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sunshine-lux · 6 days ago

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Clueless (x.)

summary: just when things are starting to look up, y/n insists on taking on nyc's latest threat. y/n and peter very quickly realize what it means to be a superhero and what it means to work as a team. and maybe, that's the push they both need...

pairings: Stark!reader x MCU!peter parker

warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of violence, some mentions of death, mentions of burns/scars, mentions of injury, light swearing, crying and some angst oops, f!reader. pretty sure that's it

word count: 12.8k! enjoy

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

The first thing Y/N did when she woke up was check her phone. The smile on her face only grew when she saw the call was still connected.

Peter hadn’t hung up.

It was 6:15 AM which meant he was definitely already getting ready for school.

She unmuted herself and stretched under her blankets. “Peter? You there?”

There was a beat of silence before his voice came through, rushed and bright.

“Hi! Yes! Good morning, Y/N/N!”

Y/N laughed. She could hear the chaos in the background— drawers opening, the thud of something falling, what sounded like a toothbrush clattering into a sink.

“You okay over there?” she asked, amused.

“I’m thriving,” Peter said, clearly lying. “I overslept, couldn’t find my socks, and I may or may not have just brushed my teeth with shaving cream.”

She snorted. “Peter!”

“I grabbed the wrong tube! I was half asleep! It was dark!”

Y/N was giggling now, burying her face into her pillow. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m charmingly chaotic,” he corrected.

“Debatable.”

He laughed, breathless and warm through the speaker. “What about you? Still burritoed in your blankets?”

“Obviously.” She closed her eyes again, smiling. “I’m not moving until I absolutely have to.”

“Lucky.”

A pause stretched out between them. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… easy.

“I can’t believe we fell asleep on the phone,” Peter said quietly.

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

Peter must’ve felt the same nostalgia hit, because when he spoke again, his voice had softened. “I liked it.”

“Me too.”

Another beat. Then—

“Hey, uh…” he cleared his throat. “Are you gonna walk with MJ today?”

“Yeah,” Y/N said. “She’s picking me up in like thirty.”

“Cool, cool.” He paused. “I might get there early. Y’know. Got some stuff to do.”

Y/N could hear the unspoken question buried in his voice. She bit her lip.

“I’ll see you there, Spiderboy.”

Peter let out a quiet breath, and she could hear the smile in it. “Okay. See you, Y/N/N.”

She finally hung up, holding the phone to her chest for a second longer before rolling out of bed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N linked her arm with MJ’s as they walked along the sidewalk, still nursing a quiet little smile.

“You’re in a weirdly good mood for someone who hates mornings,” MJ said, eyeing her suspiciously over the rim of her coffee cup.

Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe I just woke up on the right side of the bed.”

“Mmhm.” MJ glanced over at her again. “Or maybe you fell asleep on the phone with Peter Parker.”

Y/N whipped her head around. “How did you—?”

“You literally left the group chat on ‘Do Not Disturb’ all night,” MJ said. “And when I texted to ask if you were alive, I saw your name was on a call the whole time. I figured either you were kidnapped… or flirting.”

Y/N groaned and slouched down in her seat. “We weren’t flirting.”

“You called him Spiderboy.”

“I always call him Spiderboy!”

MJ smirked, sipping her coffee. “So what did he say? Something cute? Or something painfully Peter?”

Y/N tried not to smile, but MJ raised a brow and that was the end of it. “He said I looked beautiful in my suit yesterday.”

“Aha!” MJ beamed. “That’s a soft launch if I’ve ever heard one.”

By the time they walked onto campus, the courtyard was buzzing. Students were scattered across the steps. MJ adjusted her bag over her shoulder as they headed toward the main building.

“So,” she said, nudging Y/N’s arm. “Are we officially re-entering the Peter Parker era?”

Y/N blinked. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” MJ said innocently. “Just wondering if I should prep for you guys to play footsie again.”

Before Y/N could respond, she heard someone calling her name.

“Y/N/N!”

She turned around and saw Peter jogging up to them, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair still slightly damp from his rushed morning.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “Sorry—just—uh, before you go in— do you maybe wanna have lunch with me today?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. She looked at MJ, who just shrugged like go on then.

She turned back to Peter. “Sure. Come get me after third.”

Peter grinned, wide and bright. “Okay. Cool. See you.”

As he turned to leave, MJ leaned in with a smirk. “Soft. Launch.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile was impossible to hide.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The second the bell rang, Y/N stepped out of her third period classroom and nearly ran straight into Peter.

He caught himself just in time, slightly out of breath, hair wind tossed and chaotic. “Told you I’d come get you,” he said, grinning like an idiot.

“You ran here?”

“Maybe,” he huffed, holding out his hand. “Backpack.”

She gave him a look, amused. “Really?”

“It’s called being a gentleman.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but handed it over. “You’re such a dork.”

“And yet you keep me around,” he said, slinging her backpack over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. “Come on. I’ve got a plan.”

The walk to the football field was warm and easy. Peter talked too much, as usual— about his physics quiz, some weird TikTok Ned sent him last night, and how he thinks the vending machine near the cafeteria is rigged.

Y/N just listened, smiling more than she meant to. She let their arms bump sometimes and didn’t pull away.

By the time they reached the bleachers, it was almost entirely empty. Just a few kids in the distance messing around on the field. They climbed up a few rows and sat near the top, sun spilling over their shoulders.

Peter handed her a sandwich and a drink like he’d been planning this all week.

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you pack me lunch?”

“I stole it from the teachers’ lounge,” he said. “Obviously.”

Y/N laughed.

And that’s exactly when it happened.

A freshman from Robotics Club was passing by the track below and did a full double take. “Wait… you guys are, like, dating now, right?”

Peter froze, halfway into a bite of his sandwich.

Y/N blinked.

“Well—” Peter started.

“No,” Y/N cut in smoothly. “We’re just friends.”

The freshman didn’t seem convinced. They gave a thumbs up anyway and jogged off.

There was a silence.

Peter slowly lowered his sandwich. “That… wasn’t embarrassing at all.”

Y/N snorted. “We’re just friends.”

“You already said that,” he said, grinning crookedly.

She looked away, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped.

He looked at her.

She caught it, just barely from the corner of her eye. The way he looked at her like he was memorizing her face.

When she turned her head, he dropped his gaze quickly and took a huge bite of his sandwich like nothing happened.

And then he did it again.

And again.

By the fourth time, Y/N was smiling to herself, pretending not to notice.

Peter cleared his throat and pulled out his phone. “Okay, so, I found this song recently, and it reminded me of you. Or, I don’t know, maybe of us? I mean—” He pulled a pair of tangled wired earbuds from his pocket, flustered. “Just—here. I want you to hear it.”

She blinked but took the earbud he offered.

The song started playing—soft guitar, then the quiet weight of Gracie Abrams’s voice.

“I just can’t come between them. They got their own thing…”

Y/N’s brows drew together.

“She toes the line between them. He says he’s new at this…”

“How do you even know this song?” she asked, already suspicious.

Peter flushed. “I heard it on TikTok.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

“What? It came up on my for you page, I listened to the rest, and now it’s like— on repeat.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft.

“He’s good to her, and she wants it more than everything in between…”

They listened together. Quiet. Sun warming their shoulders. One earbud each, a breath between them.

When the last note faded, Y/N didn’t look at him. Just held the earbud in her lap and said, “So… which part reminded you of me?”

Peter hesitated. “All of it. But—um—it’s more like…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s kind of an us song. I mean—if that’s a thing. It’s how I feel about you. So, yeah. That’s why.”

Y/N finally looked at him.

Peter was already looking at her.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

He smiled.

And this time, she didn’t look away.

The silence stretched, thick with something almost.

Then Y/N glanced down at the earbud still resting in her lap and said, casually but not really, not at all— “As sweet as this is… I’m still not gonna kiss you.”

Peter’s head dropped back with a dramatic groan, cheeks fully flushed. “I know,” he whined, laughing through it. “It’s just—ugh—it’s so hard.”

“Trust me,” Y/N said dryly. “I know.”

He looked at her again. And this time it was a little quieter. A little softer.

“I’m not trying to rush you,” Peter said, gently. “I hope you know that.”

