#🕊️ .゜ 𝕰𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝕽𝐄𝐐.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

Hi elle! I was wondering if you could do some angst in where reader is tony's daughter but shes the forgotten one and tony shows a lot of affection to peter and one day she just loses it. Its ok if you don't want to.

Stay safe and drink water!

i’ve never felt so motivated to write something–

content warnings (18+) — immense swearing, mentions of insecurity and negative outlook, yelling, author possibly projecting?, maybe too many italicized words/phrases.

✨masterlist✨.

3.5k.

You knew your dad loved you. He had to. He said it to you a million times before, and made it a point to remind you of it once a day. However, there were moments nowadays where you began to question it. You didn’t really question whether he loved you or not, but rather, whether he loved Peter Parker more than you.

Tony had referred to Peter as the son he’d never had. He’d taken Peter on retreats and to expos when he hadn’t taken you out on a trip since you were nine years old. He’d bought things for Peter, and fixed things for Peter, and every meme or video or cat picture you found on the internet to show to your father would automatically get the response: “send that to me, i want to show it to Peter.”

Peter this and Peter that. It sent you into a spiral of insecurity that you’d never known existed. You truly felt like Tony was trying to tell you something subliminally. You tried to drown yourself in coursework, go to engineering camps, and help out with the Avengers just to try and gain a better understanding of their bond. Of what you lacked. Nothing seemed to help. It jabbed at your feelings like a knife to the back, presumably left by Peter Parker himself.

And the worst part? You’d never even met the guy. You’d never been introduced to Peter Parker, despite how many times Tony mentioned the fact that he’d “love for you two to meet,” and “you two would get along great.” Yeah, sure. And he’s probably some gross ass dude with an untamed beard in his mid–twenties that your father took pity on. So much pity, in fact, that he’d invited Peter to stay over for the weekend in your penthouse apartment.

Fantastic.

It was such a sudden proposition, and a last second invite, but it happened. And Tony insisted, despite every protest you attempted to give, that you’d both greet him in the lobby.

So when you were face to face with a surprisingly attractive boy your age who had the deepest brown eyes you’d ever seen and barely packed a duffel bag, you were thrown off your rocker. You hardly had the composure to speak. Thus, your father did for you, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before.

He was barely showing teeth, but you hadn’t seen your father this excited about something in a while. “Kid, this is my daughter, Y/N.” He stated proudly, grasping Peter’s shoulder as he started introductions. “And sweetheart,” Tony addressed you, turning his full focus to you as he gave Peter’s introduction. “This is Peter Parker.”

There was something about him that caused for you to detest him. It wasn’t seen on his clothes, or in his eyes. It wasn’t dangling in the tension between you, or whispered through his silent stares, but it was there. Perhaps, it came from the depths of your subconscious, and the land of your imagination. You shoved that proposition deeper into your subconscious, too.

Because you were certain that you had a hatred for Peter Parker, and his little staycation with the Stark’s would prove it.

The first night was fine. Your dad didn’t make you do any activities together, thank God, but he did surprise you with the news that he had to leave the next morning for a last second Avengers emergency. He didn’t know when he’d be back, but Tony assigned you and Peter with the task of rewiring a circuit board in his lab before he returned.

Being the daughter of Tony Stark, you’d taken the initiative to finish the project yourself. It was your house, anyways. It was a request that your father had made to you, so you intended to do it. You just hated the fact that Peter persisted in being with you in the room while you finished it. You hated the silence he left in the room, and the way he kept checking over your shoulder. God, you just hated him. You were sure of it.

You could feel his presence watching over your hands as they worked. You could feel the weight of his judgment, his breath catching in hesitation. You could smell the fumes of his cologne, and the aroma of his hair products. It was infuriating. It was pressuring. It felt mocking, taunting.

He stepped closer, hands reaching over to where yours were tinkering, yet they didn’t dare to touch your project. “A–actually, you should move the circuit focus closer to the–”

The audacity he had to question you. The nerve he struck with his comment, it filled you with rage.

Wrench and wire were thrown to the table, clanking and clamoring as they caved to gravity’s pull. Their sound was the only thing keeping you and Peter from shared silence. The shared silence of your anger. You turned your head to look at him, hoping that you weren’t physically exhaling flames like you imagined you were.

“Can you just.. not?” The question almost came out as a laugh. You nearly laughed, in disbelief that Peter Parker thought he had any say in how you built a robotic contraption. “Can you just fucking not?”

Walls had been building up inside you, livid and rageful feelings clouding your judgment as you glared at him. You couldn’t see just how shocked he was, thrown off at your irritation. You couldn’t see how puzzled he was, or panicked that he’d done something to upset you so much. You just stared into the eyes of what felt like your replacement. You felt empty, worthless, as your figure reflected back at you through the glistening of his eyes.

“Can I not what? Did I– Did I upset you?” Just the sound of his voice crawled beneath your skin. It felt worse than the sleek of humidity, or nails on a chalkboard. It sounded teasing, coy.

