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peter and reader at avengers tower and theyâre both avengers but theyâre âbest friendsâ cuddled up on the couch asleep and none of the avengers let them forget it for weeks
i gotchu ;) also thank you for the request !! i really appreciate it! <3
!!! read part two | part three | part four | part five here !!!
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Being an Avenger definitely came with plenty of risks, seeing as you put your life on the line every day in attempt to save the world. Along with the risks, there were several upsides that outweighed your anxieties about the superhero lifestyle.
Every few months, the team was required to spend a week at the compound for training; it was something fairly stupid, but staying in the mansion for a week wasnât something youâd complain about. Especially when the team made the most of it.
You enjoyed getting up at dawn to run with Steve, and cooking dinners with Wanda. One thing always stood out to be something you looked forward to most: movie night. You came up with the system so that everyone had a chance to pick a movie, and this week, it was Steveâs turn to pick. Unfortunately, he chose âSnow White and the Seven Dwarves.â
The entire team corralled on the couch, sharing four or five bowls of popcorn and chips, and watching the movie on the giant flatâscreen in the meeting room. You were sandwiched between Steve and Peter, attentive to the screen in fear that Steve would be offended if you werenât. It made you crack a small grin to overhear Sam trying to commentate on the movie, and Bucky immediately tell him to shut the hell up.
You donât recall at what point of the movie you fell asleep, or how the blanket got draped over you, but it didnât catch your attention quite like the silent snorer you were cuddled next to. The sound was oddly soothing, and the arm snaked around your torso warmed you more than the blanket did. You wouldâve tried to drift back off to sleep in the midst of comfort, if not for the snickers heard beyond your closed eyeâlids.
âThey look so cozy.â Buckyâs voice was hushed, speaking just above a whisper. The dark of your closed eyes lit up for a second by what you recognized as a shuttered flash photo.
Shit.
âIâm going to make that my lockâscreen.â Sam added, trying not to sound as amused as he felt.
There was a quiet pause. âIsnât that a little weird?â Buckyâs whispered question carried itself above the scattered footsteps of their departure.
When their ascending paces creaked the carpeted floors further out, your eyes lifted, turning your head up to look up at your designated pillow. Upon shifting your sleeping position, you watched Peter adjust midâslumber, unconsciously catering to your new position.
A smile touched your lips at how peaceful he looked beside you â mouth parted slightly, eyes gently shut, curls falling in front of his face. When you moved to sit up a little, his armed grip around your waist grew tighter, and his sleep stirred at the idea of your absence. You decided against leaving, or moving, and rested your head in the nook of his shoulder. Sleep welcomed you back into slumber quicker than Sam changed his wallpaper.
When you woke in the morning, you thought almost nothing of falling asleep next to Peter. The only thing left to remind you was the lingering aroma of Peterâs cologne, and the ghost of his arm leaving your waistline colder than the rest of your body.
You didnât pay much mind to it, nor how frequently your train of thought seemed to derail back to Peter somehow; how snug his hold was, the way your head fit with his shoulder like a missing puzzle piece. It felt like a slowâburning ache, the way you missed him. But he was merely your best friend, and the rest of the team seemed to agree with that.
âGood morning, Sleeping Beauty.â Sam chimed, watching you waltz into the kitchen. He leaned the small of his back against the marble countertop beside the espresso machine, waiting for the pull of his latte shots.
Your hair was still damp from your shower, and your hoodie husked over your body to protect from the looming winter chill. You arched a brow lightly at how amused he seemed to be, slowly recalling his whispered conversation with Bucky from the night prior. You decided to be coy with him. âI think youâve got your Disney movies mixed up.â You started, pressing on your tiptoes to reach a bowl from the shelf. âWe watched Snow White last night, Sam.â
He hummed, sounding skeptical. âWell, everybody but you and your little cuddleâbug boyfriend.â Sam tried to keep himself from laughing. He started to steam the milk heâd set aside to froth to cut you off from giving a witty remark.
Boyfriend. Peter wasnât your boyfriend, and he probably wouldnât ever be your boyfriend. Admitting that to yourself sent a sharp jab at your heartstrings, but the pain was quick. Quick like the blush that fanned your face before you dismissed it. Quick like the pour of cereal into your bowl like the thought didnât flash through your mind.
The steam wand simmered down, and you made it a point to let out a scoff that he could hear. âHeâs not my boyfriendââ
You turned. Like an idiot, you turned, bumping bodies with someone and nearly spilled your entire bowl of cereal across the tiled floors of the kitchen. Wide eyed, you looked up, meeting the familiar stare of your best friend. His arms hovered inches from yours, but the electricity flowing between you felt like that length was much shorter. The scent of his cologne filled the room so quick, you nearly forgot how to breathe.
Peter tried to laugh off how tense the room felt, feeling safe enough to once he knew you were okay. âWhoâs not your boyfriend?â He asked, the chuckle weaving through his words, sending a pink glisten to your cheeks.
You could feel the smile Sam pressed to the lip of his mug, slurping his latte as he eyed the two of you. âIâll give you guys the room.â With that, he left, still leaving the kitchen with just as thick of tension. It felt like he left a gigantic elephant in the room, one that had never existed to them until Sam pointed it out. He pointed it out all because you passed out on Peterâs shoulder.
Shaky fingers set the bowl of cookie crisps on the kitchen island before you walked to the fridge for some milk. Your eyes stayed glued to your task, almost like you were trying to avoid eye contact with Peter for some weird reason. How odd.
âBoyfriend?â You pressed air through your closed lips, blowing a dismissive rasberry. âI didnât say boyfriend, I said Boygeniusââ It was a solid cover up, for sure; you thought, pouring milk over your cereal. âTheyâre performing this weekend with Clairoââ
Peter pressed his palm into the kitchen island, leaning against the structure right beside you. The body heat from him radiated into yours from your close proximity, reeling you in with how intoxicating his presence was. âY/N, are you hiding something from me?â He faked an offended expression, mouth agape from his act of shock.
Thatâs when your eyes met. And you swore that the connection of your vision sent him every thought that ran through your head. Every feeling that coursed through your veins telepathically traveled through his too. It was a second, just one second, where you felt like he shared the same conflicting feelings you did. Perhaps he felt the same attraction towards you that you felt for him.
It didnât help that he stared down at you with such earnesty and attentive nature. His eyes glossed over every inch of your face, studying your expression like heâd find the answer to his question there. You knew the exact moment that he found it, too.
Shit.
You picked up your bowl of cereal, stiffening your posture as you took careful steps backwards. âNope! Nothing. Iâm not hiding anything!â You sounded as suspicious as ever, so your escape route needed to be hasty. You opened and closed the fridge with just enough time to throw the milk in before rushing off to your bedroom.
This wasnât the first time youâd gotten these intrusiveâromantic thoughts about Peter Parker, or when youâd gotten these franticâgiddy jitters around him, either. Typically, you just let them die out over a day or two and then you could find your little pocket of comfort and normalcy again.
But the second you entered your room, you saw the framed photo of what you assumed was the photo Sam took of you and Peter passed out on the couch. The second you saw it, you knew this wouldnât die out as quickly as youâd hoped. You couldnât lie, thoughâŠIt was a pretty cute photo. Although, you didnât have too much time to dwell on the captured moment. The neonâpink sticky note on the top right corner caught your attention.
âI better get invited to the wedding, âSam.â
Shit.
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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.
