Warnings: None. It’s a fluff fest y’all. Seriously, hand me Peter Parker, and watch my heart explode.
Words: 5,092
A/N: GUYS!!! I had so much fun writing this, you have no idea. Somehow, it turned into a Buzzfeed Unsolved AU, and I aint even mad lol. This is for the August AU Writing Challenge by @after-avenging-hours . Hope y’all enjoy it as much as I did, our smol awkward boy deserves all the love!
I tried to keep it as short as I could, lol, but uh….I think I failed. Sorry XP
——
“I am so not going in there.”
A small whine that sounded vaguely like your name left his lips, brunette curls shifting in the small autumn breeze.
“Oh, c’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?”
Glancing at Peter, you must’ve made a face, because now he was chuckling, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own. A small, handheld camera hung by a cord on his wrist, swaying to and fro with every movement.
You focused your gaze on the house in front of you, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. It was cold, the sun was setting, and you really didn’t want to be here. How you’d managed to let him drag you on this “adventure”, you’ll never know. Oh, wait, that’s right, he’d flashed those puppy dog eyes and you’d just melted.
However, this was a little beyond your comfort zone. The house was huge, three stories in all. But what it had in grandeur was ruined by the state of the building itself; exposed wood paneling, the rotted porch with hardly a pillar left, shutters barely clinging to their windows. God, you could smell the mold from here. You noticed a few rats dart beneath the cracked walls and nearly fainted.
After another nudge, Peter finally grabbed your attention, pouting at your expression.
“Oh c’mooon! We’re about to catch the only known footage of Eliza Cartwright’s ghost! Aren’t you at least a little excited?”
Allowing yourself one last sigh, you managed a nervous smile, readjusting the heavy bag slung across your shoulder.
“This is a health and safety hazard.”
Somehow, you put one foot in front of the other, forcing your steps closer to the hell hole you were about to spend the majority of your night in. After a few seconds, you noticed Peter wasn’t following, glancing back with an eyebrow raised.
“Well, c’mon, Dimples. This ghost aint gonna catch itself!”
The crooked grin you received was worth every discomfort this house could throw at you.
It’s not like you didn’t want to believe in ghosts. You would’ve loved to have had the same enthusiasm for the supernatural that seemed to flow through Peter every time someone uttered the word “haunted”. It just seemed like there was always a more logical explanation, an answer that made more sense than the supposed “paranormal activity”. Banging in the walls? Faulty pipes. Scratching noises and flickering lights? Mice. Doors closing by themselves? Wind.
Yet, somehow, you ended up a moderator on Peter Parker’s ghost hunting blog, staring up at a dusty old house, on a Saturday. Life sure did have a sense of humor.
Stepping through the creaky front door, you were met with a wall of what could only be described as old people smell, kicked up to eleven. You couldn’t help but cough, taking stock of your surroundings. Dust hung in the air, catching the last few beams of sunlight creeping through the slats of decaying boards, which were haphazardly secured to the windows with rusty nails. The walls were nothing special, decades old paint flaking from the plaster, faded and worn from years of neglect.
The furniture was coated with a thick layer of dust and dirt, making it nearly impossible to discern what color each item had originally been. The cushions seemed to be missing; you counted that as a blessing. Who knows what would’ve been living in there.
A sudden achoo! startled you from your thoughts, shattering the silence of the otherwise abandoned house. Spinning on your heel, you just caught Peter’s wince, the brunette lifting the camera as you pressed your hand to your chest.
“Give me frickin heart attack, why don’t’cha?”
His smirk was almost shy as he apologized, chuckling when you lightheartedly shoved his shoulder. You plopped your bag onto the couch, a cloud of dust kicking back into your face. You dug around for your own camera, hiding your face from view and trying to calm your blush. Jesus, how had he wormed his way under your skin so easily? You’d only known each other for a few months, having become fast friends after you’d transferred to his high school at the very end of the year. It was an odd experience, walking into this new school the first day and having Peter and Ned bombard you with greetings.
One minute you were the weirdo loner girl who couldn’t keep up with the new curriculum because she’d moved in fricken June, and the next, you had two amazing friends who actually wanted to hang out with you. Hell, it was that first day of school where Peter had nervously approached you and asked if you wanted to come with him to check out this stupid house in the first place.
You’d been inclined to say no, but after looking at his expression…you just couldn’t. He’d sounded almost scared, like you would make fun of him or something. Well, needless to say, you’d caved, and here you were, the day before Halloween, hunting a ghost. And, despite your best efforts, enjoying yourself.
Heaving out a sigh, steeling yourself, you turned to face Peter, unable to keep the smile from your face at his fascinated gaze raking the dilapidated living room.
“You ready, Parker?”
An excited grin stretched his features, brown eyes sparkling in the dim beam of your flashlight. His enthusiasm was contagious, and you soon found yourself just as impatient to explore as he was. Attaching a go-pro to the side your head, you noticed Peter staring at you with an expression you couldn’t read. He quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat and fiddling with the camera. You could’ve sworn you saw pink dusting his cheeks.
As happy as seeing Peter this excited made you, that was quickly dwindled by the borderline dangerous nature of your surroundings. Everything was either rusty, dusty, moldy, or all of the above. You noted the exposed wood of the walls, some of the panels rotted away completely, other rooms visible in some places. Meanwhile, your companion continued to monologue, recounting on camera the details of a grisly death.
“The first spirit we’ll be covering is Christopher Requaitt. He came from the incredibly small town of Seboeis, Maine, and had a relatively poor upbringing. And yet, somehow, he managed to graduate at the top of his class, earning him a job in the household of one James Cartwright. It was rumored that he had been working off a debt to Cartwright, and that, after it was paid, he was hired full time due to his incredible culinary ability. However, these claims were never officially documented.”
You hardly realized you’d stopped scanning your surroundings, completely enraptured by the way Peter’s lips moved as he recounted the tale. Even as you started fiddling with various settings and EMF machines, you kept an ear on him, glancing up every once in awhile, enthralled by the story he was telling. Although you were a skeptic, it was hard not to be interested in the lives of people before you, hearing their history sending a shiver down your spine.
Peter continued, the confident edge to his voice catching you by surprise.
“One night, Cartwright’s wife, Cheryl, became incredibly sick. It would soon be known that she was pregnant with her first, and only, child; but, at the time, she claimed to have food poisoning, contracted from undercooked chicken. Due to Requaitt’s incredible reputation and skill, many have speculated that the accusation was meant to get Christopher fired. She had made her distaste for the cook obvious, never missing a chance to denounce him to her friends and acquaintances.
It is widely believed, by both residents and historians, that James and Christopher had been in the midst of an affair, an incredibly taboo subject at the time. Cheryl, either jealous or afraid for their reputation, might have wanted to take drastic action to halt their activities. Although he was saddened by it, Cartwright had no choice but to fire the cook. Finding himself wracked with woebegone, Chris-”
A snort escaped your lips, earning a playfully annoyed look from Peter. You coughed, trying to disguise your giggles behind your hand. He raised an eyebrow, directing the camera at you, catching your amused expression.