It was the final straw.

Nails dug into your palm as your hands formed fists. One fist pressed to your forehead, almost speaking as a warning to tell you to keep composure, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t fucking stand it anymore. “Can you stop being so fucking perfect all the time?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

There were several things that you’d been wanting to say to Peter Parker. You’d wanted to tell him off for a long time, but you’d never gotten the chance. Now, you’d given yourself the opportunity to let the floodgates open and your tongue run wild.

“You’re always making shit competitive and iT’S NOT OKAY. It’s not my fault that my own father loves yOU MORE THAN ME! Doesn’t mean you have to fucking rub it in my face every gODDAMN FUCKING HOUR!!” God, this felt good. “You can just do my job for me!! Fucking move into my rOOM at this point, Tony won’t know the difference!!” You scoffed, “In fact, he’d probably be tHRILLED that you FINALLY REPLACED ME!!”

Peter Parker blinked a few times at you. His mouth hung agape, too scared to say anything and interrupt what looked like things you had been needing to say. The look infuriated you.

“Build the circuit board by your goddamn fucking self and leave me the fuck alone!!” And as you made the final statement, you turned to make your leave. The subtle breeze caught your face, and you felt the air hit your cheeks cold; you hadn’t noticed that you’d started crying.

You also hadn’t noticed the fact that your dad entered the room. You froze dead in your tracks at the sight of him, tears brimming your eyes again when you saw how upset he looked.

Shit.

It wasn’t your intention for him to hear all of that, but you couldn’t take back the truth once it’d gotten out. You took a staggered breath, choking back a sob as you rushed out. You didn’t know which hurt more: to hear your father’s footsteps tread further from you, or to hear him ask Peter about what was happening rather than you directly.

Either way, it was an added punch right to the gut.

It felt like ten minutes of sobbing in your room went by before a knock was placed on your door. You were about to answer, but you weren’t given the chance; your father opened the door as soon as he’d placed the knock, a solemn look coating his face as he looked at you from the doorframe. It was a solemn look that resembled disappointment.

He was disappointed in you.

Your dad was disappointed that you’d blown a fuse in front of your house guest. Disappointed that you’d ruined your chance at a good first impression. Disappointed that you’d shown such weakness. He was disappointed that you didn’t meet his expectations. He was disappointed in you for not making his honorary son feel more welcomed. Your father was disappointed in you for fucking it all up. You could tell.

Tony took careful steps towards your bed, sitting next to you as you stifled your sobs down a bit. “Do.. You want to talk about what happened back there?” His tone was softer than you’d anticipated for someone who was disappointed in you. It almost sounded apologetic, sympathetic; you were certain that your mind was reaching for a false reality.

A sniffle caught your breath as you looked at him, fresh tears framing your face. “How much of that did you hear?” You were almost too scared to ask, but you needed to know. You had to know which bit of air to clear first.

“All of it.” Tony started, “From the part where you asked Peter not to be so fucking perfect all the time..” His tone got a little sharper, almost witty. It sounded like he was trying to make humor of your meltdown. As though he were trying to find a way to cheer you up, or tell you to grow up and get over yourself. You couldn’t tell.

You averted eye contact for a moment, trying not to blow up again. Luckily, most of the anger in your system was boiling down to melancholia. Your tears ran rivers down your face as you tried to find the words to say. “I just don’t understand..” You started, keeping your voice from breaking.

Every speck of humor fled from his face at how upset you were getting. Tony’s brows pressed together, graveness and concern bleeding through his tone of voice. “Don’t understand what, honey?” The gentleness of his tone reminded you of when he’d comfort you in childhood. It took you back to when he’d snapped at you and wanted to apologize, or when you’d scraped your knee and he rushed to patch you up. It started to ease the narrative in your head that Tony was angry with you for your little tantrum.

“I, uh.. I don’t—” A shaky breath cut you off. You weren’t sure how to communicate this feeling lightly. It’d been bottled up and growing inside you for a couple months now. You knew you’d have to tell him at some point, you just despised how raw it was. It was pure vulnerability. “I don’t understand what I did to not be good enough–” You couldn’t even get through the sentence before your lip quivered.

That was when Tony looked at you like the entire world shattered. His entire world shattered. The disappointment flooded his expression once again, but it hit you that it was never directed at you — Tony was disappointed in himself. His eyes held the weight of failing as a father, of making you feel this rejected. He failed by making you feel rejected in the first place. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a suffocating hug; you weren’t sure if he’d ever actually be able to let go of it, yet it was the kind of hug you didn’t want to part from. A hug that shielded you from the entire world.

His lips pressed to your temple, along with a few stray tears he couldn’t catch beforehand. It was rare to catch your father tearful, yet you seemed to lower that guard when you started the conversation. He held you close, letting you cry out the feelings you’d locked away for so long.