âšmasterlistâš.
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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 spatâŠ
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 soâŠuseless. SoâŠpathetic.
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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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
âšmasterlist.âš
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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.
tagâlist : @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @luvherfairy @agaybandgeek @lazy4teen @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger
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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 đ„č 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: âšsign languageâš
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 !!!
âšmasterlistâš.
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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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?
âšmasterlistâš.
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 workingâŠâ
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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â cuddleâbugs. â
(( request PART TWO )).
!!! read part one | part three | part four | part five here !!!
mcu!peter parker x reader.
IN WHICH â you fell asleep on your best friendâs shoulder during movie night and the avengers wonât let you live it down.
authorâs note ; okay so i made this a winter/christmas fic on accident cause i miss it. youâre welcome:,) ALSO !! lmk if yâall want me to add you to the part 3 tag list;)
âšmasterlistâš.
3.2k.
Itâd been two nights, and you still couldnât boggle the thought of Peter from your brain. Well, boggle the romantic thought of Peter from your brain. You had always been extra thoughtful and considerate of your best friend, but you never realized just how much you were until two nights ago. Two nights ago, when you had the best sleep of your life, passed out on Peterâs shoulder. Two nights ago, before Sam and Bucky started ogling you and Peter like no oneâs business. Two nights ago, the last time you got a successful wink of sleep.
Shit.
Perhaps you were lying to yourselfâ No. You were definitely lying to yourself. Peter Parker was your best friend, but you knew that your feelings for him were far from that simple. You were the first one to notice when he entered a room, and the first to feel his absence when heâd leave. You knew him better than anyone else did; he was written in a language that youâd carefully taken the time to understand. You just hoped that heâd taken the time to understand you just the same way.
The thought was gnawing at you, feeding on the anxiety that had kept you up all night. There was no way you could act on this, nor express your thoughts to him. And there certainly was no damn fucking way in hell you could look him in the eyes while you tried to process your feelings.
As the sun rose, so did you. Seeing as you had barely slept an hour, starting your day as early as possible seemed like your best option â even if that meant peeling yourself from your bed at four in the morning.
Your breath visibly filled the passing air as you ran the outdoor track in the courtyard. Winterâs chill was spiteful at such an early hour, but it was just the medicine you needed to give you energy after an allânighter. The wind welcomed you with a sharp bite along your exposed skin, which was mainly your cheeks whilst you ran. Steve had taught you a thing or two about going on runs, and covering up in the winter was one of them.
The day went on tediously; constantly training, working on paperwork, and avoiding the company of Peter Parker. The latter was the most difficult. He was your best friend for crying out loud. You still couldnât shake your nerves, or stomach the embarrassment that your teammates would cause you from their teases. There were already too many close calls.
While you were practicing closeâhand combat in the gym, Bucky approached you. At first, he criticized your form and shadowed you for critique, but after a few minutes of ice breaking, he was quick to give some snickers and googlyâeyes.
âHang on there, cowboy.â He started, right hand hovering just beside your wrist. âYou need to hold your shoulders back so that your punch gives a harder blow..â Thatâs when the devious smirk shadowed his face. âUnless, youâre planning to tussle with your boyfriend.â
The sharp breath you exhaled in response was a lot more intense than youâd initially intended. âHeâs not my boyfriend!â The tone of voice you gave was also more intense than you intended, especially as you unconsciously gritted your teeth. And gathered from the way Buckyâs eyes widened at your punch, you took it that the impact was, once again, more intense than youâd intended.
You blamed the sleep depravity.
Later on, postâshower, you went to the kitchen to grab your second energy drink of the day. You felt your shoulders ease and your eyelids grow a bit heavier as you popped the metal can open. The quiet simmer of the carbonation was melodic whilst you downed half the serving, on spot. You were so focused on obtaining the beverage that you nearly missed Natasha looming in the corner.
âCute sweatshirt.â She chimed, arms crossed while she watched you from the furthest crevasse of the kitchen.
Eying her, you could see the silhouette of her smirk. It immediately sent you questioning why she looked at you so smug. Your gaze fell to which baggy sweatshirt you decided to wear, suddenly insecure about it. It was a Midtown marching band hoodie; royal blue, fadedâvintage yellow writings. It took you a beat or two to remember where you got it, but when you didâ
âIs it your boyfriendâs?â
Shit.
Frustration bubbled through your system. Except, it wasnât frustration towards the team. It was frustration towards yourself. How much of a coward did you have to be to act so nervous? To not be able to look Peter in the eye? To avoid any entertainment of the thought of the two of you together?
Well, if ignoring those thoughts made you a coward, perhaps you werenât the biggest one. Most nights, when you couldnât sleep, you used the image of his torso spooning yours to get you some peace of mind. The warmth of his arm hugging your waist, the slight tickle of his breath on the back of your neck, and the safety of his little kisses hidden in your hairline. In fact, you thought about it most times; however, last night, thinking about it made you feel unbelievably guilty.
You found that guilt and sleep donât mix too well.
Hours later, you sat yourself in the meeting room, hacking away as best as you could at your training reports for the day. The task was stupid, but you were understanding of it. It just didnât help that you felt the weight of only sleeping an hour creeping up on you. Your eyes felt like they carried a thousand pounds to them.
A gentle knock met the doorframe, catching your attention from your assignment. Your eyes met Wandaâs, curiously. The curiosity fled your expression the split second she opened her mouth.
âPeterâs looking for you. Should I tell himââ
Annoyance scrunched in your nose, and an anguished huff pushed itself out of your throat. Your elbows met the table quietly, hands rushing to cradle your face in it as you tried to keep your composure. âHeâs not my boyfriend!â You cried.
Still, Wanda held patience to herself. Now she was the one who looked at you curiously, arching a brow as she noticed how troubled you were. You already knew she was reading you like a book with her telepathy. Wanda had already flipped through your thoughts front and back by the time youâd finished your response. âI know. Heâs your best friend, and heâs looking for you.â Her voice was so gentle, you wanted it to swaddle you and lull you to sleep.
Just before she took her leave, Wanda kept a sympathetic smile on her face. Sheâd already started to step out of sight, but she had a closing thought. âAnd, yâknow.. I felt the same way you do now with Vis.â She hummed, âThe only way to relieve yourself from it is to talk to him.â
Which brought you here. Now. At eleven twentyâthree in the evening. You sat yourself on the same couch that started this spiral, chipping away tirelessly at the paperwork you vowed to finish. Though, your progress consisted of staring at the document blankly. You were closer to passing out than you were to actually typing out a sentence.
âYou should get some sleep.â
The second you met Peterâs eyes, you felt it immediately. That zing. That spark. The knot in your stomach that guilted you for avoiding him all day. You couldnât even muster out a response to give to him. Part of that definitely had to do with the fact that he was in his pajamas; flannel pajama pants, and no shirt. It wasnât the first time you saw him shirtless, though the sight of his abs, especially right now, took your breath away a little.
His palms pressed against the head of the chair, leaning on it as he rocked back and forth on his feet. His brows slowly knit together the longer it took you to reply, obviously worried about you. âAre you not speaking to me? Did I do something?â The second question was quick to follow the first.
Your expression mirrored his, though with less worry and more defense. âWhat? No.â You stated, shutting your laptop without breaking eye contact. âWhy would you think you did something wrong?â It churned your tummy to think that heâd been overthinking about this all day. Then again, if you were in his shoes, youâd have been thinking the exact same things.