“Something wrong, munchkin?”
You chuckled again, shaking your head.
“Nope, nothing, I’m good. Please, continue.”
Rolling his eyes, he readjusted the camera, a soft smile on his face.
“Anyway. Finding himself wracked in woebegone-”
He stared directly at you as he emphasized the word, setting off a new round of giggles, prompting a wider grin to stretch his lips.
“-Christopher found he couldn’t live with James’ decision, stuffing his face in the deep frying, killing himself and burning his face off before they could make him leave.”
“Christ, Parker!”
He halted, furrowing his brows in bemused confusion. You tried for an aggravated expression, only just managing a mildly miffed look before a smile broke out.
“Could you be a bit more blunt?”
He chuckled, pink dusting his cheeks even as he shrugged.
“What? That’s what happened, what d’you want me to say?”
You released a huff of air.
“I dunno, Pete, just…you can’t speak ill of the dead, man, that’s like, rule number one in the ghosty handbook.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up, an amused smirk on his lips.
“Oh, there’s a handbook now? Miss (Y/N) ‘I’m sure it was just the wind’ (L/N)?”
A flurry of giggles interrupted your sentence, covering your mouth to try and contain them. “I’m just saying, have a little respect, Parker!”
A victorious grin stretched his features, your heart skipping a beat when he let out the cutest laugh you’d ever heard.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Should I mention the fact that the only way they could identify him was by his clothing, because his features had melted together-”
You faked a disgusted face, covering your ears. His snickering sent a warm feeling dancing in your chest, the smile on your face lingering even as your chuckles died. You admired him for a moment, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes, dimples fully on display with his wide grin. Even in the dim beam of your flashlight, shadows dancing across his features; god, he was breathtaking.
After a few seconds, Peter cleared his throat, a touch of shyness flashing across his face.
“You, uh, you alright there, munchkin?”
Snapping out of your daze, you nodded, fiddling with the EMF meter at your belt.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s move on. You mentioned a little girl?”
That familiar sparkle returned to his eye, gripping your wrist suddenly and practically dragging you up the creaking staircase. You fought a laugh, heart pounding at his touch, no matter how minor. You really needed to get a grip on your crush.
You ended up in yet another dusty room, covered wall to wall in what was once a pale pink, but had faded to grey over time. The same confident tone as before overtook his voice, face stone serious as he began his spiel about the area’s most popular spirit.
“Here we are in the bedroom of James Cartwright’s six-year-old daughter, Eliza. She was born barely a year after the death of Christopher Requaitt, leading the residents of the town to question Requaitt’s death. Though nothing came of it legally, gossip and rumors of the supposed affair between Cartwright and Requaitt resulted in Cheryl’s eventual suicide, leaving James with Eliza when she was only four. Tragedy would strike again two years later, when Valerie Peridot would witness one of the many supernatural occurrences in the home. Only, unlike the others, this one was fatal.
“Peridot was the most recent in a long line of women James Cartwright dated after his wife’s death. She had only been dating him for three months before moving in, treating Eliza like her own daughter. But, as she entered the little girl’s room, she was startled to find the large window open, the child standing on the balcony railing and speaking to someone Valerie was unable to see. She seemed upset, screaming at the unseen figure to go away. When Valerie opened her mouth to scold her, Eliza jolted, as if she was pushed, flying from the third-floor balcony to the asphalt below”
Your eyebrows shot up, catching Peter’s attention for a brief second. The crooked half smile he sent your way was enough to catch your breath, hoping to any god out there that he didn’t notice.
“After Eliza’s death, Peridot was obviously suspected, her story of an unseen man shoving the girl out a window seeming preposterous. However, diary entries were found of Eliza’s, mentioning an imaginary friend named “Krissy". Law enforcement thought nothing of it, but spectral enthusiasts disagreed. It was speculated that perhaps “Krissy" was actually the ghost of Christopher Requaitt, enacting his revenge of what was the product of his demise. Eliza mentioned Krissy’s distaste for her family, specifically her mother. Even after her death, the spirit had apparently denounced Cheryl to the young girl, trying to convince her to “remind her father of his sins”. While these claims are somewhat far fetched, is it impossible to believe that Requaitt, heartbroken and betrayed by his lover, would seek retribution in the way of Eliza’s death?”
Peter glanced at you again, tilting his head slightly in question.
“Are you cold?”
You furrowed your brows, confused for a moment. You hadn’t even noticed your own arms encircling your torso, goosebumps rising on your bare arms, too engrossed in his story. Shrugging, you tried rubbing your palms together, the temporary warmth doing nothing to soothe the chill.
“I’m fine. Just a bit chilly is all, let’s keep moving.”
After a few seconds, he nodded, but not before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.
“We’ll only be a few more minutes. Just wanna use the spirit box and then we can head out.”
He lead the way towards a narrow hallway, just missing your intense blush. You tailed him, whining slightly.
“Can we not? I fucking hate that thing.”
He snickered, glancing back at you briefly; your heart fluttered at his bashful smile, slipping your arms into the sleeves of his coat. The fabric completely obscured your hands, filling you with a warmth that rivaled the pink on your cheeks.
Leading into the maid’s quarters was a rundown hallway, barely any plaster left on the walls. This area of the house seemed…moister than the rest, a distant leak echoing around the space. It sent shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Well….this is ominous.”
Peter laughed, pointing the camera at you once again.
“You scared, Munchkin?”
You lightheartedly shoved him, shaking your head. It was getting increasingly difficult to be annoyed when he flashed those stupid dimples. Peter began setting up the camera against a far wall, pulling out a small black gadget, explaining the mechanism simultaneously.
“So for those of you not familiar, what we’re about to use is called a Spirit Box. It uses radio frequency sweeps to generate white noise, which theories suggest give some entities the energy they need to be heard. When this occurs you will sometimes hear voices or sounds coming through the static in an attempt to communicate. It basically scans radio stations super fast to give the ghost a chance to roast us.”
Your chuckle is quickly cut off by a wince, plugging your ears to drown out the loud shrill given off by the hell box. After a few seconds of garbled syllables and static, you managed to catch what could’ve been either “starry" or “sorry". You decided on the latter.
“Sorry? For what?”
Peter shrugged.
“Maybe it’s sorry about the house?”
You snorted, trying to contain your giggles.
“Man, it should be sorry, this is a fuckin’ mess.”
Peter had the gall to look offended.
“Hey! Be respectful.”
That set off another fit of giggles, followed by a sarcastic tone,
“Oh, now you care about respect? Besides, what’s a pissy ghost gonna do?”
A sudden smirk found its way onto your lips.