“Y/N, you’re more than enough..” He lulled, voice breaking ever so slightly, “It’s my fault you ever felt like you weren’t..” His words were everything you’d hoped to hear. You’d began to believe the possibility that actually hearing them wasn’t actuality. This insecurity had driven you beyond wild, to the point where you believed that your father’s intentions were pinned against you.

They never were.

Tony held you in his arms for the next hour, letting you talk out your growing anxiety. You talked about everything from your fomo towards their retreats and trips, to how thrown off you were that Peter was your age.

“I actually think you two would make a cute couple.” Tony started, laughing at how quick you were to throw a punch at his bicep. The melancholy had worn off both of you, and the room started to fill with laughter. “I’m serious!” Tony threw his arms up to mock defeat before changing the topic a little. “But really, I think he wants to apologize to you for what happened.”

Your face drew a blank, mixing shock and confusion as you blinked at your father a few times. “Parker wants to apologize to me? For my meltdown?”

A shrug caught in your father’s posture. “You two are more similar than you think, hon.” His tone was light and sincere as he chuckled, quietly, “You both put the weight of other people’s mistakes on your shoulders.” His words draped a blanket of guilt over your body. Your own words from said meltdown began to replay through your brain like a broken record; the blame you’d thrown at Peter was wrongfully served.

You knew you needed to apologize.

After rebuilding trust with your father, and mentally rehearsing how to apologize to Peter, you made your way across the apartment to the guest room.

The door was already open, and gave you the perfect view of Peter seated on the edge of the bed. He was reading, fidgeting fingers at the edge of his pages, and chocolate curls shadowing his focused expression.

Now that you’d been able to release the steam of your self–consciousness, you realized that hatred wasn’t the actual feeling you had towards Peter; it was envy. And once you had talked things out with your father, the clouds of your judgment cleared from your vision and you could finally see Peter Parker for who he really was: a boy. A boy your age who needed a place to crash for the weekend.

You felt guilty for interrupting his reading, but at this point, the feeling was a tiny speck to add to your growing pile of culpability. The knock was gentle, and immediately pulled his eyes to meet yours.

“Mind if I come in for a minute?” You had to croak the words out, but still managed to keep a softness to your tone. You didn’t want to yell at him again, or come across like you were about to.

The look he gave you wasn’t one you weren’t expecting; he eyed you like he’d committed an unforgivable crime, or like you’d break if he didn’t hold you together. It gave you reassurance that this apology definitely needed to come out sooner than later.

Peter book–marked his place without looking, keeping his stare fixed on you while he nodded. “Please,” He gestured to the foot of the bed beside him, “Sit. I– uh, I was planning to find you and see if you were alright, but I didn’t want to interrupt your space.”

As you sat down beside him, a smile touched your lips at how thoughtful he was. “I appreciate that, but I–I owe you an apology, Peter..” You never broke your eye contact, but the look in your eyes grew more urgent, pleading. “I am so sorry for speaking to you that way, and–”

You cut yourself off at the sight of Peter waving his hands in dismissal. He mirrored the look in your eyes, “No, Y/N, I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I don’t want you to feel like I’m here to replace you.” His words held a direness that yours should have. Your dad was right, Peter really was putting the gravity of this into his hands.

To stop his spiral, you touched his arm for a minute, “Peter, that wasn’t your fault. It was mine for assuming and unloading all of that shit onto you. And I’m sorry for that.”

His eyes alone begged you to let him win the argument. “I still could have–”

You cut him off, “Peter, it’s not your fault.” You tried to emphasize your point, noticing the way he read your expression. His eyes scanned every inch of your face, searching for what looked like a sign of your uncertainty. His lips parted to contribute his side of the argument, but one look from you shut his trap pretty quickly.

Peter’s shoulder’s eased, but his eyes still glistened with ambition. He wanted you to understand his perspective a little. “Did your dad tell you how nervous I was to meet you?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting. Your eyes widened a little, shaking your head in response. Peter Parker? Nervous to meet you? The way your dad talked about him didn’t set him up to be that way. Of course, seeing him in front of you changed your perception a little. “No, he didn’t.” You were honest.

He wet his lips, parting them with the warmest smile you’d ever set your eyes on. The laugh that spilt from them was melodic, laced with a bit of nerves. He rubbed a muscle on the back of his neck, suddenly choking up. “Yeah, I was pretty nervous.” His brow arched slightly, complimenting his grin photogenically. “I was nervous ‘cause Mister Stark’s always talking the world to me about his amazing daughter.” Peter’s smile grew in your direction, stirring a hurricane of butterflies through your stomach.

It felt like the two of you were in the midst of a staring contest; though, instead of the intense anticipation glistening in each other’s eyes, you mutually stared at each other in security. You’d both had the immense pressure of making good impressions toward the other on your shoulders.