It wasnât hard to notice the relief that settled his posture, or the hesitance that lingered in his stare. It wasnât that he didnât believe you, it was more that he wasnât sure he could yet. âBecause this is the longest youâve gone without speaking to me since fifth grade.â
The urge to roll your eyes at him was strong, but the smile you had to fight off was more distracting. âPeter, I didnât speak to you because I had laryngitis. I literally couldnât!â
He smiled back at you, gesturing his hand towards you to emphasize his point. âExactly!â Peter made his way around the chair, seating himself beside you on the couch. âI just got worried.â He made sure there was enough space between the two of you, nervous that youâd be upset if he sat too close. âAre you okay though? You look like you didnât get any sleep.â And suddenly, you were reminded that you couldnât hide from him like you wanted to.
You nearly forgot that Peter was your best friend. He studied you before you even had the chance to notice he was in the room, half the time. Wandaâs words bounced around in your brain, but the idea of communicating all of that right now made your stomach churn worse. Slowly shaking your head, you moved to set your laptop on the coffee table beside you, quick to turn your attention back to the boy beside you. âI, uh.. Iâm just stressed, is all.â You shrugged, simplifying your emotions.
Peterâs stare narrowed at you, concerned. âStressed about what?â Once again, his eyes scanned over your face, trying to find the answer he was looking for before you felt the need to say it. When he found how panic it brought you, he stopped. âYou donât have to talk about it if you donât want to.â
It felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders at how understanding Peter was. You smiled lightly at him, focus flickering between one of his eyes to the other. Maybe it was because a smile began to touch his lips too, or because you felt unbelievably seen by him, but your heart swelled more than it ever had before. âIâd rather not talk about it right now.â You answered, honestly. âI should get some sleep first. Iâm justâŠâ
As you trailed off, Peter picked up the sentence where you couldnât finish it. âNervous about sleep?â His voice got softer as he asked the question, smile growing when you nodded in agreement. He waited a moment, brewing a few different solutions in his head. âCan I help?â
You could feel the way your heart raced at Peterâs earnesty, happily realizing you couldnât turn down the offer. Nodding, you eyed him closely, watching as he grinned at you. He grabbed a throw blanket from beneath the coffee table, and the remote for the flatâscreen while he was at it. Peter turned the television on and sat back on the couch, extending his arm for you to lean on him.
âYou sure you want me to cuddle with you? Youâre shirtless.â You pointed out, verbally selfâsabotaging yourself. Idiotically selfâsabotaging yourself.
Peter raised a brow at you, laughing quietly. Though, there was a slight blush creeping along his cheekbones. âThat hasnât stopped you in the past.â
A small fit of laughter drove your decision as you laid yourself beside him; head cozy in his shoulder, and your body pressed against the side of his. He laid the blanket over the two of you, but the arm he had hugging around you was the most securing. His fingertips gently brushed tiny shapes into your forearm, and Peter knew exactly which movie to put on to whisk you off to slumber.
Watching your comfort movie was quite a tempting offer, but you still couldnât stop your eyes from shutting. Peace overtook you before you could catch it, and you couldnât exactly remember the moment sleep finally conquered you. The last thing you remember hearing was Peterâs faint whisper to ask FRIDAY to dim the lights.
Peter watched you sleep more than the movie. He couldnât stop himself, seeing how cute you were. He found himself in the same spot he was just two nights ago; gently rubbing your shoulders and back, brushing the hair back that fell into your face, and listening to the stilling sound of your breath as it slowed with your slumber. It made his heart swell.
The second he knew you were passed out, he stealthily turned the television off and scooped you into his arms. Peter lifted you delicately, swaddling you in the blanket and carrying you off to your bedroom.
As he laid you down on your bed, a particular piece of room decor caught his eye; the newest addition, something heâd never seen before. His cheeks grew ablaze with pink at the framed photo on your nightstand, taking in every aspect of the picture. His heart raced, a dorky grin touching his lips when he finally read Samâs sticky note.
Peter was pulled from his thoughts at the feeling of your gentle fingertips grasping his arm. He heard the sheets settle beneath your stirring, and the soft grumbles sifting through your lips. Feeling your hand grasp at his elbow and tug him towards you made his heart skip a beat. The hug you pulled him into was all he needed to know that you wanted him to stay. And that, he did.
He lost track of how long heâd slept for, or when you decided to get up without waking him, but he wasnât mad about it. Peter had one of the best sleeps of his life, and he had you to thank for that. He had you to thank for everything
Peter had never woken up feeling so rejuvenated. He felt like a brand new person; alive, ravished, loved. He felt validated by Samâs little sticky note, and finally connected the pieces on why you were so jittery around him. Heâd seen you interact with a handful of people youâd found attractive, and now he understood that he was also in that category. At least, if his assumptions were correct. He at least had woken up with a fresh coat of confidence today to make him believe his assumptions.
It was routine for his thoughts to drift somewhere in the midst of you. Every sense of him found you intoxicating and now more than ever did he cherish it. He inhaled the lingering aroma of you left over from your sleeping figure, and grew a smile at the sound of your laughter that carried itself through the compoundâs corridors. The same laugh that heâd heard all too often.
Wait.
You usually only laughed that hard at his jokes.
Peter slowed his slipperedâsteps toward the kitchen, peering his focus to where the sweet sound came from. His heart swelled in his chest at the sight of you so happy, but immediately dropped to the floor when he saw you so happy with a guy. A vaguely familiar guy. A strikingly too attractive guy. It sent a sharp chill through his bloodstream and made it boil beneath his skin.
âA little birdy told me that Harleyâs been meaning to ask them out before he leaves.â Samâs voice cut through the quiet, though he made a means that the information didnât leave the kitchen. His voice stayed soft, secretive.
Harley. Harley Keener. Thatâs why his name was so familiar. The Harley Keener: Tony Starkâs protĂ©gĂ© intern, whoâs attending Stanford for mechanical engineering, and skyrocketing as one of the most influential teenagers of this generation for his work on climate change. Peter recalled the six three articles heâd read just last week on Harleyâs work. What was he doing here? And what the fuck was he doing here talking to you?
Peterâs focus remained stuck on the sight of you and Harley talking down the hall. The second his gears finally processed what Sam had told him, he turned his head to look over, eyes landing last on Sam by the espresso machine. âWhat do you mean?â
Sam shrugged lightly, his lips pressing into a line as he stirred the sugar in with his coffee. âI heard that while heâs here on break, heâs planning to ask Y/N out.â He let the sentence fall from his mouth with a sigh, disappointment tracing the sound of his voice. âSources say, heâs planning to pop the question before Hanukkah starts.â
It hit him like bricks, the urgency. The punch to the gut. The confidence Peter had woken up with withered somewhere he couldnât grasp anymore. He glanced out of the windows behind him, watching the snowfall cover the courtyard. Hanukkah was in four days. Peter still had some time, but would it be enough?
âWait.â He started, turning his attention back to Sam. âWhat source?â Peter walked into the kitchen, placing his hands on his bare hips. He was still in his pajamas, messy hair and shirtless torso. His outfit merely consisted of flannel pajama pants and dinosaur slippers. âWere you using your mini drone to eavesdrop again?â
Sam chuckled, trying hard to act like he wasnât offended. âIâm going to pretend that you didnât call Redwing that.â He acted like his remote control helicopter actually had a name. âBut no. My sourceâs name happens to rhyme with boney shark.â
Shit.