“Ooh, maybe it’ll follow you hooome-”
He shoved you lightly, laughing nervously.
“Shut up! That’s not funny!”
You just giggled, vaguely paying attention to the spirit box. You could’ve sworn you heard something akin to, ‘I don’t want to go’, but you couldn’t be too sure.
After another few seconds of unintelligible nonsense, Peter sighed, switching the device off. Trying to hide his disappointed expression, he fixed the camera on his face, a small smile adorning his features. You began to pack up your equipment while he vlogged his outro.
“Alas, dear viewers, it seems that, while paranormal activity does reside in these walls, we weren’t able to catch much of anything tonight. Until next time, where we take a road trip to the Lizzie Borden Murder Hou-”
All of a sudden, a loud bang! followed by several shuffling sounds echoed from somewhere above you, startling the both of you nearly to death. Peter practically dropped the camera, eyes wide in what could’ve either been excitement or fear. Probably a little bit of both.
“What was that?!”
Your first instinct was that someone else had the same idea as you. Or a homeless man was squatting there. Or a wolf was hungry and craved the flesh from your bones. While some more far-fetched than others, none of those options seemed incredibly appealing.
You tugged Peter’s arm, trying to nudge him towards the exit.
“C’mon, Pete, let’s get outta here-“
Just as you said that, the shuffling got louder, swooping past your face and right past a terrified Peter. As the bird settled on an ancient chair, the two of you stayed silent for what felt like ages. Until the dam cracked, and the giggles you were trying to keep back came spilling out from your lips. When the terror had finally subsided, Peter chuckled a bit too, clutching his heart and leaning against the wall.
The giggles didn’t stop. Forgetting yourself, you’d stopped checking your surroundings, completely focused on Peter for most of the night. So, it’d be just your luck that you’d step right onto a spot of water damaged flooring behind you.
Good news? You’d found the source of that dripping noise. Bad news? Your foot went straight through it, sending you crashing down, banging your head on the wooden paneling. You might’ve heard Peter yell out, but your brain was swimming too much to notice, a ringing settling in your ears. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your foggy senses, only to notice the intense pain shooting up your leg. It was like somebody had taken your ankle and bashed it against a rock a few times. You were almost sure it was broken. You just hoped to god you weren’t cut anywhere. The last thing you needed right now was tetanus.
After a few seconds of confused blinking, the rapidly spinning room finally came to a halt; coherent enough to notice your surroundings, Peter came into view, a worried look etched into his expression. His eyes were almost teary as he fussed over you.
Grabbing his hand, you tried your best at smiling, only managing a grimace as your head throbbed. His eyes snapped to yours, squeezing your hand a little too tightly, his free hand checking your head as lightly as he could. When it grazed over the welt right at the top of your forehead, you winced, relieved when he pulled his hand back to cradle your cheek instead.
“Okay, okay okay okay, you’re okay. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”
Blinking a few more times for good measure, you nodded, soothing some of the panic in his eyes. Slowly, as gently as he possibly could, Peter supported your upper back and waist, lifting you to a sitting position, jostling your leg as little as possible. Even then, you let out a slight whimper. The nausea hit you all at once, forcing you to grip Peter’s arm until the room stopped spinning. Although you could barely pay attention to anything but your swimming senses, Peter continued to mumble out loud; whether it was to calm himself or you was unclear.
“God, (Y/N), I’m so sorry, I was stupid to make you come with me, I should’ve just taken you to get some damned coffee like a normal person, now you’re hurt and it’s my fault, Jesus I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”
“Peter.”
He stopped altogether, eyes wide and terrified. Giving him another, more convincing smile, you sniffled, wiping your face on the sleeve of his jacket that you were still wearing. Taking stock of your leg, you couldn’t see or feel many splinters or cuts, which was a plus. However, your ankle didn’t seem to be faring as well, the throbbing having only worsened as the minutes rolled by. Getting it out of the rotted floor was definitely a priority.
“Alright…okay, Peter. We need to get my leg out, yeah? I’m gonna need your help.”
Peter nodded, visibly swallowing, clenching your hand to the point where it almost hurt. He reached down, careful not to impale himself on the cracked wood, and began to clear as much of the debris as he could. Although the thought of shifting your leg was nauseating, you tried to help as much as you could, knocking splinters away so there was a clear passage you could slip your foot through.
Taking a deep breath, you squeezed Peter’s arm, cautiously lifting your foot out of the floor. Even that minor jostling sent stabs of pain up your leg, an unintentional cry escaping your lips. Peter tried his best to make the endeavor as painless as possible, supporting your leg and back, moving anything that could bump into the injury. You saw his pained expression at your cry, brows furrowed in worry.
Eventually, you managed to free your ankle, a sigh of relief escaping your chest. You hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath. Once able to shift without feeling like you were going to die, you released Peter’s arm, wincing at the red marks you’d left. He barely seemed to notice, cradling your ankle to assess the damage.
Despite the awful situation, you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. Cheeks flushed, jaw flexing every few seconds, a nervous tick you’d noticed over the past few months. His eyes were trained on you the whole time, a softness to his gaze that sent your heart racing a mile a minute.
Hesitantly, you reached up, tracing his cheekbone with your fingertips. His eyes snapped to yours, the blush you earned filling you with satisfaction. You had no idea where this sudden confidence came from, and you were sure it wouldn’t last. Still, you couldn’t help but make the most of it.
Your voice was barely audible when you whispered,
“You’re so pretty…”
If you thought he’d been red before. Oh boy. Now he was like a tomato, a shy smile stretching his lips before he could stop it. Catching your gaze briefly, Peter chuckled, continuing his examination of your ankle.
“You probably have a concussion. We should get you out of here.”
Giggling, you couldn’t help the fond look you gave him, a dopey grin on your face.
“You’re taking me out? Like, on a date?”
He grinned fully, 50 shades of pink, standing to help you up.
“Alright, you definitely have a concussion. C’mon, let’s go.”
Gripping his hands, you allowed Peter to lift you to your feet, shocked by his strength. Careful not to lean on your bad leg, you hardly noticed when you began to fall, the room suddenly spinning. Peter caught you by the waist, keeping his hold on you until you could focus on anything but keeping your balance.
The both of you were barely an inch apart, your head the perfect height to lay against his chest. Which is exactly what you did, sighing as your senses began to return to normal. You could just about hear his heartbeat, thumping rapidly against his sternum.
God, you must’ve had a concussion. Or some sort of permanent brain damage. There’s no way you’d be acting like this in your right mind. Peter didn’t seem to mind, though, leaning his chin gently against your hair. It was so calming, you almost forgot about your ankle entirely, letting it droop to the floor absentmindedly.
Immediately on contact, you yelped, clutching Peter’s shirt in a vice grip. He sighed, keeping his arm circled around your waist to support you, becoming your crutch and letting you lean practically all of your weight onto him. Still, he didn’t complain, giving you a reassuring smile.