Peter repositioned himself on the bed, now seated facing you. His legs were crossed beneath him, his knee a hair from touching yours. “You, Y/N, are not only his greatest accomplishment, but you’re his best friend.” His words spread like butter over every worry you’d had, melting away that crippling insecurity with it. “I think he wants to be you when he grows up.”

The laughs that bubbled up your throat brought attention to the tears brimming your eyes. You blinked them away, mirroring Peter’s earnest expression. “I can tell why my dad’s always talking about you.” You told him, “And here I was thinking you’d be some old ass dude living in his mother’s basement, but here we are.”

“And here I was thinking you wouldn’t be drop–dead gorgeous.” His cheeks were ablaze with crimson, sending a pink glow of your own to your complexion. “But, here we are.”

Your smile grew, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “Alright, casanova. Save it for the love letters.” It felt nice to share laughter like this with Peter. You were glad that you gave him a second chance. Not breaking eye contact, you slid off the bed and rose to your feet. “I’ll let you get back to your reading”

Peter watched you get up to go, looking a little disappointed. You were almost surprised, but likewise, both you and Peter hid the honesty of your feelings behind the curtains of a smile.

“You don’t have to. You could stay if you want.” He started, but a look flashed behind his eyes that was rather telling; he seemed to panic over his eagerness for your company. “Unless you don’t want to–”

Biting the inside of your cheek hurt, but it was the only way to hide how wide your smile grew. “I’d love to, but I need to finish that circuit board.” And thus, the idea struck you. “You doing anything later though?”

His brows pressed together in a curious way. “Not really. You planning something?”

“Yeah. My dad and I usually have movie nights tonight.” You took paces backwards towards the door, but stalled from the moment you’d have to part ways. “You should join us! It’s my turn to pick.”

The sight of his dimples made you realize just how much you’d grown fond of his smile. It was already getting difficult to leave his presence; you knew if you didn’t leave now, you probably never would.

“Well, then you better pick a good one, just for me.” He challenged. You’d make it your goal to satisfy his request.

If even possible, it felt like your grin grew. “I plan to.”

And that said, the three of you met in the home–theater and watched Jurassic Park together. You had Tony on your left geeking out over the CGI technology from the 80s, and Peter on his left geeking out about how accurate the movie was from the book. It made your film decision that much better. It also was the best movie night you’d had in a long while.

Perhaps your dad was right: you and Peter Parker really would get along great.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

“ cuddle–bugs. „

(( request PART TWO )).

!!! read part one | part three | part four | part five here !!!

mcu!peter parker x reader.

IN WHICH — you fell asleep on your best friend’s shoulder during movie night and the avengers won’t let you live it down.

author’s note ; okay so i made this a winter/christmas fic on accident cause i miss it. you’re welcome:,) ALSO !! lmk if y’all want me to add you to the part 3 tag list;)

✨masterlist✨.

3.2k.

It’d been two nights, and you still couldn’t 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 Peter’s shoulder. Two nights ago, before Sam and Bucky started ogling you and Peter like no one’s business. Two nights ago, the last time you got a successful wink of sleep.

Shit.

Perhaps you were lying to yourself– 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 he’d leave. You knew him better than anyone else did; he was written in a language that you’d carefully taken the time to understand. You just hoped that he’d 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 — 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. Winter’s chill was spiteful at such an early hour, but it was just the medicine you needed to give you energy after an all–nighter. 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 couldn’t 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 close–hand 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 googly–eyes.

“Hang on there, cowboy.” He started, right hand hovering just beside your wrist. “You need to hold your shoulders back so that your punch gives a harder blow..” That’s when the devious smirk shadowed his face. “Unless, you’re planning to tussle with your boyfriend.”

The sharp breath you exhaled in response was a lot more intense than you’d initially intended. “He’s not my boyfriend!” 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 Bucky’s eyes widened at your punch, you took it that the impact was, once again, more intense than you’d intended.

You blamed the sleep depravity.

Later on, post–shower, 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.

“Cute sweatshirt.” 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, faded–vintage yellow writings. It took you a beat or two to remember where you got it, but when you did–

“Is it your boyfriend’s?”

Shit.

Frustration bubbled through your system. Except, it wasn’t 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 weren’t the biggest one. Most nights, when you couldn’t 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 don’t 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 didn’t 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 Wanda’s, curiously. The curiosity fled your expression the split second she opened her mouth.

“Peter’s looking for you. Should I tell him–”

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. “He’s not my boyfriend!” 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 you’d finished your response. “I know. He’s your best friend, and he’s looking for you.” 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. She’d already started to step out of sight, but she had a closing thought. “And, y’know.. I felt the same way you do now with Vis.” She hummed, “The only way to relieve yourself from it is to talk to him.”

Which brought you here. Now. At eleven twenty–three 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.

“You should get some sleep.”

The second you met Peter’s eyes, you felt it immediately. That zing. That spark. The knot in your stomach that guilted you for avoiding him all day. You couldn’t 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 wasn’t 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. “Are you not speaking to me? Did I do something?” The second question was quick to follow the first.