“I do.” She picked at a thread on her sleeve. “You’ve been… great. Actually.”

“Actually?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling. “Shut up.”

Another pause.

And then, quieter—just loud enough for him to hear,

“You’re very much on your way, though.”

Peter’s breath caught, his smile falling just slightly as he blinked at her.

She kept her eyes forward. “I just… need a little more.”

He didn’t ask what she meant. Didn’t press.

She wasn’t sure she could’ve explained it anyway.

But he nodded.

“Okay,” he said, soft and certain. “Then that’s what I’ll give you.”

Y/N finally looked back at him.

And there it was again—that look. That stupid, open, hopeless look on his face. Like she hung the stars and he was just lucky enough to sit beside her while they shined.

She cleared her throat. “You’re ridiculous.”

Peter shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

Y/N leaned back on her elbows, letting the sun warm her face, the silence stretching easy between them again.

“I’m stealing your other earbud,” she murmured.

Peter blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You already got me lunch and a love song. The least you can do is give me both sides of the audio experience.”

Peter grinned and handed it over without question.

They sat like that for the rest of the period, earbuds in, legs bumping. Not kissing. Not yet. But so close.

And when MJ found them fifteen minutes later, arms nearly touching, heads tilted toward each other, both pretending not to be absolutely glowing—

She stood at the bottom of the bleachers, squinting up. “You guys done being freakishly romantic yet or should I come back in five?”

Peter sat up immediately. “We’re just friends!”

Y/N just smiled to herself and said nothing.

Because yeah.

Maybe.

But not forever.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

They’re walking side by side, still laughing from something stupid Peter said. He’s got her backpack slung over one shoulder and she’s sipping the last of her drink. It’s warm out. Sunny. They’re both smiling like idiots.

And then—

BOOM.

The sound hits like a thunderclap, sharp and sudden. The ground shakes beneath their feet. Screams ripple out from a few blocks over. People are already running.

Y/N jerks her head toward the smoke rising in the distance.

“Was that the Met?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

Peter’s already gone tense beside her. “Yeah. I—yeah.”

He glances back at her once, almost apologetic. “I have to go.”

She grabs his sleeve. “At least let me come with you.”

Peter turns to face her fully, jaw clenched. He’s already reaching into his backpack for his mask. “Y/N, no. You’ve never been out on the field before. Berlin doesn’t even really count—”

“First time for everything then.”

Her tone is sharp, steady. She means it.

Peter stares at her like she’s completely lost her mind. “This isn’t a training sim. This is real. There’s civilians. Real people, real danger. If something happens to you—”

“Then something happens,” she says, quiet now. “But you’ll be there. I trust you.”

She looks at him, really looks at him, and there’s something in her eyes that stops him cold.

“Now trust me.”

Peter looks up at the sky like he’s asking for strength. Then back at her. His voice is tight when he finally speaks.

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Hold on tight!” Peter shouts as he fires a web at the nearest building.

“I am holding on!” Y/N yells back, one arm around his neck, the other gripping her bracelet just in case she has to suit up midair.

They swing over Manhattan like a blur—buildings flashing past, the wind in her hair, his hand warm on her waist as he maneuvers them toward the smoke.

She’s grinning. Maybe she shouldn’t be. But she is.

Peter lands hard on a rooftop across from the museum and lets her down gently. “You good?”

“I’m golden.”

With a flick of her wrist, her suit wraps over her clothes in a flash of black and silver, lighting up faintly with the current of her powers. She cracks her knuckles. “Let’s go.”

They drop into the chaos together.

It’s six guys, definitely Vulture’s leftovers. Some kind of modified alien blasters, unstable and glowing green. Civilians are scattering in every direction. Sirens wail faintly in the distance, but help’s not here yet.

“Three each,” she calls over the sound of panicked screams. “Easy math!”

Peter webs the first guy in the face before his feet hit the ground. Y/N goes for the second, electricity cracking at her fingertips as she yanks a weapon clean out of his grip and throws it across the grass. He stumbles, stunned, and she doesn’t hesitate—one strike to the gut, another to the jaw, and he’s out cold.

But then Peter sees one of the others raise a blaster—aimed at her.

“Y/N, look out!”

She ducks just in time, rolls, and sends a shockwave at the guy, knocking him flat. She pops up and whirls on Peter, frustrated.

“Spider-Man! Lock in!”

“I am locked in!”

“You’re staring at me in the middle of a fight!”

“Okay, sorry for caring whether you die or not!”

Peter shoots a web at one of the attackers—but it hits the guy’s weapon, not his hands. “Okay, maybe a little distracted!”

“Dude!”

“I’m trying!”

She sends a wave of electricity toward two of them, but one fires back fast, and she stumbles out of the way—only to hear Peter groan behind her.

“I said focus, not panic!” she shouts, zapping another guy back.

“I’m not panicking! You’re yelling at me while I’m trying not to die!”

“I wouldn’t have to yell if you weren’t ogling me mid fight!”

“I’m not ogling! I’m monitoring!”.

Peter doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s already webbing up two of the attackers nearest her, shoving them back with way too much force.

Y/N frowns. “Spidey, I’ve got this!”

“You’ve never done this before, Tempest! Let me—just stay back—”

“I won’t stay back—watch your left!”

He spins just in time to block a strike, grunting with the impact. And even as he fights, his eyes flick constantly to her—checking, double checking. She blasts one guy backward with a snap of lightning, hair whipping wildly.

“Dude!” she snaps, dodging a laser beam. “You’re doing my side too! That’s not the deal!”

“Can’t help it if you’re squishier than me!”

She electrocutes another guy midair. “I’m not squishy, you’re just being dumb!”

One of the scavengers lunges at Peter from behind—Y/N throws out a hand, sending a jolt straight through his weapon. It explodes in a burst of sparks. Peter turns, panting.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“You’re welcome. Now stop acting like I’m gonna break!”

He’s breathing hard now, three of them still standing, regrouping with their weapons powered back up. “Tempest, get behind me.”

“Nope.”

“Tempest—”

“I said no!”

But Peter’s already moving in front of her. Again. Firing webs in every direction, trying to hold all three remaining guys off by himself. Y/N throws her hands up.

“Oh my God, Spiderman, this is literally not how teamwork works!”

“I can handle it!”

And maybe he could’ve.

If she hadn’t turned her head at the exact wrong moment.

If she hadn’t shouted “LOOK OUT!” just as a fourth scavenger emerged from behind the wrecked food truck—weapon humming with unstable alien energy.

Peter turned too late.

Y/N saw it first. Reacted instantly. A bolt of lightning shot from her palm—

But the guy fired first.

The blast hit her hard, right in the side. She went flying—slammed into the concrete with a gut wrenching crack. Her suit shorted, sparks bursting at the seams. Her breath left her in one sharp exhale.

Peter screamed.

“TEMPEST!”

She didn’t answer.

The rest is a blur.

Peter fights like a man possessed. Finishes the job in under a minute. Doesn’t even remember how.

By the time the police show up, blue and red lights flashing, FBI right behind them, he’s kneeling by her limp body—one knee in the dust, hands hovering uselessly.

Blood seeps through her suit.

“Come on, come on, you’re okay, you’re okay—” he whispers, frantically brushing her hair out of her face.

Then his earpiece chirps.

“Parker.”

It’s Tony.

Peter swallows hard. “She’s down. She’s hurt. Bad.”

A beat. Then,

“Bring her to the Tower. Now.”

The comm goes dead.

Peter turns back to Y/N. Her eyes flutter open for half a second, a soft wince pulling across her face.

“Hey. You’re okay,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. I’m gonna get you there, okay? I just—I gotta move you—”

She lets out a quiet, broken noise as he tries to lift her. Her fingers twitch.

“Shit—sorry, sorry—”

He’s panicking now. No other word for it. He webs her wrists gently, pulls her arms around his neck so she’s hanging onto him as loosely as possible. Then he slips an arm under her knees.

“Just hold on for me. Please.”

And he swings.

As carefully as he’s ever done it. No sharp turns. No tricks. Just wind and fear and the rhythmic echo of his web slinging through the city. Every few seconds he looks down. Checks if she’s still breathing.

By the time the Tower is in sight, he’s shaking. Her blood is on his suit.

