were superheroes, or when youâd both been recruited to be part of the Avengers. Peter had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. Would these feelings really change that much of it?
âThere you are!â Peterâs voice from the doorframe disrupted your thoughts. You immediately felt the way your heart leapt in your chest.
You did hope that things wouldnât change because of a dumb crush. However, youâd be lying if you said it didnât feel like things with the two of you were changing already.
Quickly, you glanced over your shoulder, careful not to distract your work. The way Peter walked over to you seemed radiant; he was glowing, and it wasnât just because he looked fresh out of the shower. He smiled at you, toothy and spritely. The way it suited his energy was contagious, and spread a small grin right to your lips. âIâve been looking everywhere for you.â He added, prancing up beside you.
Your focus went back to the drone, mostly because you wanted to hide from the inevitable blush that coated your complexion. âOh yeah?â You mused, cheeky. âHow come?â
Peter leaned his back against the desk you were working at. He kept a comfortable distance from you, but a bit less than usual. You only noticed because his body heat nearly overloaded your system. You cleared the invisible tickle from your throat, feeling the urge to try and hide what felt like vulnerability.
âI wanted to show you my new lockscreen.â His tone outlined his smile audibly. Peter excitedly showed you the addition to his phone, as though heâd been rehearsing it. You felt the way your eyes widened and your face flush at the photo. The same photo that was framed at your bedside. âSam sent it to me.â He added the detail once you saw it.
Your eyes met. You could feel the playful demeanor that Peter had been camouflaging. He knew exactly what he was doing, and by the dorky expression on his face, you knew that your reaction was exactly what heâd been hoping for.
Dropping the hardware tools beside the drone, you used slow movements. You needed to get his phone. The power he had with that photo was too much for him, and it was already getting to his head. Your hand plunged towards the device, but Peter dodged your reach like he was one step ahead of you. He was always one step ahead of you.
âPeter Benjamin Parker.â You fought back your smile by trying to use a disciplinary tone, but your laughter won the battle. He took paces backwards, and you followed his movement. âGive me your cell phone!â
He laughed, raising a brow. âYou want my phone?â He was playing coy, teasingly. âYouâre just jealous of my lockscreen.â You two traveled around the large laboratory, him still walking backwards like it was nothing. âI could just AirDrop it to you, if you want it so badââ
Leaping forward, he dodged you again. He was having too much fun with this, waving his phone in front of your face like a chew toy. âYouâre so evil.â Your playful glare was one of Peterâs favorite looks of yours. He took it in like he was taking a picture of it.
His brow arched again, mocking you. âAm I really?â He bantered. You had to admit: as stubborn as you could be, Peterâs playful spirit was something you always enjoyed. And the banter was absolutely riveting to partake in.
Peterâs laughter filled the room as you started to chase him. He was skilled walking backwards, but running was an entirely different story. The two of you practically chased your tails around each other; Peter holding his phone high above you, and you eagerly sprinting and jumping up to try and grasp it.
In the thick of the moment, youâd finally caught up to him. Body to body. Chest to chest. His arm was still extended to the ceiling, phone held to the sky, but his focus was completely captured by you. Your eye contact was thick, and your little fits of giggles halted to a stop at the rousing tension.
Damp strands of curls fell in front of his face as he studied you, eyes tracing features of your face that heâd already memorized. The scent of his shower wouldâve sent your head in a pother, if not for the feeling of your bodies melding together. You could feel his heart racing through the mere fabrics of your shirts; you were certain he felt the speedy rhythm of yours, too.
His arm slowly lowered back to his side, but you both could care less about his lockscreen right now. You kept your eyes tied to his, keeping up with the silent conversation you were having. Peterâs mouth opened, dry as he scrambled to find his words. âY/N..â His voice was soft, gentle. âI need to ask you something.â
Curious and confused, you tilted your head a little. âAsk me whatâ?â
âY/N!â You heard your name called from the doorframe. Both you and Peter shifted your focus to meet the interruption, finding Harley waiting impatiently. âCâmon! Iâve got something to show you.â How inconvenient.
A look of apology shadowed your face when you looked back up at Peter. âCan you ask me later?â It was the last thing you wanted to ask, but you couldnât keep Harley waiting; the subtle tapping of his foot caused guilt to nag at your focus.
Both you and Peter peeled away from each other, slowly. It felt unnatural, especially considering that neither of you had the strength to break eye contact.