“Alright, Munchkin, let’s get outta here.”
When you showed up to his apartment, banged up from your adventures, May practically forced you into a cab, taking you to the nearest hospital to be checked up on. You didn’t end up having a concussion, thankfully, just some minor bruises and a sprained ankle, as well as a tetanus shot for good measure. You did, however, get what felt like an eternity of a scolding from Peter’s aunt. Which, to be fair, was incredibly valid. What had possessed the two of you to go to an abandoned ass house, on the night before Halloween, by yourselves, was completely beyond you.
You found it hard to be upset though, laying on Peter’s bed, watching him set up a pillow and blanket on his floor. It was far too late to go home, so you’d convinced May to let you stay for the night. You sighed again, pouting at Peter.
“You really don’t have to sleep on the floor, Dimples. It’s your bed, I can take the couc-”
He paused his activities, a tired smile on his face.
“Are you kidding? You think my injured friend is gonna sleep on the couch? We found that thing on the curb, you’d end up with god knows what.”
He wandered over, fussing for the millionth time with your pillows and blankets, making sure you were comfortable. You rolled your eyes, groaning.
“You’re acting like I’m on my deathbed. A little fall isn’t gonna kill me, Pete.”
He just chuckled, and, after a few seconds hesitation, brushed some of your hair behind your ear.
“I know, I know. Just…let me take care of you, ‘kay?”
A heavy blush settled on your cheeks, rendered speechless by his sudden shift in demeanor. Wordlessly, you nodded, biting your lip to keep the smile off your face. His eyes caught the movement, focusing on your mouth for a few seconds before falling to his hands. Slowly, almost cautiously, he sat at the edge of the mattress, brows furrowing. As if he was thinking about what to say next.
“Listen…(Y/N)… I wanted to tell you something. And I’m not…well, I’m not exactly sure how to say it, but I feel like this is a good time, because realistically, I know you’ll be fine, but if you’d really gotten hurt in there, I don’t know what I would’ve done, I just-“
He cut himself off, keeping his gaze locked firmly in his lap. Finally, he seemed to focus, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“I asked you to come with me on my stupid ghost hunting trip because, well, you’re just-”
Another deep breath.
“You’re kinda, sorta, basically always on my mind. And I wanted to hang out- well not ‘hang out’ but, I wanted to, y’know, ask you out, but I couldn’t find the words, and now you’re hurt and I-”
He kept rambling, but you barely heard it, too focused in on his confession to notice anything else.
Peter likes you.
Jesus, everything made so much sense now! How shy he was, how timid he’d been asking you to go with him. He wasn’t just asking to hang out. He was asking you on a date. Butterflies filled your stomach, a warm feeling settling in your chest. You couldn’t keep the grin from your lips if you tried. Peter likes you. Peter likes you.
Noticing your expression, he finally stopped ranting, an almost terrified look in his eyes. Clearing your throat slightly, you averted your gaze, mumbling softly.
“I, uh, I like you too Peter.”
His expression was almost comical. Eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar.
“W-what?”
You giggled, an affectionate grin on your face.
“I said, I like you too, you doofus.”
He visibly relaxed, features softening into a sweet smile.
“Oh.”
You both sat there, the silence of his bedroom settling over you like a blanket. You must’ve looked like idiots, sitting amongst his Star Wars sheets with lovestruck expressions, glancing at each other from the corner of your eyes. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat, blush never fading.
“So, um…do you, I mean, there’s a movie next week, would you maybe, uh, I dunno, um-“
“I’d love to, Peter.”
His smile widened even more, brown eyes sparkling as he nodded.
“Okay. Okay, good. So, uh…we should probably get some sleep.”
Peter moved to stand up, but stopped himself. After a few seconds of hesitation, he leaned over, gently pressing his lips to your bruised forehead. As he pulled away, you gripped his wrist, eyes fluttering shut to savour the moment. You were here. This was real. You felt his light breaths across your face, nose practically brushing yours. A breathy giggle escaped your lips, opening your eyes to see Peter already staring at you. You could see every small detail in gaze, golden flakes scattered in their chocolate depths. You kept your voice hushed, scared to shatter the moment between the two of you.
“Can you lay by me? Just until I fall asleep?”
His smile could rival the sun in its brilliance. A thrill went through you as he nuzzled his nose against yours.
“Alright.”
Careful not to touch your ankle, Peter climbed beneath the covers, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. Your head rested against his chest, steady heartbeat a little too quick to be casual. You smirked.
“You nervous, Parker?”
He chuckled, squeezing you in a hug.
“Shut up, Munchkin.”
God, you didn’t think you’d ever stop smiling. Closing your eyes, you breathed out a sigh of content. A year ago today, you never would’ve imagined you’d be here. A new school, ghost hunting blog, and sprained ankle later, and here you were, cuddling with the guy of your dreams.
asjdhicnj sTop this is adorable he has the prettiest face ever nd is so polite!!
he looks at you, with those big doe brown eyes, sparkling as always and his infinitesimal amount of astral freckles popping out due to the slight blush sprinkled into his cheeks and nose.
you’re telling him about your day, about how you bombed your algebra quiz and that you were quite nervous about telling your parents later that day – knowing they’d be disappointed in you. as you continue to go on, talking about how band practice went well and you got promoted to the first chair in the brass section – peter could listen to your pretty, seraphic voice anytime, anywhere. he loved hearing your laugh, seeing you smile. he loved you.
“but i told jamie that it would be a lot simpler if she just went down to clarinet 2 instead of one. the parts are much more complex and i know sh- oh, man i’m sorry. was i talking too much?” you fiddle with the ends of your hair, a slight blush now visible on the apples of your cheeks. you noticed peter had his chin in the palm of his hands, looking at you rather dreamily.
peter was sitting across from you on his bed, as he slowly inches closer and grabs both of your hands. “mmm..not even the slightest, you dork.” giggling softly, he rubs the palm of your hand with his thumb – he knew how relaxing you found it, so he did it quite often. “i-i like listening to you! it’s relaxing.” he said, quite shy that he just admitted that. but it was a hundred percent true — listening to you, it was like someone reading you a beautiful story from a novel; you sounded so passionate and gentle. he was so in love.
“really?” you inquired, tilting your head slightly. “i was rambling a bunch, i don’t know how that’s relaxing, pet-“ peter shushes you, moving closer to you as he cups your cheek gently, his legs dangling from the edge of his bed and lightly brushing against yours. if you weren’t blushing before, you were most definitely blushing now. and peter knew.
“i like you, of course, i love hearing you speak. you’re so cute and sound quite poetic to me.” he was quite surprised at how smoothly that went, and if he was by himself he would have done a little fist pump the air, but he’s cool.
giggling softly, you nod as you run your hands through his hair. peter tried to hold your hand but was defeated when he felt incredibly relaxed as your fingers massaged his scalp. peter could never be annoyed by you, no matter how hard he tried.