And his chest might as well be in pieces.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter lands hard on the Tower balcony, knees buckling from the strain. The glass doors slide open before he can say a word.

“Tempest is down, code red, vitals unstable,” FRIDAY announces calmly. “Medical team standing by.”

Tony’s already there.

He doesn’t run—he never runs—but he’s moving fast. Controlled. Cold. The second Peter steps inside with Y/N in his arms, Tony’s hands are on her too.

“Give her here.”

“I—I can—”

“Now, Parker.”

Peter lets go, fingers shaking as Tony lifts her off him with practiced ease. Y/N’s head rolls slightly against his shoulder. Her skin is pale beneath the faint glow of her busted suit.

“Suit’s locking up,” Tony mutters. “Override her AI. FRIDAY—”

“Already disengaging nanotech. Neural link severed. Miss Stark is unresponsive.”

The med team rushes in—four people, gloves on, machines humming. They ease Y/N onto the stretcher Tony sets her on and immediately start scanning, checking vitals, injecting stabilizers.

Peter doesn’t move. He just stands there, fists clenched, eyes locked on her face.

Until Tony turns.

And the fury is palpable.

“You,” he says sharply, pointing without looking at him. “Medical bay. Now. You’re getting checked up.”

Peter opens his mouth.

“Now.”

Peter flinches and nods, stumbling back a step.

“And then,” Tony adds, voice steel, “we’re talking.”

Not yelling. Not yet. But it’s worse like this. Controlled. Deadly quiet.

Peter doesn’t argue. He barely breathes.

He just turns and follows one of the med staff down the hallway. Blood still on his gloves. Y/N’s, not his.

And Tony—Tony watches them go before turning back to the stretcher.

“Keep her stable,” he tells the lead medic. “If she so much as twitches, I want to know.”

Then under his breath, to no one but himself,

“She’s gonna be okay. She has to be.”

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Peter flinches as the door opens.

He doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

The air changes. He feels it. That weight.

Tony steps in, slow, quiet, but sharp edged. His arms are crossed. His face unreadable.

“You okay?”

Peter looks up, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. It’s the first time anyone’s asked.

“I… yeah. I mean, I think so. Just bruises, mostly.”

Tony nods once.

Then it snaps.

“What were you thinking, Parker?!”

Peter startles. His shoulders jerk up, eyes wide.

“I—”

“You were supposed to cover your section, not play hero for hers! That was a 3v1 situation, not a 6v1! Do you even realize what could’ve happened?!”

“I do, okay?! I know!” Peter’s voice cracks. “But she’s never been in the field before, and they had alien weapons—what was I supposed to do, just let her fight alone?!”

“She’s hurt because you got distracted.”

Peter recoils like he’s been slapped.

Tony steps forward, voice lower but still laced with fury. “You don’t get to throw the entire game plan out the window because you’re worried. You were both compromised the second you stopped trusting her to handle herself.”

Peter’s breathing heavy. “She was trying to protect me—”

“And look where that got her!” Tony yells, pointing toward the direction of the med wing. “Unconscious. In critical condition. Because you were both too busy bickering to remember the basics of combat strategy.”

Peter drops his gaze. Jaw clenched. Hands balled.

“I didn’t mean to mess up.”

Tony stares at him. Long. Silent.

“I know.”

And it hurts more than the yelling. The disappointment in his voice. The edge of grief.

“But you did.”

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and sits heavily in the chair opposite Peter.

“I know you care about her. God, believe me, I know. But if you ever pull something like that again—if you ever ignore a plan, throw yourself into crossfire, or put her life on the line because you can’t stay focused—I’m pulling you both out of the field. Permanently.”

Peter nods. Voice small. “Yes, sir.”

Tony leans back, pinches the bridge of his nose.

“She’s gonna wake up.”

Peter lifts his head. “Yeah?”

“She’s a Stark,” Tony mutters. “Too damn stubborn not to.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Sweetheart?” Pepper’s voice is soft, fingers already brushing Y/N’s knuckles.

Y/N’s lashes flutter, and her eyes crack open just slightly.

“Pepper?”

“I’m here.” Pepper breathes out a shaky sigh, brushing hair from her daughter’s face. “You’re okay. You’re okay, baby.”

Y/N shifts, wincing. “Ow.”

“Try not to move too much. You took a nasty hit.”

Y/N’s eyes flicker around the room. “Peter…?”

“He’s okay,” Pepper promises. “Everyone’s okay.”

Just then, the door opens again.

Tony walks in.

And everything stills.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stops in the doorway, taking in the sight of her: bruised, pale, bandaged, awake.

Pepper stands, squeezes Y/N’s hand, and leans down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

She brushes past Tony as she leaves, her hand gently squeezing his arm as she exits.

Tony doesn’t move right away.

Then he lets out a breath and walks toward the bed, slower than usual.

Y/N blinks up at him, voice raspy. “Hi, Dad.”

He sits down next to her and just stares for a second. And then—

He exhales sharply, wraps his arms around her, and pulls her into a hug.

A real hug. Not the half pat kind. Full bodied, trembling with relief. His hand cradles the back of her head.

Y/N sinks into it, eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Tony murmurs against her hair. “You terrified me.”

“I know.”

He pulls back just enough to look at her.

“You don’t just jump into live combat, Y/N/N. That’s not how this works. You weren’t cleared, you weren’t trained for a situation like that, and you sure as hell shouldn’t have been taking on alien tech in the middle of Manhattan.”

“I didn’t want Peter to go alone.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to get the call that you were unconscious in the middle of Central Park, so I guess none of us got what we wanted today.”

She smiles weakly. “I held my own.”

Tony snorts, but it’s wet at the edges. “Of course you did. You’re my kid.”

Then, softer, almost a whisper,

“Don’t do that to me again.”

Y/N reaches for his hand. Squeezes it. “Okay.”

He squeezes back. “You’re grounded.”

“I figured.”

“No suit.”

“Yeah.”

“No solo missions.”

“I’m still technically not even an Avenger.”

“You’re not helping your case, Y/N/N.”

But he’s smiling a little now.

She leans her head back against the pillows. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m okay.”

Tony closes his eyes for a second. Breathes it in like it’s gospel.

“Yeah,” he says. “You are.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N stirred awake to the soft beep of a monitor and the sterile hum of the tower’s medical bay. The pain in her side was dull but constant. Enough to remind her that the mission had gone sideways. Her limbs felt heavy, but her mind was already catching up.

There was someone slumped in the chair beside her.

Peter.

He looked awful. Head down, shoulders hunched, curls a mess like he’d been running his hands through them nonstop. His leg bounced restlessly, and he didn’t even notice she was awake until she shifted ever so slightly in the bed.

His head snapped up.

“You’re awake,” he breathed. “Hi. You’re awake.”

She blinked at him. Her throat was dry. “Water.”

He fumbled for the cup on the tray like he’d been waiting hours for her to say something—anything. His hands trembled as he held it to her lips. She sipped, slow and silent, eyes never leaving his.

When she leaned back into the pillows, her voice was rasped but sharp. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Peter froze. “What?”

“You know,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t follow the plan.”

“I—Y/N/N, I thought—”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t say my name like you didn’t blow the whole op. You were supposed to handle your end. You left an opening and I had to cover you.”

Peter’s face crumpled. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care what you meant to do,” Y/N bit out. Her voice wavered, but her eyes didn’t. “You didn’t trust me. You saw me holding my ground and still decided to jump in like I was some rookie who needed saving.”

He sat there, stunned. And then she pushed herself up on one elbow, ignoring the twinge in her ribs, just so she could look him in the eye.

“You spent all night telling me how good I am,” she said quietly. “Telling me I was ready. But the second things got real, you didn’t trust me to do what I’ve trained my whole life for.”

Peter didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. His throat worked around a lump he couldn’t swallow.

“You’re my best friend,” he said finally, the words soft and fragile.

She stilled.

He wasn’t just saying it to calm her down. He meant it. It was an explanation, an apology, a confession.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “I know I messed up. I just—when I saw you get hit, I couldn’t think. My brain went blank. All I could see was you on the ground and me not doing anything to stop it.”

He looked like he might cry. His eyes were already glassy. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers digging into his palms.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N,” he said. “Not like that. Not when I was right there.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her chest rising and falling unevenly. Then, slowly, she reached for his hand. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“You’re not going to lose me,” she murmured. “But you have to trust me to have your back too.”