If Tony really said that, it meant that Harley was actually serious about this. The Avengers were definitely prone to tease, but they were far from the crowd whoâd start rumors. The bitter taste of jealousy weighed on Peterâs tongue, and he could already feel the sickening aftertaste caking in the back of his throat. He swallowed, thicker than he had in what felt like a decade. It felt like he had forced down an entire jar of peanut butter.
Sam saw the way Peter froze in his tracks. He walked over, steps slow to prevent spilling any of his precious latte from its mug. He gently placed a hand on Peterâs shoulder, turning his attention to where Peterâs naturally gravitated back to; the way you and Harley interacted definitely seemed intimidating, but Sam wasnât going to let Peter give up that easily.
âAnother little birdy told me that boney shark hopes you beat him to it.â Samâs voice suddenly got smoother, lower, as though his words had a deeper meaning. And to Peter, they did. The boy seemed to lighten up, processing Samâs words like they were prophetic. âAnd that birdyâs name rhymes with shmaptain shmerica.â
Sam took that as his cue to leave, knowing that he said what he needed to. Quite frankly, he said more than enough to shake Peter out of his doubtful thoughts. There was no way in hell that Sam Wilson was a liar, which only added to how true the statement was.
If SteveâlibertyâandâjusticeâforâallâRogers was in on this, that meant something truly powerful. It meant that his team was rooting for him. Knowing that may not have given Peterâs confidence back to him, but it gave him something even more important. Something that grounded him back to the present unlike anything else, and something that heâd never take for granted:
Hope.
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cuddling w peter đđ«¶
my favorite đ«¶đ«¶
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
âšmasterlist.âš
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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đžđđđđđ đ·đđđ & đčđđđđđđđđđ.
a guide to me and my page <3
!!! QUICK CREDIT !!!
all of my dividers are from @firefly-graphics & the gifs as of rn are from other tumblr users until i can finish the ones im making :,)
đïž â content masterlist ;
hereâs everything iâve written so far !!
âą đŽđđđđđđđ.
REQUEST! a sign or something: mcu!peter parker, deaf!reader | genre: fluff | IN WHICH you and peter become an unlikely pair at midtown when he shows interest in learning some sign language.
REQUEST! boy in the bubble: mcu!peter parker, stark!daughter!reader | genre: angst, light fluff | IN WHICH your walk back from school goes wrong when peter parker doesnât walk with you, & your father has a thing or two to say about it.
REQUEST!BLURB! catching cold: mcu!peter parker | genre: fluff | IN WHICH you cuddle peter back to warmth after he returns from patrol in the midst of a blizzard.
REQUEST! daddy issues: mcu!peter parker, stark!reader | genre: angst, fluff | IN WHICH it feels like your father has more love for his protĂ©gĂ© than you nowadays, and youâve reached a breaking point.
REQUEST! geeky tangents; mcu!peter parker | genre: fluff, ?smut? | IN WHICH you find it important to prove how sweet & adorable your boyfriend is.
REQUEST! meetâcute: mcu!peter parker | genre: fluff | IN WHICH a knock on the sanctum door interrupts your task of housesitting for dr. strange.
REQUEST! security system: mcu!peter parker, stark!reader | genre: fluff, ?smut? | IN WHICH peter & you avoid telling your father, tony stark, about your relationship, only to find out that heâs known for longer than youâd thought.
twentyâbucks: mcu!peter parker | genre: angst, fluff | IN WHICH the avengers had their theories about you & peterâs secret pining, but they never realized just how serious it was until a mission went south.
âą đŸđđđđđ.
REQUEST! cuddleâbugs; mcu!peter parker | genre: fluff | IN WHICH you & your best friend fall asleep on the couch together, & the avengers canât let go of the obvious chemistry.
| part one | part two | part three | part four | final part |
đ â request boundaries ;
iâm fairly comfortable w anything! iâll explicitly say if something makes me uncomfortable, like this:
iâm not comfortable writing about real people (actors, influencers, etc) or specific characters/types of characters (psychotic, psychopathic, serial killer, hobie brown, dark!characters, etc). i will not write pedophilia, incest, or any social issues.
i am comfortable writing headcanons, scenarios, imagines, angst, fluff, smut, auâs, and any kind of pairing!
leave a request here !!
đ„„ â characters & fandoms ;
marvel | peter parker, steve rogers, yelena belova, gwen stacy, miles morales, loki laufeyson.
outer banks | jj maybank, john b routledge, topper thornton.
harry potter | cedric diggory, draco malfoy, harry potter, ?james potter, remus lupin, serius black?.
stranger things | steve harrington, robin buckley, ?eddie mudson, billy hargrove?
twilight | edward cullen, jasper hale, alice cullen, rosalie cullen, charlie swan.
leave a request here !!
đȘ· â about me ;
my name is elle :) [ pronouns: she/they] iâm a college student who finds comfort in writing đ«¶. my favorite colorâs green, iâm in love w tom holland, and my favorite band is the neighborhood !!! i also have three cats!!
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peter and reader literally js making out and being adorable !
i kinda got carried away w this one so itâs a little bit âšspicierâš than intended-
!!! 18+ (MDI) !!!
content warnings â a really steamy makeâout with Peter, sexual content, teasing.
âšmasterlistâš.
1.2k.
The emptiness of Peterâs apartment carried his voice through the echoes, making the space feel that much bigger as you sunk into his couch. His Aunt May had gone out with some friends for the evening, making some suggesting jokes and comments that made you and Peter blush, even long after sheâd left.
All the lights were off in the apartment, excluding the lamp behind Peterâs closed bedroom door, and the colorful glow of the television seated in front of you. You and your boyfriend were cuddled on his couch, entranced by George Lucasâs galactic storytelling. Your head had previously been resting on his shoulder, but due to Peterâs current geekyâtangent, you sat up to listen to him better.
âHe used to make lightsaber sounds when they were practicing, and heâd have no idea.â Peter was quite expressive when he explained little StarâWars facts to you. There was something about the way his eyes lit up, and heâd use his arms to guide the sentence.
You bit the inside of your cheek, hiding your amusement as best as possible whilst you listened. Your entire focus was set to him, but the passion he had for these movies never ceased to entertain you. The two of you had been dating for roughly five months, and from the little mental list you were creating of your favorite Peter things, these conversations were one of your top picks.
Peterâs eyes kept flickering back and forth from you to the movie screen, glowing happily as he went on with his vent about Revenge of the Sith, more importantly, Ewan McGregor. âHe had been so used to making the effects when he was younger, that when theyâd film their battle scenes, Ewan made the sound effects out of habit.â
As much as you had been paying attention to his words, your thread of thought was more occupied with the enthusiasm laced in his voice. The timid dimples that threatened to say hello in the midst of his smile, the ecstatic gesture of his hands, and the glistening tint of excitement that strung within your eye contact. Youâd been so entranced by his little geekâout, you almost forgot to respond.
Your grin grew a little, despite every StarâWars related response fleeting from your brain. You let the first thought you could muster slip through your lips. âYouâre adorable.â You probably couldâve given a more thorough and engaged response, but seeing the red that flooded Peterâs expression made it all the more worth it.