“i just brushed my hair.” he giggled in between his sigh and rested his head on your shoulder, kissing the visible freckles due to you wearing a tank top.
“and it’s still cute. you’re cute, pete.” you scrunched your nose, and peter lifts his head up, pecking your nose.
“mmm you’re cuter, dork,” he mumbles, too invested into your pretty face. so pretty, he thought. “my dork.”
warnings – mild language, like 3 curse words. my awful interpretation of american high school haha
pairing – peter parker x stark!fem!reader
word count – 3044 (yay finally they’ve been so short recently sorry!!)
Warmth.
The first thing you felt. The warmth from the sunlight beaming in through the window. The warmth of the blankets you were nestled under. The warmth from the body wrapped around yours.
Opening your eyes slowly, you could see the mess of hair on the pillow next to you. A faint smile crossed your lips as you rubbed your tired eyes and snuggled further into the body next to you, eliciting a sleepy moan. Peter’s arms tightened around you and you let out a breathy laugh.
“Peter,” your voice was raspy, sending your boyfriend crazy. “You’re gonna be late.”
“I don’t care,” his eyes remained closed, as if he was grasping on to his last few minutes of sleep. He pressed his face further into the pillow, breathing deeply.
“I’m gonna be late,” you leaned into him, taking in his scent. These were your favourite types of mornings, waking up beside him, enjoying each other’s presence.
Peter groaned, stretching his arms dramatically. You giggled, watching him as he almost fell out of the bed. He opened his eyes slowly and looked over you, taking in your semi-conscious appearance. He smiled down at you and leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek. You smiled back up at him, sitting up to face him.
“I’m going to shower,” he announced, standing drowsily and trying to even his balance. You watched him as he padded through your bedroom towards the bathroom, and sighed as he closed the door behind him. You heard the water turn on and stood slowly, moving towards your wardrobe. Rifling through your clothes, you eventually decided on a pair of leggings and an old t-shirt. Putting them on quickly, you sat back down on the bed and grabbed your phone from your bedside table. Clicking it on, the time appeared before you.
“Shit,” you stood and sprinted over to the bathroom door. “Peter! It’s 7:45, you might want to hurry up.”
A series of crashes were the only response, before Peter opened the door, dripping wet in only a towel. “Crap.”
You ran over to your drawers, grabbing some of Peter’s clothes that had been left there, tossing them towards him as he hurried to dry his hair. He threw them on instantly, droplets of water still dotted across his skin.
“I’ll grab something to eat on the way,” he rushed past you, grabbing his backpack and giving you a quick kiss. “I’ll see you after school!”
He opened the window and flung himself out of it. A breath caught in your throat, only releasing when you saw him swinging down the block. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh as you turned, then noticed his Midtown sweater lying on the floor. Walking over, you picked it up and considered it in your hands. On multiple occasions Peter had left it here and had returned throughout the day to pick it up, so this was pretty normal. Tying it around your waist you dismissed your thoughts and headed towards the lab.
Working with your father was an interesting experience. The time that wasn’t spent deciphering some complex equations was passed arguing and screaming due to your clashing personalities. Everyone said that you were too alike, “there’s too much Tony in you”, but you knew it was because you both wanted to do the right thing and your opinions conflicted on what the right thing was.
You threw open the door to the lab and found Bruce working at a large screen. He glanced up quickly, giving you a small smile before going back to his work. You had learnt over time that leaving Bruce to work whilst he was in the zone was the best way to go about any social interaction. You didn’t want to risk him losing his train of thought, as he was often assisting your father with something important. You continued through the lab until you found Tony sitting at a computer, coffee cup in hand.
“I didn’t think coffee was really your thing,” you joked, sitting in the chair next to him.
“Usually it’s not,” he turned to look at you, crossing his legs. “But I’ve been looking at this damn code for so long I think I’m actually going crazy.”
“Let me have a look,” you turned the screen to face you, flicking back up to the start. “What’s the issue?”
“It keeps giving me random numbers, can’t figure out why. Equations are all good, checked the values and everything with Bruce. I can’t get it,” he stood, stretching his legs and walking in small circles, a hologram appearing containing various bits of data.
“Oh,” you said, your eyebrows raised. “It’s here, you’re missing a bracket. Syntax error.”
The look Tony gave you could have moved planets, you had never seen someone look more shocked and simultaneously confused.
“What?” he sat down again, pulling the screen towards him. “Well then, I think it’s clear where you got your brains from.” He leaned back in the chair, taking a swig of coffee.
“Y’know, it’s pretty normal for stuff like that to slip by. It’s like 7 in every 10 times there’s an issue, it’s probably syntax,” you smiled, voicing your Stark sarcasm. Despite not inheriting many of Tony’s appearances, you definitely had the same sense of humour. Running the program, you saw the data appear on the hologram and Tony’s eyes lit up like christmas lights.
“What’s next?” you smiled, feeling proud of yourself.
“Bruce is working on a prototype of an anti-gravity device, but we need some stuff picking up. Could you run out for us?” he looked across at the grimace on your face, then added to his point. “You can get food.”
“Sold, to the man with the glowing chest,” you stood up, exaggerating your point at your father. He tossed you a credit card and you shoved it in your pocket. “What do you need?”
“I’ll get FRIDAY to send it to you, it’s just some simple materials. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Take Happy with you, he seems to be getting comfortable downstairs,” Tony glanced across at you, a smile on his face. “Thank you for this.”
You sent a smile to your father, then turned towards the elevator.
“FRIDAY? Bottom floor, please,” you spoke, easing at the familiar voice in response.
“Of course Miss, I’ll send the list from Mr Stark and Dr Banner to your cell phone.”
“Thanks.”
Upon reaching the bottom floor, you saw Happy outside the front door waiting. You strolled over and pushed open the large, glass door. “Good morning Happy!”
“I see someone was here this morning,” Happy looked up from his phone, giving you one of his signature looks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“The longer this goes on, the more trouble it’s going to be when the boss finds out.”
“I know, Happy. I get it, I’ll sort it,” you opened the car door and jumped in, Happy doing the same in the driver’s seat. “Downtown is probably our best bet, and I’ve heard there’s a really good churro place.”
“Peter,” Ned called down the hallway as Peter sped towards him. “Dude, you’re late for Chem and Mr Cobwell is in a bad mood.”
“Shit,” Peter muttered, pulling his backpack further up his back. “What do I do?”
“I got you bro, I told him you were at the nurse.”
“Ned, I owe you. Big time,” Peter finally allowed himself to breathe, leaning over to place his hands on his knees. “What’s next period?”
“Gym,” Ned replied. “I heard they’re gonna put one of those Captain America videos on again.”
“Gym, okay. Wait-”
“Peter, just come sleep,” you spoke softly, reaching your arms out from underneath the blankets. “It’s nice and cozy.”