Peter’s lips parted, but no words came. He just nodded, his hand tightening around hers like he didn’t want to let go. Maybe he wouldn’t for a while.

And maybe, for once, she didn’t mind.

A quiet settled between them, not quite peace but something close.

And then Y/N shifted, wriggling under the blankets like something was bothering her.

“Ugh,” she muttered, scratching at her side. “My left side is so itchy.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Itchy?”

She made a face, already tugging up the hem of her scrub top. “Yeah, like, annoying itchy. What the hell—”

The smile on Peter’s face vanished as soon as she revealed the heavy gauze wrapped tightly around her torso. His posture stiffened, alarmed.

“Hey, maybe don’t touch that,” he said gently, but she was already sitting up straighter, ignoring the stab of pain in her ribs.

She peeled the fabric higher, studying the clean but thick bandaging circling her side. “God, what even is—”

“Y/N,” Peter said, voice firmer now. “Lay back down. You really shouldn’t—”

But she was already sliding off the bed, slow but determined, bare feet hitting the cold tile. He stood up with her like he could catch her if she fell.

“Y/N/N, seriously, you don’t have to—”

She didn’t answer. Just made her way to the bathroom across the room, pushing the door open. Peter followed, hovering in the doorway as she stepped in front of the mirror.

Her reflection stared back—tired eyes, a pale face, tangled hair—and that damn bandage. She hesitated. One hand lifted her shirt again, the other peeled the gauze away, inch by inch.

And then she saw it.

A jagged scar, dark and red and raw, sprawled along her left side. It looked like a burn mark, angry and fresh. The skin was swollen, still healing, but unmistakably permanent.

Y/N went still.

Completely, utterly still.

Her breath caught. Her hand trembled. She didn’t touch it—she couldn’t. She just stared, eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears.

Peter stepped closer, voice quiet and cracking. “I’m so sorry. Y/N, this—this is all my fault.”

She didn’t look at him.

She didn’t say a word.

Because suddenly, it hit her like a truck.

This was real. Not just training in the compound or helping Peter and Ned with intel. Not just sparring with Peter in suits and laughing after.

This was a burn mark on her body. A scar she would carry. One of many, probably.

Her body would never be the same.

She closed her eyes for a beat, but the image was still burned into her memory. It didn’t hurt so much as it rattled something deep inside her. This was the price. This was the beginning of what it meant to really do this—to be a hero.

And there would be more. More bruises. More cuts. More scars.

She swallowed hard. “I look like I got branded.”

Peter’s voice broke. “Y/N…”

She finally turned to him, eyes glassy. Not crying. Not yet. But overwhelmed. Shaken.

“This is gonna keep happening, isn’t it?” she whispered. “If I keep doing this… if I keep going out there… I’m gonna keep getting hurt.”

He didn’t lie. Didn’t tell her she wouldn’t.

All he said, barely above a whisper, was, “Yeah.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but nothing came out.

So instead, Peter stepped forward and reached out. His fingers brushed her hand gently, grounding her.

“I know it’s scary,” he said. “And I know I didn’t make it any easier. But I believe in you, Y/N/N. I really do.”

Her eyes dropped to the scar again.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

She was in it now.

And there was no turning back.

Y/N didn’t speak.

Not right away.

She just stood there, staring at the scar like it didn’t belong to her, like it was on someone else’s body. Her reflection blurred behind it. Her breath hitched. Shallow. Unsteady.

“I just…” Her voice was barely audible. “I didn’t expect this to happen so soon.”

Peter’s heart cracked clean in half.

She blinked rapidly, swallowing hard as the words tumbled out. “I mean—I’m not even a real Avenger. I’m not like you or my dad or Nat. I’m just…” Her voice cracked. “I’m just trying.”

And then it broke.

The sob escaped before she could stop it. Her face crumpled and she covered her mouth with her hand like she could take it back, like she could hold herself together for just a second longer—but she couldn’t.

Peter didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward and pulled her into him, arms around her waist, careful of her ribs. She collapsed into his chest without resistance, letting the weight of everything crash down on his shoulders. She shook as she cried, the tears finally spilling over.

“I didn’t think it’d happen like this,” she gasped. “Not like this, not yet—”

“I know,” Peter whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I know.”

He held her tighter.

“I was so scared,” she choked out. “I thought I was fine but then I saw it and it’s—it’s just there now. On me. Forever.”

Peter nodded against her temple, eyes wet. “I know the feeling.”

She clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her upright. And maybe he was.

With one arm around her back, he slowly guided her out of the bathroom and back to the bed. She followed wordlessly, still trembling, and when she laid back down, he stayed beside her. She curled into his side, face buried in his chest, still crying softly.

Peter ran his fingers through her hair.

He didn’t say anything about how strong she was.

Or how she’d be okay.

He didn’t lie.

Because he knew.

He knew exactly what this felt like.

The shame of looking in the mirror and seeing something you didn’t ask for. The scar on his back still ached some nights. That summer, he started wearing shirts at the pool—not because of the sun, but because of what the mirror showed him every time he forgot. Something angry and red and ugly, stretching between his shoulder blades. Something that said you almost died here.

He would give anything—anything—for Y/N not to know what that felt like.

But now she did.

So he held her.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Okay? I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t answer. Just cried harder.

And Peter let her.

Because he knew sometimes, that’s all you can do.

Her breathing slowed eventually.

It didn’t stop hurting—Peter could feel that much. But the sobs subsided, her body no longer shaking in his arms, just sinking deeper into his side as exhaustion took hold.

She didn’t move for a long time. Neither of them did.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t heavy. If anything, it felt like the only thing keeping them grounded—like if either of them spoke too soon, the whole world might tip sideways again.

Y/N stirred first.

Her voice was quiet, raw. “I don’t blame you.”

Peter blinked.

“I mean it,” she said, shifting so she could look at his face. “I know you’re probably beating yourself up over it… but I don’t. I don’t blame you, Peter.”

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t breathe.

Just looked down at her, eyes glossy and red, and for a second she thought he might say thank you or I needed to hear that. But he didn’t.

Instead, he just pulled her closer again, his hand sliding into her hair and brushing through the tangled strands at the base of her neck.

It was gentler than anything she’d ever felt.

Like he was scared he might break her all over again.

“I’m serious,” she whispered, more urgently now. “You didn’t make me go on that mission. I made that call. I trained for it. You told me I was ready.”

His hand paused in her hair.

“You meant it, right?” she asked.

“I did,” Peter said softly. “I meant every word.”

She nodded against him. “Then I don’t blame you.”

And again, he didn’t answer.

Because it didn’t matter.

She could forgive him a thousand times over—it wouldn’t make a difference. Because he still blamed himself. Every second of it. The way he hesitated. The way he didn’t get there fast enough. The way her body went limp in his arms.

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, then started combing through her hair again, slow and steady.

Y/N didn’t say anything else.

She didn’t need to.

She just let him hold her.

And Peter held on like it was the only thing he could do right.

There was a knock on the door.

Peter tensed.

Y/N didn’t move—too worn out, too tucked into him—and so he just looked up as it cracked open, soft and careful.

“Aunt May?” he said quietly.

She was already halfway inside, her eyes wide, searching. “Are you okay? Are you okay?”

Behind her was Happy, holding a ridiculous bouquet of sunflowers and daisies—probably the first thing he saw when he panicked at the florist. He looked stiff, worried. There were tear marks on his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” Peter said.

“I’m okay too,” Y/N added, voice scratchy.

But May was already at her side, kneeling at the edge of the bed, gently brushing her hair back. “Sweetheart, don’t say that just to make us feel better. Are you okay?”

Y/N smiled a little. “I promise, I am. Just a little sore.”

May kissed her forehead, whispered something about how strong she was, how brave—and then Happy stepped closer, still gripping the flowers like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

His voice cracked. “You scared the hell out of us, kid.”

Y/N sat up a little more, trying not to wince as she reached for the flowers. “Are those for me?”

Happy nodded. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, they’re… they were the nicest ones at the store.”

“They’re perfect,” she said. And then she squinted. “Wait… Happy, are you crying?”