Peter looked at you for a moment, completely flustered. He was off guard at the fact that âyouâre adorableâ was your only response to his StarâWars tangent. His lips parted a few times to speak, but his words failed every time. âShut up..â
Carefully, you slid yourself closer to him beneath your shared throw blanket, looking up at him. Your head shook in response as you placed a gentle kiss to his cheek. âNo.â You replied between kisses, placing a few more across his face. âI need to tell you how sweet and adorable you are...â Sooner than later, your lips found their way to his, connecting in such a sickly sweet way.
The kiss you shared seemed to ease the nerves that accompanied the blush on his face. You could feel the warmth of his fingers trace your upper thighs, pulling one across his legs so you could straddle his lap. You loved the feeling of your lips piecing together; the upper, then the lower, and the way your bodies fit together just as perfectly. It was intoxicating.
âI need to tell you how sweet and adorable you are..â Peter spoke, breathless between your kisses. His voice hummed lower than before, rasping in the back of his throat. Even though heâd just been particularly focused on the movie, his mind now went to other places. Just the thought of your intimacy, mixed with the way his hands kneaded the plush of your hips, sent a thrilling sensation straight down to your lower stomach.
Eyes shut, you were the one to first part from the kiss. âBut weâre talking about you, Peter.â You lulled, feeling the way his lips chased after yours to stall your argument. You tucked your head away from his, your left thumb pressing itself on his lips as a barrier. You took the opportunity to cradle his face with your right hand in the process.
Your eyes slowly opened to meet Peterâs, fighting a smirk at how desperately he looked at you. You stared at him through your lashes, keeping your face irresistibly close to his. âIâm not going to kiss you until you take the compliment..â You teased, speaking barely above a whisper. You trusted him enough to remove your thumb, not even a little surprised by how eager he was to kiss you again.
It was easy to dodge him, and delectable to feel the light brushing of lips on yours; the urgency and impatience in his breath fanned against your parted lips, driving you just about as crazy as it drove him. The power you held was ravishing. Tension was quick to build between the two of you, binding both of you that much closer together. It took every bone in your body to fight the urge and cave to his need for you. His head craned in closer, doing everything he could to press his lonesome lips back to yours.
Peter tried to find a loophole. His hands grasping at your ass, his lips trailed and teased at your jawline when youâd dodge him. He found it infuriating, but also just as enjoyable. âFine...â He huffed, smirking lightly. âThank you.â Peter met your lips hungrily when you kissed him again, as though heâd been deprived of your embrace for years.
The kiss was much rougher than before, fueling the growing need for friction between your thighs. You rocked your hips against his, pressing the ache in your core to his growing erection. A heavy breath caught in your throat, lips parting further at the pressure. It was easy to let the world around you melt away, getting lost in Peterâs touch as his fingers tugged on your hair, and traveled under the thin fabric of your shirt.
Just like that, the jingle of Mayâs keys fumbling at the door tied you back to the crisp presence of reality. You flew off your boyfriendâs lap, seating yourself beside him like you had been moments prior. Swift movements brought a pillow to hide Peterâs arousal, and just like that, it looked like you two were merely watching a movie together. Well, minus the matching red hues on your cheeks.
May hummed a tune quietly to herself, mirroring the smile you sent her as she walked into the dark apartment. âThe girls and I are heading to Jennyâs for the night, but I wanted to grab my Hennessy.â She chimed, strutting into the kitchen like sheâd be out in a jiffy. Her attention got caught on the television for a moment, her smiling growing. âOh! Pete, you found it!â May glanced at you, âDid he tell you that he spent all afternoon looking for his collectors DVD? He was really looking forward to showing it to you.â
You watched the way Peterâs head hit the back of the couch, pressing his palms into his face to try and mask his embarrassment. âMay, stop!â He whined, sustaining out the words to emphasize just how flustered he got. His words were muffled through his hands, but you still couldnât help but find it adorable. He was just too cute. You just had to let the giggles slip through your lips.
Yep, no doubt about it; Peterâs geeky StarâWars obsession was definitely one of your favorite things about him. That, and your steamy makeâout sessions.
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hey! could you write something where tony accidentally finds out the reader, his daughter, and peter are dating? theyâre both scared for his reaction but then heâs actually super cool about it :)
I LOVE STARK!READER !!
i got saucy w this one :,) my b
!!! 18+ MDNI !!!
content warnings â steamy peter make outs, light swearing, sexual content, suggestive dialogue.
âšmasterlistâš.
2.1k.
Nothing could beat lazy Sundays at the compound. The whole team was either MIA, on a mission, or training, so every room fell still with serenity. It was the perfect time for you to stick your nose in a book, and lounge around the empty estate. Your father was off somewhere across the complex working on some gadget, which left you free to roam around wherever you wanted.
Your hair gently tickled your bare shoulders as you tied it up, laying your book faceâopen on the kitchen island so that you could keep reading and grab a snack. The air conditioning nipped at the skin exposed from your minimal clothing; your blackâcropped tank top and favorite pair of shorts didnât protect you from the artificial frost in the air, but it certainly helped with the heat when you stepped outside.
Just before your hands fell back to your book, arms wrapped around your waist from behind. Their shape and placement was something so familiar, the touch brought you more comfort than startle. Cedarwood and bergamot were quick to fill your nose whilst your boyfriendâs head craned into the base of your neck. His fingers locked to the belt loops of your shorts, tugging you back into him so that he could feel more of you.
âIâve been looking for you..â His voice was throaty. Needy. The pads of his thumbs traced tiny circles into either of your hips, gently pressing further into your skin when your hand stretched up to comb through his fluffy brown curls. His affection and body heat were a welcomed company in the cold of the kitchen.
A smile found your face, even though Peter couldnât see it from where he was. âI missed you too, baby.â Humming, your fingers scratched his scalp. âDâyou know whoâs here right now?â Your voice grew hushed, heart racing with the small adrenaline rush infiltrated your system.
âYour dadâs in his lab, Steve and Natasha are in the gym, and Visionâs with Wanda in the meeting room, but otherwise.. Everyone elseâs out..â Peterâs voice dropped an octave as he spoke just above a whisper, his lips finding your collarbone. âSam, Bucky, Thor..â In between each name, he placed another kiss on your neck, only inching higher. The more skin he nipped at, the more your fingers curled around his hair, curving your neck so that he had more access to you. âBruce, Clint, Rhodey, PepperâŠâ His whispers sent shivers down your spine, especially as his left hand slid under the fabric of your shirt.
As Peter trailed kissed up to your jaw, a shuttered moan caught between your lips. You fought the urge to roll your hips back into his, knowing that you couldnât finish what you were starting. If anybody found you two, your secret relationship would be out, and your dad would give you hell for it. âPeter.. We canâtâŠâ You spoke breathlessly, tugging at his hair; it was an attempt to pull him from your body, but you didnât try too hard.
His lips hovered over his favorite soft spot in the crevasse of your jawline, brushing his teeth along the surface of it just to rile you. It certainly didnât help that he aimed his breathy chuckle right at it, but god did it feel good. âWhy not?â
You huffed impatiently, eyes half lidded whilst your entire body anticipated the gentle brushing of his lips against your neck. His cooling fingers teased at the bottom of your left breast, testing waters you two hadnât touched before. Sure, youâd let Peter Parker touch you like this plenty of times before, but never in the open like this. Never in the open where your secret could be outed.
âCause Iââ You felt the tug of Peterâs smirk against your skin at how worked up you were already getting. âIâm readingâŠâ You knew that Peter was well aware of how secretive you needed to be. âReadingâ was merely just to give him a hard time.