“But what if your dad comes in?”
“FRIDAY,” you looked towards the ceiling. “Tell me if dad comes anywhere near the hallway, please. Wake me up if I’m asleep?”
“Of course, Miss.”
“Thank you!” you turned back towards Peter. “I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse.”
“Of course not,” Peter smiled down at you, leaning across to take your hand in his. “Just let me take these off.”
He leaned back to unbutton his jeans and remove them quickly, before taking off his sweater, throwing it across the room.
“Shit, I left it at (Y/N)’s,” Peter spoke to himself, louder than he had realised.
“(Y/N)? Like (Y/N) Stark?” Ned’s voice rose alongside his enthusiasm
“Shhhh!” Peter pulled his friend into a hallway. “Okay, yes, (Y/N) Stark. But you can’t tell anyone. I mean anyone. Not even MJ.”
“Oh, okay,” Ned nodded, confident in his ability to keep a secret whilst Peter felt the exact opposite.
“I think I have a spare shirt in my locker,” Peter trailed off, stepping towards the row of lockers in the corridor.
Driving towards Brooklyn was a calming experience. You sat with your legs up on the dashboard, the window slightly open so that your hair blew out of your face. Your phone was tucked into your pocket and you had received the list of materials.
“Where can we get anti-static acrylic?” you looked across at Happy, who was fully focused on the road ahead. If it had been anyone else he would have made them sit in the back, but you had known Happy since you were a kid. He was like an uncle to you, most of the team were family at this point.
“There’s a store in Brooklyn, they stock all kinds of obscure materials. We’ll head there,” he replied without looking at you and you turned to watch outside your window.
As the car pulled up in front of the store, you grabbed a worn-down cap and a pair of sunglasses from the glovebox. You glanced towards Happy, noticing how his phone was instantly in his hand, before opening the door and hurrying into the building. Recently the press had been more interested in you, wanting to ask you about your father and his new apprentice, Spiderman. You had known Peter’s alter ego since the beginning, but it had taken you by surprise when the first paparazzi had asked you about him. You had stumbled over your words, which was strange because you had inherited your father’s cool when talking to strangers. It was safest to try and avoid the paps, for fear of spilling something about Peter or your relationship. That would be difficult to explain to your father.
The store was cold, sending a shiver down your spine as you stepped in. You glanced around before deciding to speak to an employee. Removing your sunglasses, you headed towards a young woman wearing a store shirt.
“Hi, I was wondering if you could help me find some materials?” you asked politely, smiling softly.
“Sure- Oh my god, you’re (Y/N) Stark,” the employee looked at you with wide eyes. You cursed internally, maintaining the smile on your face.
“Uh, yeah,” you chuckled.
“Of course I can help, what are you looking for?” you could hear the nervous waver in her voice.
“Some anti-static acrylic and polarizing film, if you have some?” you continued your confident act despite the defeat that lingered behind your eyes. You knew exactly how this was going to end.
“Let me go have a look in the back, I’ll only be a few minutes,” the girl rushed off, stumbling over her own feet.
You wandered the store when you shivered again. You ran your hands across your arms before remembering the sweater tied around your waist. Untying it, you pulled it on over your t-shirt. Your arms were immediately grateful, the goosebumps that had covered your skin fading away. You had been browsing for a few minutes when you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket.
Paps outside, must have found out we’re here – Happy
Opening Twitter on your phone you instantly saw your name trending, the account at the top belonging to the store employee.
“Hi, sorry to keep you waiting,” a familiar voice returned. You looked up to see the employee. “I’ve got your acrylic and film.”
She held out a bag to you and you glanced in to check the contents.
“Thanks,” you smiled, still trying to hide your annoyance. She followed you across to the tills where you pressed your father’s credit card to the card machine before leaving quickly.
The second you stepped outside, your sight was invaded with flashing lights and your ears bombarded with shouts. You swiftly put your sunglasses on and made a bee-line for the car.
“How’s Tony?”
“Have you spoken to Spiderman?”
“Where did you get your sweater?”
Crap.
“Did you see the new pictures of Stark’s kid? She’s wearing our sweater!” Peter overheard a group of girls talking as he headed towards the gymnasium. He immediately pulled out his phone, heading to social media and seeing the pictures of you flash onto his screen.
“Is that your sweater?” Ned peered over his shoulder before Peter brushed him away.
“Who else’s could it be?” Peter racked his brain for an excuse to use in gym class.
As the two boys entered the changing room the subject of conversation continued from one social group to another.
“Yeah, she’s wearing a Midtown sweater.”
“Where did she get it?”
“I don’t know, but she’s fit.”
Peter’s blood boiled at the way the boys spoke about you, he wanted nothing more than to stick them against the wall.
“Yo, what are you looking at Parker?” one of the jocks was staring Peter down, who hadn’t realised he had been staring in the first place.
“I- uh- nothing,” Peter backed away, towards where Ned had began to change. He reached into his locker, pulling out a pair of yellow shorts and a white shirt. “All I got. Shit.”
“Dude, it’ll be fine. Coach’ll mention it like once, then you’re fine,” Ned spoke, pulling on his sweater.
Peter and Ned entered the gym with their classmates, Peter sticking out like a sore thumb.
“Parker,” Coach Wilson yelled. “Get over here. Where’s your kit?”
“Sorry Sir, it’s in- in the laundry,” Peter stuttered, looking up at his coach.
“Woah, coincidence. You have that Stark internship, right? Did you lend your sweater to (Y/N) Stark?” Flash yelled out from the bleachers, high-fiving his friends.
“I mean, I’ve never-”
“It’s funny that you have that internship, but you’ve never met Stark or his daughter? Come on,” Flash taunted, pride painted across his face.
“I, uh-”
“He’s met her!” Ned yelled out, standing from his seat on the bleachers. Turning on his heels, Peter’s face flushed red as he glared at his friend.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” he spoke sternly. If looks could kill, Ned would be flat on the ground.
“Well then,” Flash spun around, ever the entertainer. “Why not just ask her for your sweater back?”
“I can’t- it’s not. It’s not mine.”
The room went silent as Peter’s phone began to ring from his pocket. Lifting it to his ear slowly and giving a quick glance to Coach Wilson, he pressed the answer button.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s (Y/N),” Peter flinched at the name, fully aware everyone else in the gym could hear as it bounced from wall to wall. “I was out and I had your sweater and the press got pictures and now they’ve all blown up online. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for any of this-”
The panic in your voice was clear, which worried Peter. He had seen you this way only a few times before, he was much more used to the confident, upbeat (Y/N).
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I think they’ve kind of figured it out already,” he turned away from the bleachers, exiting the gym and lowering his voice.
“Are you in class? Sorry, I should have texted.”
“No, it’s fine. Wait, what about your dad?”
Peter heard you curse under your breath.