“What?” he blinked. “No. No! I’m just—these rooms have bad ventilation. Allergies. Pollen. I—”

“We all know you’re a big softie.” she teased.

Peter laughed softly. May smiled.

And Happy, poor guy, just threw up a hand and said, “I’m just glad you’re here with us, Y/N/N. That’s all.”

Her face softened.

She nodded, holding the flowers to her chest. “Me too.”

There was a moment of stillness again, the good kind this time. The kind that feels like safety.

May looked to Peter. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you home. You need sleep.”

Peter hesitated, glancing back at Y/N.

She caught his eye and smiled. “I’ll be okay.”

He nodded, finally, and got up. Happy patted his shoulder and followed May toward the door.

Peter was the last to leave.

He looked back one more time and Y/N gave him a little wave with her fingers, just enough to let him know she meant what she said.

She’d be okay.

Not perfect. Not untouched. But okay.

And that was enough.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The next morning, the sun filtered in gently through the curtains.

Y/N woke up slowly, her body heavy with soreness, her mind still a little fogged from the painkillers. She was alone in the room now—no Peter, no May, no beeping monitors. Just a quiet hum and the faintest sound of voices coming from somewhere down the hall.

Eventually, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Everything ached. But she was steady. More or less.

She moved slowly, carefully making her way back to her own room at the tower, where she grabbed the loosest clothes she could find: a big, faded Stark Industries t-shirt and a pair of baggy gray sweats. Her hair was still wet from the shower, tucked behind her ears. She didn’t bother with makeup. Didn’t even look in the mirror.

She didn’t want to.

As she padded barefoot down the hall, she could hear the unmistakable sound of chaos—low voices arguing, shushing, the rustle of paper and plastic and something that sounded suspiciously like helium balloons bumping against the ceiling.

She furrowed her brow.

And then she turned the corner into the living room.

And froze.

So did they.

Ned, MJ, and Harry were all standing there—mid whisper, eyes wide, completely frozen.

There were at least half a dozen “Get Well Soon” balloons in pastel colors tangled together in the corner, a ridiculous number of soft blush pink rose bouquets scattered across the coffee table and counters, and Harry was standing in the middle of it all holding a pink Jellycat bunny by the ears.

MJ had a massive poster in her hands that read “WE LOVE YOU Y/N/N!!” with photos of her, Peter, Ned, MJ, and even Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey taped all over it in a messy, beautiful collage.

No one moved.

And then Harry cleared his throat and held the bunny up higher.

“Surprise?”

Y/N blinked.

Her lip twitched.

And then she burst out laughing.

It started small but it built fast, until she was doubled over holding her side, laughing through the ache, shaking her head.

Ned dropped the balloon he was trying to anchor. MJ let the poster droop a little. Harry was smiling now too, stepping forward with the bunny still in hand.

“We were gonna wait for you to get settled,” he said sheepishly. “But, uh. These two don’t whisper very well.”

“Clearly,” Y/N said, grinning as she wiped her eyes. “You guys are insane.”

“Insanely thoughtful,” MJ corrected.

“Completely insane,” Y/N said again, but her voice cracked just a little.

Harry handed her the bunny. “It was either this or a giant stuffed bear. I figured this one could, like… sit on your bookshelf or something. Less pressure.”

She looked at the pink bunny.

Then at him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Harry softened. “Anytime.”

And then Ned stepped forward, arms open but hesitant. “Can I… is it okay if I hug you? You don’t have to, I just—”

She dropped the bunny and wrapped her arms around him before he could even finish.

He hugged her back, warm and solid.

Then MJ joined in, pulling them both in tighter.

And for a moment, Y/N just stood there, surrounded by them. Her people. And for the first time since waking up in the medbay, she let herself feel it.

She wasn’t just okay.

She was home.

Eventually, they all made their way to the couch.

Y/N moved slowly, still tender, still a little hunched in her oversized sweats, but the way her friends hovered around her—soft, careful, overbearing in the most loving way—meant she didn’t have to lift a finger.

Harry disappeared into the kitchen for a second, then returned with a massive brown paper takeout bag in both arms like it weighed thirty pounds.

“Okay,” he said, setting it down on the coffee table. “I might’ve gone overboard.”

He started unpacking it—box after box after box.

“Holy shit,” Y/N whispered.

There were pancakes stacked three high, scrambled eggs with herbs and cheese, buttery hashbrowns, fruit cut into perfect slices, and even tiny jars of jam and Nutella. It smelled like heaven.

“You guys didn’t have to do all this for me,” she said, blinking down at the spread.

Ned looked at her like she’d grown two heads. “You’d do it for us.”

“Literally,” MJ added, already opening a container. “You made me a whole card last time I burned my finger on the espresso machine.”

Y/N blinked. “Okay, but that’s different.”

“Is it?” MJ raised a brow. “The card was huge.”

Y/N laughed. “Still. You skipped school. Harry skipped his fake job.”

Harry looked mildly offended. “It’s very real. I had a big meeting yesterday.”

MJ didn’t even look up from her fruit container. “Yeah, with your assistant and your cat.”

“She’s not my assistant,” Harry muttered. “And Mr. Whiskers is very important to me.”

Everyone snorted.

Y/N leaned back against the cushions, her smile growing wider by the second. “Okay, seriously though. Who bought all this?”

MJ rolled her eyes. “You think my minimum wage barista job is paying for gourmet breakfast and a floral explosion? Please. Say thank you to Prince Harry and his infinite credit line.”

“You should’ve seen us at the store,” Ned added, laughing. “We left them with no balloons. And Harry asked the florist for all of their pink roses.”

“He was freaking out at the Jellycat store,” MJ chimed in. “Kept saying he couldn’t find one that looked enough like you.”

Harry—whose ears were now fully pink—shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s the least I could do,” he said quietly. “After you… y’know. Saved the freaking city.”

Y/N looked down at the bunny still in her lap.

Then at Harry.

Then at all of them.

Her throat tightened.

She reached for a fork instead of speaking, stabbing a piece of pancake and pointing it toward Ned in warning. “If you eat all the hashbrowns, I’m throwing you off the balcony.”

He gasped, deeply offended. “I bought you balloons!”

MJ snorted. “You bought two balloons.”

“Three!”

“Still.”

Harry just leaned back, arm stretched along the back of the couch behind her, his smile easy, content.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like she had to be anyone else.

She didn’t have to be a Stark. Or a hero. Or a survivor.

She could just be Y/N/N.

Their Y/N/N.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A few hours later, the penthouse was quiet again.

Y/N was curled up in bed, aimlessly flipping through channels on the TV mounted across from her. She wasn’t really watching anything. Even the bunny was starting to look bored.

The door creaked open.

Tony leaned against the frame, holding two mugs. “Well, well,” he said, stepping inside. “Look who’s still in bed.”

“I’m bored,” Y/N declared dramatically, flopping back into her pillows.

“I brought tea.”

She perked up just enough to accept it.

Tony sat at the edge of her bed, sighing like the walk from the kitchen had taken years off his life. He watched her for a second— slightly damp hair, oversized shirt, pink roses tucked into a vase on her windowsill.

“That was really sweet, what your friends did,” he said, finally.

Y/N glanced over at him. ��I know.”

He nodded. “I mean—MJ and Ned are obviously for lifers. Ned brought balloons. That kid’s got heart.”

“And MJ brought sarcasm and fruit.”

“Which is, honestly, more than you deserve.”

Y/N kicked him lightly under the blanket.

Tony smiled. “I was surprised by Osborn, though.”

Y/N blinked. “Harry?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think he had it in him. Was a little worried at first—rich kid, shiny shoes, weirdly good posture. But he’s… I don’t know. He’s a good guy.”

She nodded, sipping her tea.

“He is.”

Tony tilted his head at her, eyes narrowing. “So?”

Y/N squinted. “So what?”

“What’s the deal? You like him?”

She rolled her eyes. “We’re just friends, Dad.”

“Uh huh.” He sipped his tea. “And Peter?”

“We’re also just friends.”

Tony groaned. “It’s been almost a week since he told you he likes you. And you’re still not dating?”

Y/N didn’t even look up. “I need him to suffer a little more.”

Tony snorted. “After everything that happened yesterday, I think he’s suffered enough.”