He let out a quiet sigh, pressing a lingered kiss to your cheek. His thumb lightly rubbed at your rib cage beneath your shirt, but otherwise, he gave up his attempt. âYouâre sure I canât even get one kiss?â He asked, pouty even in his tone of voice.
You turned your head to look at him. Your eyes glanced at his lips just to tease him, âOver my dead body, Parker.â Your voice still sang out low, wanting nothing more than to taste him right then and there.
Peterâs face inched closer to yours, snickering quietly at your stubborn response. âNot if your dad kills me first..â He mused, voice still just as groveled as before. His lips nearly brushed against yours, but the sound of the floorboards outside of the kitchen made you both add three feet between you.
âWhy would I kill you?â Your dadâs voice hummed nonchalant, as if he wasnât interrupting such an intimate moment. He walked right through the thickening tension like it wasnât the weight that it was. Tonyâs focus seemed to be glued to his holographic wrist watch, completely oblivious to Peterâs hand slyly slipping out from under your black camisole.
You and Peter glanced at each other, astonished that he seemed so unfazed and unaware. Perhaps, your father didnât hear as much of the conversation as you assumed he did. Maybe he truly was clueless to the blush coating your cheeks, and the timid bulge poking at the fly of Peterâs jeans.
âUhh..â Peter lost every thought that occupied his brian. âBecause I ate the last Pop Tart. IâI just figured youâd be upset.â Even he didnât sound convinced about the excuse.
Finally, Tony looked up from his watch, eyeing you first, then Peter. This was the closest you two were to getting caught, and even though the AC was cranked fairly high, it felt like the air suddenly ran much cooler. Your heart was in your throat, easing a little when your father walked over and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek.
Tony leaned back on the kitchen island beside you, crossing his arms over his Nirvana bandâtee. âLucky for you, kid, Iâve got a whole secret stash in my lab.â He spoke with his typical Tony tone, âIâll let you off the hook this time.â
Little did you or Peter know that your father actually heard most of your conversation. How much of it? Heâd never tell you. Tony Stark knew that you and Peter had the hots for each other for a long time. He was just waiting for both of you to come clean about the relationship, or for the perfect time for him to address it. Heâd known for a while, but the longer it took, the more entertaining it was to act like he was oblivious to it. Now, how he found out about the relationship, heâd never tell that to you either.
âAre you calling my daughter a liar, Rogers?â Tony asked the blonde from across the pool table, watching as the captain missed the shot with no reaction.
Steve stood upright, stepping back so that Tony had room to make his turn. âNo. No, Tony.â He started, âAll Iâm saying is that if Peter were chivalrous, he would ask you for your permission first. Thatâs all.â
The topic of the evening was why you and Peter both flaked out of game night. Ever since Sam joked that you couldâve been bailing to go out together, every conversation Tony had was directed on how likely the possibility truly was.
His eyes squinted at Steve, readjusting his cue and stance in one swift movement. He knew Steve was traditional, but sometimes, Tony forgot just how traditional he really was. âThey donât need my permission. Theyâre teenagers.â Tony creased his hips, focusing on the pool table for a second. âBesides,â with a faint clank, Tony knocked two balls in with one hit, âMaybe she asked him out. Itâs the twentyâfirst century.â
Steve sighed with a slight twinge of annoyance, both at Tonyâs coyness and his success in their game. He leaned on his cue like a cane, watching the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist walk around the table again. âAlright, fine.â Steve huffed. âBut if they are out canoodling tonight, what are you going to do about it?â
A focused glare glistened in Tonyâs eyes as he bent over to take the shot. He pulled the cue back a few times, pondering on both his turn and the question. If he made this shot correctly, he could win the whole game; if you and Peter were really out on a date, what would he do?
Tony shoved the wooden rod in his hand, acing the shot just like he calculated. He subtly smirked to himself, looking back at Steve to answer his question. âIâll find a way to give them hell for it.â
And that, he was. Ever since he caught you and Peter getting frisky on the security system later that night. That conversation happened months ago, and Tony still managed to make both of you incredibly jittery. He wasnât entirely sure why it was such a big deal to tell him, or why youâd kept it a secret for so long, but he knew sooner than later youâd find a way to tell him.
Little did he know, Peter Parker was finding his way onto your bedroom in the thick of night after patrols.
You unlocked the door to your balcony, welcoming him in with the kiss you meant to give him hours earlier. Hungrily, your lips clasped with his, getting drunk on his taste, and lacing your fingers in his hair. âGod, I missed you..â You spoke between kisses.
âMissed you too, baby..â Peter let out a breath he didnât know he was holding, finally able to relax in your presence.
Both of you took steps towards your bed, slow and steady to avoid the lack of contact. Peterâs mask was lost somewhere on your bedroom floor, and you wasted no time to press the button on his chest and strip him from the suit heâd been wearing.
Peter got to your bed first, sitting back on it and quickly helping you climb on top of him. His hands grasped every inch of you that they could â grazing your neck, squeezing at your hips, grabbing your ass, and now inching up your inner thigh as you straddled his lap. His hips arched up to meet yours, pressing up against you in a delicious way.
Tongues greeting each other, you both moaned into each otherâs mouth. You couldnât get enough of each other, and the foreplay only reminded you of how little patience you had for it. You didnât just want Peter right now, you needed him. Inside you. The ache in your lower stomach felt throbbing, and you were confident that your arousal was already coating the fingers Peter had at your upper thigh.
Just as you both parted the kiss to catch your breath, your bedroom door abruptly opened, light invading the room. Your blood ran cold as your head snapped toward the door in time with Peterâs; you both met the casual stare of your father. Tony Stark stood in the doorframe, unfazed, in pajamas, toothbrush in his mouth.
The room fell quiet, apart from the sounds of the bristles cleaning Tonyâs pearly whites, and the faint heavy breaths that you and Peter tried to catch.
Taking the toothbrush out of his mouth, Tony was the first to break the awkward, deafening, silence. âHey, Kid.â Tonyâs head nodded upwards, as though he were greeting Peter in public. Not like he was speaking nonchalantly to Peter, flushed, in boxers, sat beneath his daughterâs thighs. âNext time, can you use the front door so that I donât have to disarm the security system?â Even if little he knew, little was still more than nothing.
Peter stared blankly at him, sure as hell that this had to be some nightmare he just hadnât woken up from yet. He glanced at you, then swallowed the frog stuck in his throat. âUhâ uh, yep! Yeah, Iâuh, I can do that!â He wasnât sure why his voice always raised two octaves when he was nervous, but it definitely made this moment that much more amusing for Tony.
With a small smile, your dad grabbed the doorknob with his freehand. âThanks.â He then put the toothbrush back in his mouth, slowly shutting the door. âHave fun! Use protection.â His words were muffled and spat due to having his mouth full, but he shut the door after that.
As awkward as it mustâve been for you and Peter, Tony found that moment to be as satisfying as he pictured it to be. Boy, he would give Peter the talking to of a lifetime in the morning, but it thrilled him to know that youâd found someone who made you so happy.
He didnât see need to kill Peter either, after all.
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â twentyâbucks. â
mcu!peter parker x fem!reader.
IN WHICH â the avengers had their theories about you and peterâs secret pining, but it wasnât until a mission went wrong that they realized how serious it was.
WARNINGS (18+) â mentions of blood/wounds, cursing, angst, fluff, hurt reader.
âšmasterlistâš.