“I’m gonna go talk to him. God I hope he hasn’t seen the pictures yet.”
“Hasn’t he seen you with it before?”
“Not the logo. I need to go, I need to hurry. I’ll let you know if it’s safe to come by after school.”
“Okay, I love you.”
“I love you too,” despite everything going on, Peter could hear you smile through the phone.
Re-entering the gym, all eyes were on Peter.
“So, Parker. How does one get a Stark internship?”
You rushed towards the lab, carrier bag in hand. Throwing open the door you placed the bag on a desk next to Bruce and continued through to where you had left your father this morning. He was sat in an almost identical position, staring at the computer screen in front of him. Walking over slowly, you could see the pictures of you on the screen.
“Hey,” you spoke quietly, your hands shaking slightly with anxiety.
“So, I’m assuming it’s Peter’s sweater? Is this just all blown out of proportion?” he looked up at you, radiating a sense of understanding.
“I mean, it’s his. He left it here. This morning,” your eyes darted to the ground, your brain running wild with possible reactions. Most of them bad.
“How long has this been happening?” your father seemed calm, which unsettled you. You had expected him to be annoyed, angry even.
“A few months, pretty much since he came here the first time,” you rubbed your hands together, doing anything to avoid Tony’s gaze.
“Damn,” he leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. “And I didn’t notice the whole time? I must be getting old.”
“You’re not mad?” you looked up, your eyebrows furrowing together.
“You know what I was like before you came along, right?” he glanced across at you. You shook your head in response, you didn’t speak much of his life before you.
“Well, I was much worse than you kiddo,” he laughed to himself. “Does he make you happy?”
“Yes,” you exhaled, letting out a breathy laugh.
“Then I’m happy,” Tony stood and walked across to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and smiled down at you. “Now, did you get our stuff?”
a/n – I really hope you liked it! I had a lot of fun writing this one, it ended up quite dialogue heavy but I think it’s okay!! sending love ❤
a/n – I hope you like this! i kinda want to do a part 2 to this to expand to the characters, so i might do! let me know if you would like one!
Every parent had the stereotypical ‘#1 dad’ mug, but it could only be true for one person. And you knew it was your dad.
Scott Lang was very much a child himself, at least mentally. There was nothing he enjoyed more than spending a Saturday morning on the couch, eating Lucky Charms by the bucket and watching cartoons with you and Cassie. You were referred to as “his favourite girls” constantly, and although you had heard it for years, it still made you smile to this day. You were older than Cassie, but the difference in age had no effect on your relationship. You were best friends, and you couldn’t have wished for a better family.
Due to having been on house arrest you hadn’t seen much of your father recently, so when he was able to leave the house and he told you of his first action it shocked you. As soon as he was able to leave his own house, he was moving. To the Avengers tower. And you could go with him.
“Wait, what? They said that?” your jaw had hit the floor at the news. You had been aware of ‘Ant-Man’ all along, so you had kept informed about everyone else, especially after Germany. Now you could be living with them, learning from them.
“Yep,” Scott smiled, shoving his clothes into a box. “Said they’d be happy to have you. Also, it means you would be able to go to that school, Midtown?”
“Are you serious? Do you know how good that school is? This is crazy!” you sat on your dad’s bed, wrapping your legs underneath you.
“I’m going tomorrow, they’re sending vans for my stuff. And yours?” your dad looked across at you, squinting his eyes in anticipation.
“Yes. Definitely,” you almost squealed, excitement bubbling in your chest. “What about Cassie?”
“She’s too young to be around all of the sciency stuff, so she’ll stay with your mom. But she can come visit, obviously.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I guess I’d better get packing,” you jumped up, giving your dad a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving to return home.
“Early tomorrow! Like, 8am want to kill everyone early!” Scott called after you, laughing as he heard the door slam shut.
You were stood outside your father’s house at 8am sharp. You had brought over boxes and bags full of everything you owned – you figured space wouldn’t be a problem at the tower. Looking up at your childhood home, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. Memories flooded back of messing around with Cassie, building forts with your dad and watching Scott and Luis working whilst also having no idea what they were doing.
A smile crossed your face as you were lost in thought, not noticing you father walking up to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, smiling towards you as you came out of your trance.
“Some good memories, huh,” he looked towards the house before looking back at you. “They’ve finished packing everything up, we’re ready to go.”
“Let’s go.”
Approaching the Avengers tower felt like you were entering a new world. It stretched up and up, the logo shining in the sunlight. You felt like the human embodiment of the heart eyes emoji. Beside you, your dad was having the exact same reaction.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” a familiar voice with a sarcastic tone grew louder alongside footsteps. You turned slowly to see Tony Stark standing in front of you.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, your eyes wide. “Hi, I’m (Y/N). It’s such an honour to meet you!” You reached out your hand to shake his. In response, he held his hand out for a fist bump, which you gave quickly.
“Part of the family now, kid,” he smiled, walking towards the front door. “Scott. Nice to see you.”
“Hey,” your dad replied, grimacing at the memories of Germany. “How’re you doing?”
“Made some upgrades to the suit. Your old tricks aren’t gonna work on me any more,” Tony turned to give your dad a sarcastic smile. You looked between the pair, the awkward silence making you want to scream.
“So, who’s here at the moment?” you asked, famous faces running through your head.
“Most people have been MIA since Germany, so it’s normally just Rhodey and me. Oh, and the kid, Peter.”
“Peter?” you asked, the name unfamiliar.
“The spider-kid?” Scott remembered.
“Yep,” Tony replied. “He’s at school but drops in pretty often. I’m working on his suit just now.”
“I would love to take a look,” you started, your mind roaming with ideas of the improved suit. “I mean, if that’s okay. I’m a big fan.”
“I’ll take you up on that later,” Tony smiled at you, entering the tower and leading you towards the elevator. “Sixth floor’s all yours. Feel free to explore, take these, they’ll let you in pretty much anywhere. My people will bring up all of your stuff, and I’ll see you later.” Tony tossed you badges with your names on and gave you a quick nod before walking off.
You turned to face your dad, a huge smile on your face, “Wow.”
“Wow indeed,” he span in a circle, taking in his surroundings. “Split up and reconvene in a few hours?”
“Plan,” you smiled, placing your badge in your pocket and turning to wander down a corridor.
The laboratory was greater than you could ever have imagined. It was covered wall to wall in holograms, screens and experiments. You pressed your badge to the door panel and it buzzed, the door unlocking and opening. You stepped inside, sucking in a breath before allowing your eyes to behold the magnificent room. You wandered through the space, running your finger along a surface when another hologram popped up.
You took a step back, looking at the design that appeared before you. It showed a suit, reminiscent of one you were familiar with.
“Spiderman,” you whispered, reaching out to figure out how to interact with the hologram. You whipped your hand to the side which spun the design around. As it turned, you noticed that the suit was significantly more advanced than you were used to seeing. It had a more metallic look, and it shimmered as it turned. “Woah.”