Y/N cracked a smile.

There was a pause. A soft, quiet sort of silence.

“I called the school,” Tony said, tapping the side of his mug. “Told them you’re attending a tech summit upstate.”

Y/N frowned. “But I’m not.”

“We needed an excuse. It’s fine.”

She laughed under her breath. “So what’s the real plan?”

“You’re staying home. No school, no missions, no compound training. One week, minimum. Doctor’s orders.”

Y/N groaned. “But—”

“One week, Y/N/N,” he said gently. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

She blinked at him.

And Tony—her impossible, stubborn, brilliant father—set his mug down on the nightstand and reached out to cup the side of her face with one hand, thumb brushing lightly along her temple.

“You’re not invincible,” he said. “And you don’t have to be.”

Y/N didn’t say anything.

She just leaned into his palm.

Tony dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

“Oh,” he added as he stood. “Rhodey’s flying in tonight.”

Y/N perked up. “Seriously?”

“He wanted to see you. Spend some time with all of us after the… y’know. Almost dying part.”

Y/N smiled, soft and real. “Tell him that we’re playing Uno. I’m going to destroy both of you.”

Tony was already halfway to the door. “We’ll see about that, Lightning Bug.”

And then he was gone.

And Y/N was alone again.

But this time, the quiet didn’t feel quite so heavy.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

“Smells like overpriced garlic bread in here,” Rhodey announced as he stepped out, a duffel slung over one shoulder, already shrugging off his jacket.

“Please,” Tony said, right behind him, balancing three heavy takeout bags. “It’s authentic. The guy who runs this place kissed me on both cheeks when I left. That’s how you know it’s good.”

“You tipped him a hundred dollars, Stark.”

“And he earned every cent.”

From her room down the hall, Y/N heard their voices echo through the penthouse—familiar, loud, unmistakable. She perked up immediately, sitting up straighter on the bed. A second later, when the sound of Tony’s exaggerated groan of protest reached her, she was already sliding on her slippers and hurrying toward the living room.

“Uncle Rhodey!”

Her voice was pure joy as she rounded the corner, and Rhodey barely had a second to react before she was in his arms.

“Hey, kid,” he said, instantly softening. His arms wrapped gently around her, careful not to squeeze too tight. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am resting,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“She’s not resting,” Tony called from the kitchen island, where he was already unpacking a mountain of neatly labeled takeout containers. “She tried to help Pepper rewire the coffee machine earlier.”

“It was smoking,” Pepper said pointedly as she emerged from the hallway, her arms folded, a soft smile blooming when she saw Rhodey. “And Y/N said she ‘had a feeling’ she could fix it.”

Rhodey snorted, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s face before releasing her. “Well, you look a hell of a lot better than how I thought you’d be. You gave me a heart attack when I got that call.”

“Join the club,” Tony muttered, reaching for the stack of plates Pepper handed him.

“Why do I feel like you enjoyed the drama?” Pepper teased, kissing Rhodey’s cheek on her way to the table.

Tony looked deeply offended. “I was very calm and very level-headed—”

“He yelled at six different nurses,” Y/N murmured.

“I delegated concern!” Tony shot back.

Rhodey was already laughing. “Man, it’s good to be back.”

They all moved around the dining room like they’d done it a thousand times before. Tony rattling off a dramatic monologue about the restaurant’s menu. Pepper expertly unboxing the eggplant parmesan and garlic knots. Rhodey pulling out chairs. Y/N trailing behind with glasses and silverware, still smiling, still not believing how good it felt to have everyone here again. Her people. Her family.

And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—she didn’t feel broken. She felt whole.

She belonged.

Dinner had barely started and already the table looked like a war zone—parmesan dusted the plates, Tony reaching dramatically across Rhodey’s arm for the last stuffed shell like it was his personal mission. Pepper laughed as she swatted his hand away.

“No seconds until everyone’s eaten once, Tony.”

“I brought the food,” he argued, hand over his heart. “I should get dibs.”

“You also brought six entrees.”

“Exactly. I deserve applause, not judgment.”

Y/N giggled quietly as she twirled pasta onto her fork, tucking her legs up beneath her oversized sweats. Her hair falling soft around her face, and there was a pink warmth in her cheeks that hadn’t been there for days.

Across from her, Rhodey chewed thoughtfully, watching her for a moment before wiping his mouth with a napkin. “So,” he said casually. “How’s school?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Didn’t my dad already tell you everything?”

“Of course he did,” Rhodey said, leaning back in his chair. “But you know how he is. I need to hear it from you.”

Tony lifted his wine glass with a sarcastic flourish. “This feels like a personal attack.”

“You’ll live,” Pepper said without looking up.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile stuck around. “It’s fine,” she said finally. “Busy. A little chaotic.”

Rhodey nodded. “Still kicking ass in all your APs?”

“Of course I am,” she said. “But I have, like, four projects due. Not that I’ll be doing any of them next week while I’m fake at a tech summit upstate.”

Tony pointed a fork at her. “You're welcome, by the way. You owe me.”

“I didn’t ask you to lie for me,” she teased.

“You also didn’t complain,” he shot back.

Rhodey chuckled, glancing between them before asking, “What about your friends? Everyone treating you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “They’ve been amazing, actually. MJ, Ned… Harry.”

Tony looked up briefly at that, but didn’t say anything.

“They came by this morning,” Y/N went on. “Balloons, flowers. MJ made this whole poster with pictures of all of us. It’s on my wall now.”

“Aww,” Pepper murmured with a fond smile.

Rhodey smiled too, a little gentler now. “That’s good,” he said. “That’s really good.”

And it was. Y/N didn’t say it out loud, but she felt it—this was good. This table, this warmth, this kind of love that didn’t come with conditions or press conferences. Just people who knew her. Who saw her. Who showed up.

She caught Rhodey watching her again, and before she could hide it, the softness must’ve shown on her face, because his eyes crinkled just a little.

“You’re doing good, Y/N/N,” he said.

Her throat tightened. She cleared it quickly, looking down at her plate. “Thanks.”

Tony reached over, popped a garlic knot onto her plate. “She’s my best project. Obviously.”

“Okay, you don’t get credit for my personality,” Y/N said, grinning.

“I get credit for at least half of it.”

“Which half?”

Tony smirked. “The funny, charming, genius half.”

“And the chaos?” Pepper asked innocently, sipping her wine.

Tony gestured with his fork. “Collateral damage.”

Everyone laughed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The brownies were still warm when Pepper cut them. Gooey centers, crisp edges, a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting into the ridges like it was part of the design. Y/N sat cross legged on the couch, her bowl balanced carefully in her lap, Uno cards fanned out in her hand.

“Reverse,” she said, tossing it onto the growing pile in the center of the coffee table.

Tony groaned. “Again? How many of those do you have?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You’ve been hoarding cards,” he muttered.

“She’s literally winning,” Rhodey pointed out, licking a bit of chocolate off his spoon. “What would she be hoarding?”

“Chaos. It runs in the bloodline.”

“Draw two,” Y/N said sweetly, putting the card down for Tony to see.

Pepper snorted from her place on the rug. “You walked right into that one.”

Tony stared at her, betrayed. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I really am.”

Y/N’s cheeks hurt from smiling. There was a warmth in her chest, the soft patter of rain just barely audible against the windows. Tony had lit the fireplace, more for ambience than warmth, and someone had put on a soft jazz playlist in the background that kept getting interrupted by Tony saying “you guys are cheating” every other minute.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this… full. Not just from the brownies, but from this kind of easy, grounded joy. The kind that didn’t feel like it would disappear as soon as the moment ended. The kind she didn’t want to take for granted.

“Uno,” Rhodey said casually.

Three heads whipped toward him.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You did not just Uno me.”

“Sorry, kid,” Rhodey said to Y/N, smug. “Gotta keep you humble.”

“You’re supposed to be on my team!”

“There are no teams in Uno.”

Tony raised his hand like he was taking an oath. “Thank you. Finally.”

Y/N sighed dramatically, but she was still smiling, still glowing from the inside out. She leaned her head against Pepper’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla and faint perfume. Pepper didn’t say anything, just reached over and combed her fingers gently through Y/N’s damp hair.

“Thanks for doing all this,” Y/N murmured.