2k.
Peter had been counting the minutes since you two started dating. It had been twenty months since you joined the Avengers, seventeen months since he realized how hard heâd fallen for you, nine months since you first kissed, and eight and a half months since you started your relationship.
It were though it all happened yesterday. Everything felt like it happened so fast; yet on the other hand, everything felt like it hadnât even happened at all.
Tony Stark had scolded Peter about the difficulties of dating an Avenger, and what harm that would do to their reputation, how the government would respond, the amount of paperwork the two of you would have to fill outâŠblah blah blah.
Despite how often their teammates teased them, or encouraged the other to make a move, you two decided to keep your relationship a secret.
Hiding a relationship from the Avengers wouldnât be too difficult. At least, thatâs what you told him. It certainly added some adrenaline to your dynamic; the secret hand holds under the table at meetings, sideâeyed conversations across the room, fucking in the storage closet as quietly as possible, the little things.
You made it all worth the risk. That is, until he remembered what the real risk of dating an Avenger really was.
Peter practically flew off the ground with how fast he ran towards you. His ears rang, deafening him from how quiet the world fell around him as he kept himself focused on your limp figure. The glossing breeze over his suit felt numbing, especially as he tripped and slid on his knees til he was finally able to take you in his arms.
âBaby..â He broke the silence, shaky fingers grazed your arm as he rolled your body over. âBabe, weââ Quick to examine you, his eyes fell wide at the large gash in your abdomen. Blood pooled out through your suit from the glass lodged in your stomach, still poking out of your skin. Peter swallowed thickly, trying to keep himself from panic.
The entire world stopped moving.
His entire world stopped moving.
Everything ran cold.
Peter didnât know what happened. He didnât know how he couldâve let this happen. One second, you were assigned to keep watch in the abandoned foyer, and the next? Peter left you for what felt like two seconds to kick a grimy dudeâs ass or two, and there you were: unconscious and bleeding out.
âKid? Squirt?â Tony asked through the earpiece intercoms, referring to both Peter and his unconscious girlfriend. As startling as the sudden voice was, Peter needed it to ground him back to the present. âDo you kids copy?â
It took everything in Peter to keep his lip from quivering. He nearly forgot to answer with how clouded his thoughts were. Cradling you carefully in his arms, he adjusted his grip to fumble over the earpiece. âWe need a medic!!â Peter exclaimed, taking in as deep of a breath as he could muster, âY/Nâs unresponsiveââ
You laid cold in Peterâs shaky grasp, not moving other than the shuttered lifting and easing of your shoulders with your breath. You were still alive, and Peter tried to cling to that as much as he could. Heâd lost too many people. He couldnât bear to lose you, too.
âDonât freak out. And donât touch her wound.â Tony sounded extra stern, which was how he typically expressed panic. It felt like a personal jab at Peter, but he knew better than to interpret it so malicely. âBruce has your location and is on his way now.â
Peter could barely process the sentence, but all that registered was that help was on the way. He pulled the mask off his face before pulling yours off as well. Vision blurry, he could still make out the cuts that managed to scrape your cheeks.
He pressed his lips to your hairline, holding you gently in his arms. Your skin was cold against his touch, and he treated you as delicately as he could. He knew you werenât dead, but knowing that you got hurt and he couldâve done something to stop it, he blamed himself. And he didnât know what else to do besides rock you back and forth while the tears spilt from his eyes.
Footsteps approached behind him, but Peter was too focused on counting your breaths to shift his focus onto them. He kept hold of you, only moving his stare from your tattered face when someone shadowed over the two of you.
Natasha met Peterâs stare for a moment before crouching down to examine your injuries. Her lips pressed into a small line, tensing at how much blood you were losing.
âDo you know what happened?â She broke through the silence â At least, what wouldâve been silence if not for Peterâs choked sobs.
He exhaled, shaking his head. âShe wasâ She was keeping watch while I.. While I fought off theââ
Rushed footsteps through the rubble of the warehouse cut Peter off as he and Natasha looked over, Bruce and Steve running in.
Peter felt Natasha snake her arms under you, lifting you out of his grasp with ease. He felt himself panic at your absence.
âWâWait!â He cried, more intensely than he intended.
The three looked at him, curious at his urgency. They watched as he stood up, finally wiping the tears from his eyes. âI donât want to, uh- to leave her..â
A small, sympathetic smile touched Bruceâs lips as he nodded. âYou donât have to, but we gotta hurry back to the quinjet.â He started, taking steps back the way he came from, âI donât have the supplies to treat her right now.â
âHas he eaten today?â
âNot that Iâve noticed.â Bruce replied solemnly, âIâm starting to worry about him, Nat.â
As you began to come to, faint murmurs grasped at your attention.
âHeâs barely left this room since we got back yesterday. Weâre lucky heâs stretching his legs to go find her some blankets.â You recognized Bruceâs voice instantly, though you kept your eyes shut as your consciousness collected itself. âIâve never seen him so distraught.â
âYâknow..â Natasha spoke up, âHe slept here last night.â
You felt your heart break and skip a beat at her words.
There was a pause. âIâI know. He was asleep beside her when I came in this morning.â Bruce mentioned.
You blinked your eyes open, quick to regret it when you were greeted by an overwhelmingly bright light.
âI can feel it, Banner.â Nat chimed, âTheyâre smitten.â There was a faint song to her words. âI think I caught him kissing her cheek before he left.â
It warmed your spirit to hear how affectionate Peter had been, but you could barely remember what happened, let alone why heâd be so distraught.
Bruce chuckled quietly, âIâm sure Tony will be thrilled to hear that.â
Once your eyes adjusted, you realized you were in the medical wing. Did you hit your head or something? Slowly, you sat up, freezing when the realization hit you.
Your hand flew to your lower stomach, hissing in pain at the wound by your hip. âJesus.. Fuck!â You muttered, seething through gritted teeth. The pain was quick to shoot through every nerve in your body.
Before you could lay back down, you met eyes with an all too familiar pair as they entered the doorframe.
Peter lit up when he saw you up, rushing over. âYouâre awake!â He beamed, quick to set the blankets down at the foot of the bed before he kissed you. He kissed your lips, then your cheeks a few times, then your nose, before pressing a sickly sweet kiss to your lips once more.
His hands cradled your jaw before he pulled back from the kiss, moving his hands to better support you as you laid back down.
âBaby, donât you ever scare me like that again, okay?â He started, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
âPeterââ
âGod, you scared me so bad.. I thoughtââ He cut himself off as he rambled, quick to shut down the dreadful thought. âI wasnât sure if youâd ever wake up againââ
âPeterâ!â
âI shouldâve been more careful.. Fuck, Iâm so sorry I let that happen to youââ
You gently cupped his face, âPeter!â You spoke a bit more urgently, which seemed to catch his attention. He simply stared at you while you glanced over his right shoulder about four times.
His face flushed red, turning back to meet Natasha and Bruceâs dumbfounded expressions.
They blinked at one another, each unsure of where to start.
Natasha broke the silence, pressing herself off the wall she was leaning on with a small smirk. âIâm gonna go tell Steve that he owes me twentyâbucks.â
Peter opened his mouth to say something, but immediately shut it. He watched Bruce glance at the door Natasha walked out and back at Peter, âIâll, uh.. Give you two some privacy.â
And then there were two.
His hands slid down his face as you contained your laughter, though it was hard not to. Watching your boyfriendâs face turn red was one of your few guilty pleasures.