Peter forced a smile, though you could tell there was disappointment behind it. âYeah! Yeah. Go.â He waved at Harley, noticing the small glare that accompanied the mirrored action back. âIâll catch you later.â
He watched you smile at him before running off with Harley. That was how things had been since heâd returned from school.
Harley was always the first to bid for your attention, or drag you out of a room when you and Peter found yourselves alone in it. He was the ultimate cockblock, and a jealous one at that.
Peter had enough trust in you and your friendship to know that there was no competition for his spot as your best friend. However, now his hat was in the ring for a new title: your boyfriend.
Harley could oneâup him there.
Peter still had hope after his talk with Sam in the kitchen yesterday morning. He finally felt the courage he needed to ask you out. To ask if you felt the same way. But Harley didnât make his conquest any easier. In fact, heâd done nothing but get in his way. It was almost like Harley knew what Peter was trying to do.
Last night was Samâs pick for team movie night. Of course, Sam chose a festive româcom; he chose The Holiday, and sent Peter a little wink as he cued up the movie. This was an opportunity, and Peter wasnât going to take it for granted. However, Harley wasnât going to let Peter have it that easy, either.
As Peter sat beside you, Harley sat on the other side of you, arm draped over the back of the couch. Right where Peter wanted his to be. He noticed how stiff you were, and the way you awkwardly kicked your feet as the movie played.
The memory played through Peterâs head all day, especially while this question burned in his throat. Heâd never been so eager to ask you something; so compelled to know the response youâd give him.
Part of him was scared. Just a small part of him. He knew it was a gamble to try and enhance your relationship. Youâd either reciprocate the emotions he had for you, or the friendship would go through a little awkward fit. Either way, Peter knew it was a growing experience. He was willing to risk it if it meant getting to spend time with you romantically.
Harley just seemed to anticipate every chance you and Peter caught a moment alone.
Peter wasnât planning to give up just yet.
And neither were you.
You did enjoy your time with Harley, but it felt like he was pushing it a little. Occasionally, you had the habit of cluelessness, but even now, the inkling that Harley was getting at something felt stronger than ever.
âCâmon, Keener.â You pressed him, trying to get the boy to crack. âItâs like youâre holding me hostage here.â For the past hour, youâd been trying to leave to go find Peter. Your hands went up in defense when Harley shot a look of surprise at you. âDonât get me wrong, Iâve missed you too, but Iâveââ
Thatâs when it hit you. Harley was getting at something. Something big. The look he shot at you was overwhelming. You couldnât quite grasp what he was trying to express to you, but you could tell that he was about to tell you.
He took a breath, slicing through the deafening quiet. âY/N, I need to ask you something.â His tone was stern, precise. Heâd been practicing this, you were sure of it.
Your posture straightened out. From how it sounded, this seemed really serious. Your whole demeanor shifted, stilled. âYeah, anything.â The last thing you wanted was for Harley to feel like he couldnât tell you something.
Harley stared into your eyes, grounding you for a moment. You could feel just how much you were anticipating the question, and just how slowly the world spun before he spat out the words. It reminded you of how Peter had something to ask you, too. You wondered just how serious of a question Peterâs wasâ
âWould you go out with me? Liâlike on a date?â
You froze. A date? A date with Harley?
It felt wrong for your thoughts to be consumed by anybody else in this moment, yet they were. Shoulders slumping, you gave him a sympathetic smile. âHarley, Iâm flattered, but Iââ
He interrupted you. âYou have feelings for someone else?â His question came out like a scoff, almost like he was trying to beat you at answering him. âParker, right?â
And in that moment, when your heart swelled and your cheeks flushed, you finally accepted it. Your posture settled a little, and the breath youâd been holding for the past few days finally released itself. âYeah.. Yeah, I do.â Your lips curved sympathetically, not wanting to put salt in Harleyâs wound. âYâknow, I still appreciate you though, right?â
Harley smiled at you, âYeah, yeah, whatever..â He laughed quietly. âNow, go find your loveâbug boyfriend. Iâm sure heâs dying to see you.â
With a grin on your face, and a bittersweet farewell to Harley, you went on your way to find Peter. You knew that rejecting Harley shouldnât have been as inspiring to you as it ended up being. Now more that ever, you felt determined to ask Peter out. Whether he was planning to ask you or you ask him, you werenât going to give up until you had a date set on the calendar.