Tony looked up from his cards. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” she said. “It’s… everything.”

Pepper gave her hand a small squeeze. “You deserve a little spoiling.”

“A little?” Rhodey scoffed. “We’ve got enough pink roses in this place to start a wedding ceremony.”

Y/N laughed, hiding her face in her bowl. “That wasn’t even you guys! That was MJ and Ned and Harry—”

“Ohhh, Harry,” Tony drawled.

“Tony,” Pepper warned.

Tony held up his hands, innocent. “Just saying. Boy’s got timing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. But even as she laughed it off, her stomach fluttered.

She didn’t say it out loud, but she couldn’t help it—this was the kind of night she wanted to remember forever. She wanted to bottle it, keep it in her pocket for later. Not for the flash or the drama or the name on the tower… but for the warmth. The love. The family.

And she didn’t know it yet—not fully��but tonight would be the first time she let herself wonder what it might be like to have this someday. A little place of her own. A kitchen that always smelled like brownies. A living room full of laughter and warmth and people who knew her heart.

She’d never say it. Not out loud.

But the seed was planted.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The game wound down with Pepper finally pulling out a sneaky win—much to Tony’s dismay—and Y/N helped clear the plates before Pepper gently shooed her off with a, “Go relax, honey. We’ve got this.”

Rhodey pulled her into one last hug at the edge of the kitchen, wrapping her up in his arms like she was still eight years old.

“You doing okay, kid?” he murmured near her temple.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I really am.”

“Good. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Love you,” she said into his shoulder.

“Love you more.”

Tony was at the sink, pretending not to look too fond as he rinsed out the brownie pan. “Alright, lights out, princess. Big day of healing and dramatic teen angst ahead tomorrow.”

Y/N snorted, flipped him off lazily over her shoulder, and called, “’Night, Dad. Night, Pepper.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Pepper said warmly.

The hallway was quiet as she walked back to her room. Her slippers barely made a sound on the floor. And when she passed the windows that looked out over the city, she paused just for a second.

The rain had started sometime during dessert. It wasn’t heavy, but enough to leave droplets streaming down the glass, the reflections of Manhattan’s lights blurring against the dark sky. It was kind of peaceful.

She lingered for a moment before moving on.

She flopped onto her bed with a content sigh. Her phone buzzed somewhere beneath her pillow.

She fished it out and looked through all the notifications Harry and MJ blew up her phone with while she was away.

She rolled onto her back, phone pressed to her chest, laughter still soft on her lips. The rain tapped lightly at her windows now. The world felt quiet again.

Until—

Tap.

She sat up. Frowned.

Tap. Tap tap.

She blinked and turned toward the window.

Someone was knocking.

And when she peeled back the curtain, heart stuttering in her chest—

It was Peter.

Soaked from the rain. Sweatshirt clinging to his frame. Backpack slung over one shoulder.

His hand was still raised, like he was about to knock again.

He looked up. Met her eyes.

And for a second, neither of them moved.

Y/N unlocked the window in a rush, sliding it open just enough for Peter to climb in. The rain hit her arms and face, cold and sharp, but she barely noticed.

Peter stumbled inside with a breathless laugh, dripping water all over her hardwood floors.

She quickly shut the window behind him, pulling the curtain closed again before turning on her heel. “Hold on, I’ll get you a towel—”

She disappeared into her bathroom and came back seconds later with the fluffiest one she had, shoving it into his chest. “Peter, you’re soaked! What are you doing here so late?”

He was rubbing the towel through his curls, breath slightly uneven. “I wanted to see you.”

“You could’ve FaceTimed me,” she said, lowering her voice instinctively. “You’re gonna get sick, idiot.”

“I can’t FaceTime you for this.”

Y/N blinked, heart slowing in her chest. “For what? What’s going on?”

Peter looked at her. Really looked at her. Rain still dripping from the edge of his sweatshirt. Brown eyes wide and soft, like the words were already pressing out of him before he could stop them.

“It’s just that—” He stepped forward and grabbed her hands with both of his, still damp and cold and trembling a little. “After yesterday… I realized that if we’re really gonna do this—”

His voice cracked a little. His fingers tightened around hers.

“If we’re really gonna throw ourselves into the Avengers, the missions, everything... I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“I was so fucking scared,” he whispered. “I thought I was gonna lose you. And it just hit me—I’ve been playing this dumb game with you for over a year now. Pretending I didn’t care. Trying to act like I could deal with it. But I can’t.”

His eyes were glassy now, rain and tears and emotion all blending into one.

“I can’t hold back anymore,” he said. “I need you. I need to be with you.”

And just like that, the room was too quiet. The rain outside is suddenly louder than the air between them. Her fingers still wrapped in his.

He was trembling—not just from the cold, but from the weight of it all.

Peter let out a breath, shaky and half laughing, and slowly pulled away from her.

“Wait, I—hold on.” He crouched to unzip his backpack, still dripping rain onto her floor. “I brought something. I didn’t think I’d be brave enough to give it to you tonight but—” He paused. “I think I need to.”

Y/N watched, breath still caught in her throat, heart hammering. He pulled out a worn folder, the corner of it crumpled like he’d been carrying it for days.

“I know this is dorky,” he said, standing again and rifling through the papers inside, “but I, uh… I wrote something.”

“Peter,” she said softly.

“No, I—just let me get through it, okay?” His voice cracked. “I practiced.”

He pulled out a folded sheet of lined notebook paper, his handwriting slanted and familiar, and cleared his throat.

“Ten things I love about you,” he started, barely meeting her eyes.

Peter cleared his throat and looked down at the folded paper. Then, quietly, he began:

“I love that you claim to hate your birthday But smile all day anyway. You roll your eyes at the gifts and the cake But I see how much you like it, you just won’t say.

I love that when you really laugh, You snort and then go red. But only if the joke is mine, Which always goes straight to my head.

I love the way you talk out loud To gadgets like they’re baby birds— As if they might just grow and fly If fed with science and kind words.

I love the way you never flinch When someone tries to dim your light. You look them dead on, lift your chin, And walk away with your head held high.

I love that things can scare you, Like messing up or falling short. But you still show up and do it You’ve never let the fear say no.

I love how you look in the morning— Hair a mess, eyes kind of dazed. Like you just woke up from dreaming That you could set the world ablaze.

I love the way your voice gets soft When you talk about your friends. Like just saying their names outloud Could make the darkness end.

I love how you make me feel brave Even when I don’t believe I am. Like maybe I could save someone, If I just reached out my hand.

I love the way you say my name When you’re tired, and say it slow. Like it’s your favorite word And it’s the only thing you know.”

He paused, hands shaking slightly as he looked up at her.

“And number ten…”

A breath. A heartbeat.

“I’d love it if you let me try To mend your heart and love you right To be your boyfriend— Is the only pleasure I want in life.”

He swallowed thickly, fingers shaking now as he held the paper in both hands.

Y/N’s eyes were already glassy, lips parted like she was holding back a gasp.

“I was gonna sing ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ and do the whole thing but, uh… you’re taking the week off and I can’t even hold a note—”

She didn’t let him finish. She launched into him, arms wrapping around his neck, hugging him like her entire world had just landed in her arms again.

Peter let out a stunned little laugh, his arms coming up around her, holding her tight.

Neither of them said anything for a long time.

The paper was still clenched in his hand, now crumpled between them.

Peter didn’t move at first. Just held her. Buried his face in her shoulder like he couldn’t believe this was real—that she was hugging him back, that she was choosing him.

Y/N pulled back slowly, just enough to look at him. Her hands slid from his neck to his cheeks, fingertips brushing the wet curls stuck to his skin.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

Peter blinked, searching her face. “What?”

She smiled, tears still caught in her lashes. “That last part.”

Peter’s throat bobbed. He reached up, covering her hands with his, and said it without hesitation this time.

“I want to be with you. For real. No more games. No more maybes. Just me and you.”

Y/N let out a little laugh—relieved and stunned and something warmer. And then, finally, finally—

She kissed him.

It was soft at first, like she was still afraid she might break him. Like they were still learning what it meant to be this close. But Peter leaned in without thinking, one hand at her waist, the other cradling her jaw as he kissed her back like he’d been waiting for this exact moment for a year and a half.