Your expression mirrored his, though with less worry and more defense. “What? No.” You stated, shutting your laptop without breaking eye contact. “Why would you think you did something wrong?” It churned your tummy to think that he’d been overthinking about this all day. Then again, if you were in his shoes, you’d have been thinking the exact same things.

It wasn’t hard to notice the relief that settled his posture, or the hesitance that lingered in his stare. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe you, it was more that he wasn’t sure he could yet. “Because this is the longest you’ve gone without speaking to me since fifth grade.”

The urge to roll your eyes at him was strong, but the smile you had to fight off was more distracting. “Peter, I didn’t speak to you because I had laryngitis. I literally couldn’t!”

He smiled back at you, gesturing his hand towards you to emphasize his point. “Exactly!” Peter made his way around the chair, seating himself beside you on the couch. “I just got worried.” He made sure there was enough space between the two of you, nervous that you’d be upset if he sat too close. “Are you okay though? You look like you didn’t get any sleep.” And suddenly, you were reminded that you couldn’t 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. Wanda’s 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. “I, uh.. I’m just stressed, is all.” You shrugged, simplifying your emotions.

Peter’s stare narrowed at you, concerned. “Stressed about what?” 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. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

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. “I’d rather not talk about it right now.” You answered, honestly. “I should get some sleep first. I’m just…”

As you trailed off, Peter picked up the sentence where you couldn’t finish it. “Nervous about sleep?” 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. “Can I help?”

You could feel the way your heart raced at Peter’s earnesty, happily realizing you couldn’t 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 flat–screen 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.

“You sure you want me to cuddle with you? You’re shirtless.” You pointed out, verbally self–sabotaging yourself. Idiotically self–sabotaging yourself.

Peter raised a brow at you, laughing quietly. Though, there was a slight blush creeping along his cheekbones. “That hasn’t stopped you in the past.”

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 couldn’t stop your eyes from shutting. Peace overtook you before you could catch it, and you couldn’t exactly remember the moment sleep finally conquered you. The last thing you remember hearing was Peter’s faint whisper to ask FRIDAY to dim the lights.

Peter watched you sleep more than the movie. He couldn’t 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 he’d 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 Sam’s 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 he’d slept for, or when you decided to get up without waking him, but he wasn’t 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 Sam’s little sticky note, and finally connected the pieces on why you were so jittery around him. He’d seen you interact with a handful of people you’d 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 compound’s corridors. The same laugh that he’d heard all too often.

Wait.

You usually only laughed that hard at his jokes.

Peter slowed his slippered–steps 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.

“A little birdy told me that Harley’s been meaning to ask them out before he leaves.” Sam’s voice cut through the quiet, though he made a means that the information didn’t leave the kitchen. His voice stayed soft, secretive.

Harley. Harley Keener. That’s why his name was so familiar. The Harley Keener: Tony Stark’s protégé intern, who’s 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 he’d read just last week on Harley’s work. What was he doing here? And what the fuck was he doing here talking to you?

Peter’s 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. “What do you mean?”

Sam shrugged lightly, his lips pressing into a line as he stirred the sugar in with his coffee. “I heard that while he’s here on break, he’s planning to ask Y/N out.” He let the sentence fall from his mouth with a sigh, disappointment tracing the sound of his voice. “Sources say, he’s planning to pop the question before Hanukkah starts.”

It hit him like bricks, the urgency. The punch to the gut. The confidence Peter had woken up with withered somewhere he couldn’t 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?

“Wait.” He started, turning his attention back to Sam. “What source?” 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. “Were you using your mini drone to eavesdrop again?”

Sam chuckled, trying hard to act like he wasn’t offended. “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t call Redwing that.” He acted like his remote control helicopter actually had a name. “But no. My source’s name happens to rhyme with boney shark.”

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 who’d start rumors. The bitter taste of jealousy weighed on Peter’s 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 Peter’s shoulder, turning his attention to where Peter’s naturally gravitated back to; the way you and Harley interacted definitely seemed intimidating, but Sam wasn’t going to let Peter give up that easily.

“Another little birdy told me that boney shark hopes you beat him to it.” Sam’s 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 Sam’s words like they were prophetic. “And that birdy’s name rhymes with shmaptain shmerica.”

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 Steve–liberty–and–justice–for–all–Rogers was in on this, that meant something truly powerful. It meant that his team was rooting for him. Knowing that may not have given Peter’s 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 he’d never take for granted:

Hope.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

come back

okay okay 😩

uni’s kicking my ass bUT i’m finally at a place where i can start writing for fun now :) so be on the lookout for some pieces soon !!

rn i’m working on a request for a song prompt (hint: it was 6:48 i was walking home), a steve harrington fic, and an imagine where peter reintroduces himself to reader after forgetting ab him !!

lmk if you want me to work on any other requests !!