You found yourself entranced by the suit, no longer aware of your surroundings. You circled the table, looking at the papers scattered across the table. There were designs, equations, things you couldn’t begin to comprehend. You had always been interested in science and things like these brought out the science nerd that you had often tried to conceal.
“Mr Stark?” the door opened and a young man walked through, throwing his backpack on the floor. He took a few steps into the room before realising you were there, stopping when he saw you. “Oh, hi.”
You looked up at him, smiling slightly, “Hi. I’m (Y/N).”
“Oh, Scott’s kid? Cool, hi.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sorry, I’m Peter!” he smiled, holding a hand out to you. You shook it and stepped back.
“So, you’re Spiderman?” you asked, looking across at the suit displayed in front of you. “This is quite a suit, looks like it’s had a fair few upgrades.”
“Yeah, Mr Stark’s been working pretty hard on it. Do you know where he is?”
“I haven’t seen him since I arrived, sorry.”
“It’s not a problem. I can show you the actual suit, if you’d like?” Peter looked up at you, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“That would be incredible, thank you,” you smiled, following his lead.
Walking down the corridor, you couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion that this was the start of something wonderful.
*BONUS*
“So, Peter huh?” Scott threw himself down on the sofa next to you.
“What?” you looked up from your phone, not paying attention to your surroundings.
“Y’know, he fully took me down in Germany.”
“How?”
“Well, I was big and-”
“Oh my god, was it like the AT-ATs in Empire Strikes Back?” you looked up, your eyes glistening at the thought.
“Okay, y’know what? You can go with him, I don’t know you anymore.”
Fandom: Avengers Pairing: Peter Parker x Male!Reader Summary: It’s just a total mayhem Word Count:1658 Request: Peter Parker x Actor Male Reader and the Reader is reading his lines to him and the lines are like saying I hate you because it like from a breaking up scene, and the team hears this and is not having it.
“What’s the scene?”
You came sauntering into the Avengers tower that day, you were glad that you had a place to hang out with cameras flashing in your face. Your boyfriend was the famous Spiderman, and when his team found out you were dating (the gay icon and hero) they basically wanted to you to stay. Peter was here almost all the time, but even when he wasn’t you liked hanging around the team.
You found Peter very supportive and enjoyed your relationship with him.
Fandom: Avengers Pairing: Peter Parker x Male!Reader Summary: It’s so nice to be young and to be in love. Word Count: 1889 Request: Could I request a Peter Parker x M!Stark!Reader where Peter’s doubting himself and reader’s comforting him and they start dating and one day they’re making out cause they thought no one was home and peter’s really shy, but Tony finds them and they didn’t even notice until he dropped something or made a really loud noise and they both get really embarrassed? A/N: For reference, in CW Peter is 14 years old, HC Peter is 15 years old. The reader is a year older than Peter. I am also adding the year leading up to IW, the year after HC, so Peter is 16 at that time.
There was always a spark between you and Peter, even from the get-go when you “accidentally” ran into him whilst he was coming out of school. There was more eye contact during your second meeting when you were in his apartment, happily talking to his Aunt May.
You weren’t home often since you get frequently flying back and forth between university and home. Peter hardly saw you and was ashamed that you weren’t around during the civil war.
Bucky would protect Peter so goddamn fast i swear on my life
Sergeant James Barnes of the 107 is noted as a hero in his history book (because that shit gets updated and in the mcu, Brooklyn’s heroes are definitely in there) and Bucky is completely unaware. Peter is also unaware of the fact that the Winter Soldier, whom he fought in Germany, and Bucky Barnes are the same person. So when Peter wakes up in the Soul World, all alone, and sees this big guy, it takes him a minute.
“I know you. From Germany, right?” He says hesitantly as he approaches Bucky, who is sitting with Sam, who nods at Bucky and wanders off to console people. People just keep appearing, and it feels nice to Peter to see a familiar face, even if last time they were on opposite sides of a fight. “You were with C-Captain America.”
“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, wounds still fresh from losing Steve again. Because not only did Steve loose Bucky, but Bucky lost Steve, that stupid punk from Brooklyn he swore to protect. The one he told to not do anything stupid, and then he did a bunch of stupid stuff. The one who fought for him every day, who helped save him. And Bucky lost him all over again.
He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair before extending it towards the kid. “The name’s Bucky.”
Peter looks confused, and blinks. “Bucky?”
Bucky isn’t sure what to make of the kid’s confusion. “Well, my name is James but I go by Bucky.”
And then as this scrawny kid from Queens takes in the massive man in front of him, the hair and the eyes and the jawline, and it clicks into place. The history lessons start coming back to him, and he remembers the faded picture of the man smiling with Captain America and the description below it: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes of the 107 and Captain America, 1941.
He gulps, swallowing back a surprised gasp, quickly taking Bucky’s hand and shaking it. “I-It’s an honor to m-met you, sir. My name’s Peter Parker, I’m from Queens.”
Bucky smirks, just a little, and lets go, his hand falling to his side. “Yeah, I know. You’re the kid that works with Stark. Steve told me about you.”
Peter’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “C-Captain America talked about me? To you?” He looks flustered and he starts playing with his hands. He looks down at their feet and the orange nothing surrounding them. “I’ve learned so much about you.”
“Relax kid, nothing bad. Said you were really smart.” The kid looks so tiny, so young, it reminds him of a small blond friend who just had to do the right thing all the damn time. He swallows the lump in his throat. He doesn’t need this kid to be scared, much less, scared of him.
Peter looks up, almost bashful. “That’s awesome.” It makes the both of them laugh, and then it goes quiet again, save for the distant cries of the newly appearing civilians. “I just–I can’t believe I’m meeting you,” he murmurs, and Bucky does his best to keep his face neutral. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his past, of the awful things he did as the Soldier. He opens his mouth when Peter beats him to it.
“You’re my hero, sir.”
It stuns Bucky, makes his heart skip a beat. He blinks once, brows furrowed. “What?”
Peter nods vigorously, a small smile on his face. “You’re my hero,” he repeats firmer, and Bucky’s heart feels a little lighter at it. “You were the top of your class in school, the best sniper in the army, and the coolest Howling Commando. I wrote a paper on you and everything.” He’s gushing and his hands are everywhere in front of him, cheeks red as he continues blabbering and “god you’re into science and art”, and in that moment it feels like Bucky’s heart is in his throat, so big and warm it’s threatening to break through his bones.
He shakes his head, a small but genuine smile gracing his lips as he swings his flesh arm around Peter’s shoulders and tugs him forward, a hint of nostalgia touching his heart as they walk. “Come on, kid, let’s go find the others.”
Bucky promises to himself to protect this kid with his life, this small, golden-hearted boy from Queens, who reminds him of his own (previously) small, golden-heart friend from Brooklyn.
Toad's Cave 