âYou couldnât have warned me sooner?â Peter asked as he turned to you, muffling his words under the hands that covered his face. You werenât sure how long you were out, but you knew you missed seeing how cute he was.
You missed seeing him.
You shrugged, âI tried to.â Despite the secret being out, you couldnât care less. A small laugh spilled from your lips at how embarrassed Peter was, but it was cut off by how painful it was.
Peter sat on the bed beside you, grabbing your hand. âEasy, now.. Itâs still pretty fresh.â He hushed, brushing some of your hair out of your face. His affectionate actions made your heart swell.
While the two of you stared at each other, you couldnât help but see the solemn look that lingered in his eyes.
You brought the hand that wasnât intertwined with his up to cup his cheek, gentle as you caressed the new purple creases under his eyes. âPeter..â You started, âIâm safe now. This wasnât your fault either, okay?â
He looked like he was about to protest, but you were quick to him. âItâs not your fault.â You repeated. You hoped by saying it again, it would stick in his head better.
His stare flickered from one eye to the other before he sighed, defeated as he leaned his forehead against yours. âIâm just glad youâre okay.â
You smiled up at him, pecking his lips once or twice. âItâll take a lot more to get rid of me than some shattered window.â
He laughed quietly, his breath fanning over your lips before he whispered, âGod.. I love you.â
âI love you too..â You trailed off as he leaned forward to kiss you again. No matter how long you and Peter had been dating, you never failed to feel butterflies in your stomach when heâd kiss you. It made you feel like you were the only two people on the planet.
âI fucking knew it!â Of course, you werenât the only two people in the world. You heard someone speak from the doorframe, noticing how Peter immediately added three feet of space between the two of you.
Tony Stark looked between both of you, pointing at your connected handhold on the hospital bed in victory. He had the smuggest smirk youâd ever seen touch his face at the sight of you.
His grin made him look like heâd won the fifthâgrade spelling bee. You wouldâve never thought that you and Peterâs relationship would make such a grown man so happy.
âIâm going to go tell Steve he owes me twentyâbucks!â
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hello!! ive been scrolling thru ur work and i am instantly obsessed. can i request a meet cute of peter? :( maybe they meet post nwh and sheâs like wanda and sheâs doing lessons w strange like america chavez đ„č something like that :D thank u!
do u also happen to have a masterlist? iâd love to read more of ur work ure really amazing! â€ïžâđ„
youâre so sweet!! i just published my masterlist and pinned it :)
but hereâs the link too !!
âšmasterlistâš.
this is just a quick lil blurb :,) i hope you like it !!
800+.
The chill of winter rushed down your spine, causing a subtle shiver to follow along your goosebumps. You shouldâve known that the old ass windows of the Sanctum would be drafty, but the view of New York covered in snow was somehow a sight you couldnât pull your focus from. It was breathtaking.
Strange trusted you to houseâsit the Sanctum Sanctorum while he and Wong went out to visit KamarâTaj. It was a little day trip for them, so you didnât mind the task. Besides, it was the least you could do to make it up to Dr. Strange for letting you stay there. You couldnât exactly remember how youâd lost your family, but alas, it brought you here anyways. You were left lonesome, with powers you could barely summon on command.
He was training you on your telekinesis abilities, and giving you sanctuary from the blistering windâchill outside. Watching the Sanctum for a few hours felt like a reasonable task for you to take on. You were more than capable of protecting it.
The sound of the doorbell stirred you from your people watching, immediately grounding you from your thoughts while you trekked down the steps. The doorbell rang again just before you got to the large door, opening it with a slight twinge of irritation. All your annoyance melted away when you realized who had disrupted the peaceful afternoon.
A boy, roughly your age, stood on the steps in front of you. He looked at you doeâeyed. Stunned. It seemed like you both anticipated a greeting from different people. His brown eyes pierced your soul, making a mental note to remind you that you had to see them again. His hands dug into the pockets of his winter coat, hesitant to break the silence.
âIs, uh- Is Dr. Strange here?â He asked, voice on the verge of breaking. It almost seemed like he was too scared to hear the answer.
Your head turned into the building, about to call out for the doctor before you realized how much of an idiot you were for forgetting. âUm, no. Sorry, heâs out today.â Your brows creased, feeling a little sympathetic. You werenât sure why your powers were picking up his energy so adamantly, but his energy was something that drew you in. âDo you want me to deliver a message?â
It seemed like your words carried a weight that only he knew the gravity of. He suddenly seemed lighter. Hopeful. âI, umm.. No, thatâs okay.â He turned on his heel, stepping down the steps again. âThanks anywaysââ
âWait.â You cut him off. You couldnât figure out why, but you didnât want him to go. Part of you knew he was more significant than he was leading on. A part of him lived in the barren sanctum walls, and you knew it. âWhatâs your name?â A small smile touched your lips, âIâll let him know you stopped by.â
The boy froze dead in his tracks. It was almost like youâd said something wrong. Shit. Doe eyes turned into the stare of a deer in headlights. He didnât seem to know what to do.
Your brows creased a little more, concernment sewn in the crevasse this time. âAre you okay?â He didnât reply. He didnât even move. You werenât sure why he started malfunctioning, but you knew you had to do something.
âMaybe itâll help if I tell you my name first?â Even you didnât sound too sure, but this was better than nothing. You leaned into the doorframe more, trying to present yourself in less of an intimidating way. âIâm Y/N.â
You watched him mimicking the deep breath you took, easing into his posture. He gained some color back, and found his way back to his body. A nervous smile tickled the corners of his mouth with a breathy laugh, awkwardly glancing down at his boots.
âSorry..â He spoke amid the anxious laugh, scratching the back of his neck. âItâs nice to meet you, Y/N.â His smile grew at the way your name fit with his voice. âIâm, uh.. Peter Parker.â It was like his name was some forbidden tongue. Getting it out seemed to lift the weight stuck on his shoulders though. âMy nameâs Peter Parker.â
Smiling back at him, you stood upright. âWell, Peter Parker, itâs nice to meet you too.â You sent a reassuring nod in his direction. âIâll be sure to let the doctor know you stopped by.â Your brow arched at him, unable to shake the grin off your face. âAlright?â
Peter took steps away from the door, but kept his eyes on yours. âThank you!â He beamed a little. It seemed to be the first light to hit the boyâs eyes in a while. âHappy holidays, Y/N.â He chimed, walking off into the street.
You hollered the same thing back in his direction before shutting the sanctum doors. You couldnât quite dismiss the odd energy that your powers sensed from Peter, but it wasnât a negative feeling. In fact, it was fascinating to you. And walking back to the drafty old window youâd been stuck at all day, you realized you wouldnât be forgetting about Peter Parker anytime soon.
You hoped youâd be lucky enough to see him soon.
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WE NEED PART 3 đ«¶đœđ«¶đœđ«¶đœđ«¶đœ
i am working on cuddleâbugs part three as we speak đ«Ąđ«Ą however, writers block and my work schedule donât like to mix too well :,)
iâm workshopping two-three versions of the possible draft, but my goal is to catch up on some requests and publish part three by this weekend đŒđŒ
if yâall have any part 3 suggestions, lmk!! id love to hear them and get as much inspo as i can :)
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ur actually my fav writer rn thank u for being wonderful
you are the sweetest :,) thank YOU for being wonderful and reading my work!! i love your username! :)
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