[deathbyathousandspiders]

so whatcha workin on 😋

right now i’m working on some anon requests 😼😼 all for peter parker, but all things i’m excited for!!

one is a request inspired by “boy in the bubble” by alec benjamin! i should have that one out by the end of the week

another one is an angst request where stark!reader gets dusted and peter/your dad has to witness :0 (and then id do a pt. two where reader comes back and watches tiny die cause i’m super evil-)

i do want to start writing imagines for different characters/fandoms, so i’m brainstorming those but id love some requests/prompts if anyone has any !!

is there any request you’d like me to work on/more specific work you’d like to see??

[deathbyathousandspiders]

hey! could you write something where tony accidentally finds out the reader, his daughter, and peter are dating? they’re both scared for his reaction but then he’s actually super cool about it :)

I LOVE STARK!READER !!

i got saucy w this one :,) my b

!!! 18+ MDNI !!!

content warnings — steamy peter make outs, light swearing, sexual content, suggestive dialogue.

✨masterlist✨.

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 face–open 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 black–cropped tank top and favorite pair of shorts didn’t 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 boyfriend’s 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.

“I’ve been looking for you..” 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 couldn’t see it from where he was. “I missed you too, baby.” Humming, your fingers scratched his scalp. “D’you know who’s here right now?” Your voice grew hushed, heart racing with the small adrenaline rush infiltrated your system.

“Your dad’s in his lab, Steve and Natasha are in the gym, and Vision’s with Wanda in the meeting room, but otherwise.. Everyone else’s out..” Peter’s voice dropped an octave as he spoke just above a whisper, his lips finding your collarbone. “Sam, Bucky, Thor..” 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. “Bruce, Clint, Rhodey, Pepper…” 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 couldn’t 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. “Peter.. We can’t…” You spoke breathlessly, tugging at his hair; it was an attempt to pull him from your body, but you didn’t 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 didn’t help that he aimed his breathy chuckle right at it, but god did it feel good. “Why not?”

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 hadn’t touched before. Sure, you’d 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.

“Cause I–” You felt the tug of Peter’s smirk against your skin at how worked up you were already getting. “I’m reading…” You knew that Peter was well aware of how secretive you needed to be. ‘Reading’ 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. “You’re sure I can’t even get one kiss?” 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, “Over my dead body, Parker.” Your voice still sang out low, wanting nothing more than to taste him right then and there.

Peter’s face inched closer to yours, snickering quietly at your stubborn response. “Not if your dad kills me first..” 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.

“Why would I kill you?” Your dad’s voice hummed nonchalant, as if he wasn’t interrupting such an intimate moment. He walked right through the thickening tension like it wasn’t the weight that it was. Tony’s focus seemed to be glued to his holographic wrist watch, completely oblivious to Peter’s 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 didn’t 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 Peter’s jeans.

“Uhh..” Peter lost every thought that occupied his brian. “Because I ate the last Pop Tart. I–I just figured you’d be upset.” Even he didn’t 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 band–tee. “Lucky for you, kid, I’ve got a whole secret stash in my lab.” He spoke with his typical Tony tone, “I’ll let you off the hook this time.”

Little did you or Peter know that your father actually heard most of your conversation. How much of it? He’d 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. He’d 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, he’d never tell that to you either.

“Are you calling my daughter a liar, Rogers?” 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. “No. No, Tony.” He started, “All I’m saying is that if Peter were chivalrous, he would ask you for your permission first. That’s all.”

The topic of the evening was why you and Peter both flaked out of game night. Ever since Sam joked that you could’ve 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. “They don’t need my permission. They’re teenagers.” Tony creased his hips, focusing on the pool table for a second. “Besides,” with a faint clank, Tony knocked two balls in with one hit, “Maybe she asked him out. It’s the twenty–first century.”

Steve sighed with a slight twinge of annoyance, both at Tony’s 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. “Alright, fine.” Steve huffed. “But if they are out canoodling tonight, what are you going to do about it?”

A focused glare glistened in Tony’s 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. “I’ll find a way to give them hell for it.”

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 wasn’t entirely sure why it was such a big deal to tell him, or why you’d kept it a secret for so long, but he knew sooner than later you’d 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. “God, I missed you..” You spoke between kisses.

“Missed you too, baby..” Peter let out a breath he didn’t 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. Peter’s 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 he’d 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 — 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 other’s mouth. You couldn’t get enough of each other, and the foreplay only reminded you of how little patience you had for it. You didn’t 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 Peter’s; 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 Tony’s 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. “Hey, Kid.” Tony’s 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 daughter’s thighs. “Next time, can you use the front door so that I don’t have to disarm the security system?” 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 hadn’t woken up from yet. He glanced at you, then swallowed the frog stuck in his throat. “Uh– uh, yep! Yeah, I–uh, I can do that!” He wasn’t 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. “Thanks.” He then put the toothbrush back in his mouth, slowly shutting the door. “Have fun! Use protection.” His words were muffled and spat due to having his mouth full, but he shut the door after that.