Because he had.

Y/N smiled against his mouth, breath catching as his nose bumped hers, as they both laughed quietly between kisses like they couldn’t believe it was actually happening. And when she pulled back just an inch, their foreheads touching, she whispered,

“You’re a really bad singer.”

Peter grinned, flushed and breathless. “You’re not wrong.”

She kissed him again anyway.

They barely made it two steps before Y/N tugged him forward by the hem of his soaked sweatshirt, laughing breathlessly as they stumbled closer to her bed.

“Y/N/N,” Peter said between kisses, “I’m—I’m dripping. I’m gonna get your bed all wet—”

“I don’t care,” she whispered, pulling him in again. “I really don’t care.”

He let her guide him, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of the mattress. They toppled gently onto it, Peter bracing himself above her on his elbows, rainwater dampening the covers. Y/N didn’t seem to notice. She was too focused on the way his curls clung to his forehead, the way his chest rose and fell like he couldn’t breathe without her.

She cupped his face again, thumbs brushing just below his eyes. “Hey,” she said softly. “You’re really here.”

Peter looked at her like she’d hung the stars. His hand found hers where it rested on the pillow, their fingers instinctively tangling. “Am I dreaming?”

Y/N smiled, wide and a little shy, her wet lashes blinking slowly. “Kinda hope not.”

And that made him kiss her again. Slower this time. Longer. Like he was learning the shape of her mouth by heart. Like he’d never stop.

They didn’t rush. There was no need. Every shift of their bodies was careful, reverent. His hand cradled the back of her neck. Her fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulder. They giggled in between, smiling like idiots when their noses bumped or when Y/N whispered something only he could hear that made him turn red.

Eventually, he just laid there, forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in.

“Hey,” she whispered, eyes fluttering open. “You okay?”

Peter nodded. “Just… never thought I’d get this.”

Y/N’s heart swelled. She leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose. “You have me,” she whispered. “You’ve always had me.”

And maybe that was the part that hit him the hardest—because Peter closed his eyes again, let his weight settle just enough, and held her like she was something precious.

They didn’t say I love you. Not yet.

But it was in the way they touched. The way they clung. The way the storm raged on outside but everything inside that room was finally, blissfully quiet.

They lay tangled up in each other, quiet laughter still catching in their chests, the rain tapping gently against the windowpane like background music to something they’d waited forever to hear.

Peter turned his head slightly, still lying close enough to feel the warmth of her breath against his jaw. His voice was low, a little hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“So…” he started, eyes searching hers, “we’re dating now, right? You’re my girlfriend?”

Y/N bit back a grin, trying to play it cool but her cheeks flushed anyway. “Yes, Peter. I’m your girlfriend.”

His eyes went wide for a second. Like he needed to process it again just to believe it. Then he just beamed. That perfect, dopey smile that reached his eyes and made Y/N’s stomach flip. He looked completely floored.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, laughing softly. “I have a girlfriend.”

She giggled. “And I have a boyfriend.”

Peter’s hand found hers. Their fingers laced effortlessly, like they were made to. “Okay, well… I’ve never done this before.”

“Me either,” she admitted, just as quietly. “Not like this.”

“I’m scared,” he said, and for a moment, Y/N thought her heart might stop. But then he kept going, voice steady, eyes honest. “But I know how I feel about you. And I’m not gonna mess this up. I’m gonna give you everything you deserve.”

She felt it like a rush—every inch of her softening, melting into the mattress beneath him. Her throat tightened, and she blinked fast, because damn it, he meant it.

“Peter…”

“I mean it,” he said, sitting up just slightly so he could brush her hair behind her ear. “No more games. No more hiding how much I care about you. You’ve been it for me for a long time, Y/N.”

Her heart practically cracked open.

And all she could do was kiss him. Slow and full of feeling and kind of breathless, because how else do you respond to that?

When they pulled away, she tucked herself closer to his chest and whispered, “I’m scared too.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“That’s okay. We’ll be scared together.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter wrung out the hem of his soaked sweatshirt as Y/N handed him a towel, trying to hide her own flustered state. His curls were wet and messy, his lashes still glinting with rain. He looked like a walking romance novel and absolutely had no idea.

Or maybe… he did.

“I, uh—I should change,” he muttered, peeling the sweatshirt off and revealing the clinging white tee beneath it. It was soaked too, practically translucent against his chest.

Y/N immediately turned around with a little, “Yup. Yeah. Definitely. Just, uh, closet’s open. Pick whatever you want.”

She tried to distract herself by drying the blankets on her bed, very much not looking while he undressed behind her. Totally normal. Totally calm.

Except then he spoke again, casually, “Hey, is this shirt fair game?”

She turned and instantly regretted it.

Peter was pulling down her Metallica tee, the black cotton stretching perfectly across his chest, the hem hitting just above the waist of his sweatpants. It wasn’t tight, but it wasn’t loose either. It hugged him in a way that made her short circuit.

Her mouth opened. No words came out.

Peter caught the look.

“What?” he asked, all wide eyed innocence.

Y/N blinked. “Nothing. It’s just—it looks good on you.”

“Oh yeah?” His smile curled, just a little too smug. “It’s super comfortable. Soft. Great fit.”

He ran a hand down the front of it like he was smoothing it out, except he knew what he was doing. She could see it in his smirk.

“You’re being annoying,” she said, laughing nervously, brushing past him to hide her blush.

Peter flexed his arms—on purpose. Flexed. Right there in her room, like it was no big deal.

“Stop it,” she hissed, face burning.

“Stop what?” he asked, utterly fake, eyebrows raised as he rolled his shoulders again for effect. “Just getting comfortable. You sure you don’t have a smaller shirt? Might fit better.”

“Peter!” she yelped, shoving him in the chest.

He caught her wrists, laughing, their faces close. “I’m kidding. Kinda. Unless you’re into it.”

Her whole face went hot.

And she couldn’t help it—she burst into laughter. The kind that made Peter’s heart absolutely soar.

Their kisses slowed.

The world settled.

Y/N tucked her head into Peter’s neck, breath still a little shaky, and he let out a soft, uneven laugh against her temple like he couldn’t quite believe what just happened. Like he was scared to even move, in case it all vanished.

But then Peter murmured, “Should I leave?”

She pulled back just enough to see his face.

“In this rain?” she asked, voice still breathless. “You literally just dried off.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands still resting on her waist. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not,” she said, and it was instant. Honest. “I just… hang on.”

She got up and padded to the door. The lock clicked quietly and when she turned back around, Peter was sitting upright against the pillows, watching her like he still wasn’t sure this was real.

She climbed back beside him.

“Premarital sleepover,” she whispered as she pulled the blanket over them. “Kinda crazy.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “Rebellious.”

“You’re literally in my Metallica shirt.”

“And you’re letting me stay in your bed.”

She mock gasped. “Scandalous.”

They both smiled in the dark, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter as the rain pattered steadily outside. He slid an arm around her, and she tucked into his chest without hesitation, her fingers curling lightly against his ribs.

And then came the hush. That soft, shared silence. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just… full. Heavy with unspoken I’m glad you’re here and I’m so in love with you and I never want to sleep alone again.

Peter kissed the top of her head.

She yawned against his collarbone.

And before long, both of them were fast asleep—hearts steady, limbs tangled, dreams full of each other.

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

taglist: @f2lix @the-faceless-bride @uhmellamoanna @lovely-foxes-exe @gyus-lvr @aomi04 @liaverse37 @pettypeety @pleasingregulus @theyluvmesblog @sqfewrd @ultrunning @boomitsallie1 @caramelfondu @404rogers @marcswife21 @marveledstars

author's note: guys... we can do some crazy stuff with peter now LMAO

also im so freaking sorry this took so long!! it's my first time writing a fight scene AND i know nothing about poetry yall LOL. and i've just had like a super busy week in general so it took a little bit longer.

ALSO DID YALL PEEP THAT LITTLE HARRY EASTER EGG?!?! it was done very much on purpose. on that note, i know some of yall are still waiting for the harry headcanons. they're coming soon, like i said, i've just been busy and i really wanted to get this chapter out before anything else.

OKAY LMK WHAT YALL THINK ILY MWAH THANKS FOR READING MY CUTIES

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