Turning the hallway corner, you found yourself rounding to the kitchen, following the faint sound of Peterâs voice. Waltzing with his words was the sound of Samâs too, conversing with your best friend. You paused in your tracks, listening in on their conversation til you had a good time to intervene.
Tiny klanks and clinks of spoon on mug came from further away, muffled under Sam as he spoke, âYou going to the holiday party tomorrow night?â He asked, âI heard thereâs gonna be mistletoe.â You could hear the way his voice shaped into his mug as he took a loud sip of his drink, âYou should take Y/N and go find it.â
Heat flooded your face at how forward Sam was, and at the idea of kissing Peter. It was thrilling to think that in just twentyâfour hours, you could be kissing Peter Parker. You wouldnât have to avoid him anymore, you could freely sit with him and express your feelingsâ
A sigh could be heard from closer than anticipated. A sigh that sounded dejected, conflicted. Rejecting. Ouch. You slowly crept around the corner, eying Peterâs back as he replied to Sam.
âIâm not gonna do that. I canât.â Peter seemed to hesitate, but that didnât take away from how much it hurt. âI just donât want..â
âYou donât want to kiss me?â You found your place to interject, now standing in view of Sam and Peterâs back.
As Peter turned to look at you, it didnât take much to notice the way his heart was in his throat. His whole body was stiff with regret, and his hands held the air in front of him like there was something to fix. But there wasnât; you had your answer.
Peter Parker didnât love you like that.
âY/N, Iââ Even as he took steps towards you, it felt like he only got further away from you. You put space between the two of you, a hand coming out to emphasize the physical boundary you needed.
You shut your eyes for a second, taking a breather. Keeping your composure was your main focus. âNo, no. Itâs fine.â You tried to keep earnesty and understanding in your tone. âBut you donât have to make kissing your best friend seem like such a chore.â You snapped a bit more intensely than youâd intended, but you needed to. You had to leave.
One more breath and you left, unable to look Peter in the eye again before you made your way to your room. You hated how the look on his face stuck in your brain like some traumatic flashback. The look in his eyes when he saw you was almost as hurt as you were. It didnât make sense.
Making your way into your room, a knock interrupted your peace of mind. Holding off on processing your rejection, you turned and met eyes with Sam. You didnât know whether it was a welcomed company or something you wanted to turn away.
Before you could open your mouth, Sam spoke up.
âI know what happened back there wasnât.. The best, but I swear it wasââ
âSam.â The words came out shorter than you were used to. âIf youâre here to talk to me about that, I donât want to hear it.â
It sucked. You hated the feeling of being rejected. It also felt so much heavier because youâd already been avoiding Peter, youâd already been missing his company; now, you felt like you had more reason to steer clear of him. You hated it. You hated how much it hurt you.
Shaking his head, Sam got on task. âRight, okay.â His tone became less sympathetic, but his expression still said everything that his words didnât. âBuck and I were assigned to stakeout tomorrow, but our backup fell through. What Parker and I were talking about in the kitchen was if you and him could stakeout and then Buck and I could backâup for you two.â
You blinked a few times. He was really asking you to do that? To sit in a car with Peter after heâd just ripped your heart out?
After thinking about it like that, you fully realized that Peter was oblivious to your heartbreak. He didnât know heâd rejected you, and he was still your best friend. Maybe this was a sign, and something the two of you needed to do.
Sighing, you held back an eye roll. âFine. I could do that.â You placed your hands on your hips, raising a brow at Sam. âDid Peter agree to it?â
âCuddleâbug said that as long as you were okay with it, heâd be more than happy to.â
Hearing the nickname lodged a dagger in a spot you didnât think was reachable. God, it hurt. It might get worse with this mission, but you also knew that youâd never forgive yourself if youâd fully pushed Peter away.
âOkay. Then tell him to meet me in the garage tomorrow morning.â
Sam seemed to respect the boundary, and let you be after youâd given him the request. You didnât have the stomach to see Peter before the stakeout, and you knew youâd have to prepare yourself quite a bit before youâd have to spend god knows how long with him tomorrow. Alone.
God knows how long youâd have to spend with him alone, in a car, doing nothing.
You were planning to kill Sam when you got back, especially if this was some kind of ruse to set up you and your best friend.
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