As awkward as it must��ve 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 you’d found someone who made you so happy.

He didn’t see need to kill Peter either, after all.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

peter and reader literally js making out and being adorable !

i kinda got carried away w this one so it’s a little bit ✨spicier✨ than intended-

!!! 18+ (MDI) !!!

content warnings — a really steamy make–out with Peter, sexual content, teasing.

✨masterlist✨.

1.2k.

The emptiness of Peter’s 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 she’d left.

All the lights were off in the apartment, excluding the lamp behind Peter’s 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 Lucas’s galactic storytelling. Your head had previously been resting on his shoulder, but due to Peter’s current geeky–tangent, you sat up to listen to him better.

“He used to make lightsaber sounds when they were practicing, and he’d have no idea.” Peter was quite expressive when he explained little Star–Wars facts to you. There was something about the way his eyes lit up, and he’d 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.

Peter’s 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. “He had been so used to making the effects when he was younger, that when they’d film their battle scenes, Ewan made the sound effects out of habit.”

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. You’d been so entranced by his little geek–out, you almost forgot to respond.

Your grin grew a little, despite every Star–Wars related response fleeting from your brain. You let the first thought you could muster slip through your lips. “You’re adorable.” You probably could’ve given a more thorough and engaged response, but seeing the red that flooded Peter’s 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 ‘you’re adorable’ was your only response to his Star–Wars tangent. His lips parted a few times to speak, but his words failed every time. “Shut up..”

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. “No.” You replied between kisses, placing a few more across his face. “I need to tell you how sweet and adorable you are...” 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.

“I need to tell you how sweet and adorable you are..” Peter spoke, breathless between your kisses. His voice hummed lower than before, rasping in the back of his throat. Even though he’d 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. “But we’re talking about you, Peter.” 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 Peter’s, fighting a smirk at how desperately he looked at you. You stared at him through your lashes, keeping your face irresistibly close to his. “I’m not going to kiss you until you take the compliment..” 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 you’d dodge him. He found it infuriating, but also just as enjoyable. “Fine...” He huffed, smirking lightly. “Thank you.” Peter met your lips hungrily when you kissed him again, as though he’d 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 Peter’s touch as his fingers tugged on your hair, and traveled under the thin fabric of your shirt.

Just like that, the jingle of May’s keys fumbling at the door tied you back to the crisp presence of reality. You flew off your boyfriend’s lap, seating yourself beside him like you had been moments prior. Swift movements brought a pillow to hide Peter’s 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. “The girls and I are heading to Jenny’s for the night, but I wanted to grab my Hennessy.” She chimed, strutting into the kitchen like she’d be out in a jiffy. Her attention got caught on the television for a moment, her smiling growing. “Oh! Pete, you found it!” May glanced at you, “Did he tell you that he spent all afternoon looking for his collectors DVD? He was really looking forward to showing it to you.”

You watched the way Peter’s head hit the back of the couch, pressing his palms into his face to try and mask his embarrassment. “May, stop!” He whined, sustaining out the words to emphasize just how flustered he got. His words were muffled through his hands, but you still couldn’t 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; Peter’s geeky Star–Wars obsession was definitely one of your favorite things about him. That, and your steamy make–out sessions.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

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 oops–

WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) — hurt reader, mentions of blood, mentions of pain/wounding, swearing.

✨masterlist✨.

3.6k.

Typically, stepping into your downtown apartment on a Friday evening would be more exciting for you. It meant that your week of stuck–up students and nerve–wracking 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 would’ve thought today would be like any other Friday; with Peter accompanying you and your father for dinner like every week.

But Peter didn’t 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:

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.”

See, till now, you’d been grateful to be excused from the attention and popularity that accompanied your title. You didn’t 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 weren’t like your classmates or peers — people who hated the Stark name, and wouldn’t rest until the family name died at their hand.

Tonight, you’d met the first of who knows how many. The thought alone sent a serpent–like shiver down your body.

And Peter wasn’t with you.

The fumes of Tony Stark’s 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.

You’d nearly forgotten that the subtle ping of the elevator doors announced your arrival. You heard your dad set down his spatula. “You kids are late.” He greeted, hollering from the kitchen. “I hope you two didn’t stop for Delmar’s on your way back!” 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 sore–spot 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 spotted—

“Jesus Christ!” Your father cried from the archway of the dining room. You heard his hurried steps across the hard–wood 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 ‘kiss the cook’ apron he kept tied around his waistline. “Kid, what the hell happened?” 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. “I was jumped.” 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 look— a look shimmering with something mixed of worry and sadness and anguish and apology. “And Peter wasn’t with you?”

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. “No, he said he’d meet me here later.” Your imagination got the best of you, replaying your evening but if Peter actually had been with you. The thought alone made you shutter. “But it was probably for the best.”

“Did he say what he was doing?” The look in his eyes said something that he wasn’t communicating. They said something unspoken that made you feel like there were things that you weren’t being told.

You ignored it, feeling a surge of pain in your abdomen. A quiet hiss fought its way up your throat. “He didn’t. But it’s fine.” No, it wasn’t. “Peter can’t throw a punch to save his life.”

A laugh actually left your father’s lips. “You’d be surprised.” He muttered, his tone speaking the same tongue that his eyes were. There was definitely something that you didn’t know, but your intuition couldn’t place its finger on what.

It wasn’t your fault that you were oblivious to your best friend’s vigilante status. You were kept in the dark about what web–slinging activities Peter Parker kept behind closed doors. Tony and Peter kept it secret that you were best friends with Spider–Man. They hadn’t let the news slip yet, and Tony wasn’t about to. They both agreed it was in your best interest to keep you safe.

Apparently, their efforts weren’t enough.

Your eyebrow rose, trying to cut through the bullshit. “Are you kidding, Dad?” You asked, maintaining eye contact as your father rose from his crouched position beside you. “It’s Peter Parker we’re talking about here. He wouldn’t even kill a fly.”

Tony’s hands creased his hips, shoulders shrugging gently with his response. “I don’t know, hon. He told me May had him take Karate years back.” He didn’t leave time for a response as his eyes trailed back down to the developing bruises along your arms. Seeing the crusting crimson on his daughter’s body was a sight that made him lose his appetite. “I’ll go grab my medical kit. You’re lucky that Pepper taught me a thing or two before she got promoted.”

The room fell quiet as Tony put pause on dinner and soon rushed back over with a first–aid kit. You didn’t want to stain any furniture, so you managed to sit on a wooden coffee table until you were given further instruction.

It didn’t take long before your mind wandered off to worry about Peter, and what could be keeping him so long. He did tell you before you’d parted ways that he’d join you guys for dinner? Right? You swore that he told you he’d 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 spat…

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark—”

“We should call Bruce.” Your dad’s voice of concern and reason brought you back to the moment. All you could do was stare. You hadn’t noticed that he’d 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 self–critic threw back at you.

Before you knew it, you were standing up, choking back a wince, fighting against yourself. “No! No– it’s just a few scratches. It’s fine.” 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 weren’t weak.

Tony followed your footsteps, treading close behind in case you were to trip. “Hon, I’m serious! You look like you went through a paper shredder!”

You looked at him with a grimace, disbelief shone in your eyes. Almost as if he were calling you pathetic. “Don’t make it so intense! I’m sure it’s—” 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 couldn’t breathe.

The color palette that covered your body could’ve 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. You’d nearly forgotten that your attacker had such a thick knife until you saw it— saw yourself. A shiver snaked down the length of your spine, leaving a splintering chill behind it.

It wasn’t until Tony turned off the bathroom light that you’d realized you were staring at yourself. He carefully grabbed your hand, leading you back into the living room. “We don’t have to call Bruce, but can I at least clean you up a bit?”

You didn’t have the words to respond to him. A nod was all you could muster before he sat you back down at the coffee table. “Should I– uh.. Should I shower first?”

Tony shook his head beside you. “Until I figure out if you need stitching, no.” He went to investigate the damage, but hesitated, trying to navigate an approach. “Sweetheart? You decent enough to take your shirt off? I could grab you a blanket if that would help–”

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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 so…useless. So…pathetic.

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 didn’t see the way Tony glared at Peter from beside you, but you felt the way he’d stopped inspecting you. Peter walked closer, taking cautious steps as he minimized the distance. “What happened?” 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 didn’t 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. “I need to finish dinner.” His words were short. “Kid, could you help patch her up? She mainly just needs disinfectant.” There was no room for response from Peter before your father started walking. You didn’t see him leave, but you felt the gentle kiss he placed on your head before he left one final comment with Peter:

“And you and I are going to have a talk later.”

You weren’t sure what was going on with the two. Quite frankly, you weren’t 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, naked— and that wasn’t just because you were without a shirt. You felt exposed, and you couldn’t 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. “Hey..” 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 couldn’t hide forever, either. And maybe he’d figured that out when his right hand went to cradle your face, and the tears finally washed away the walls you’d been keeping up.

Somehow seeing him safe was your undoing. The downfall of the avalanche you’d been hobbling in attempt to support, but you couldn’t seal the dam anymore. The relief of knowing that Peter was unharmed, the ease to all your worries, it made you forget why you’d 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 didn’t 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 would’ve happened had Peter walked home with you, unbeknownst to you that he probably would’ve 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 zip–up 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.

“Peter?” 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 he’d started to entertain. With his attention, you took another breath, nervous.

Your fingers gripped the edge of the coffee table with white knuckles. If you’d been any stronger, maybe you’d broken the table, or even your fingers. “Do you.. think I’m–” You had to suck in another chunk of air just to muster out that taunting, despicable word. “Weak?” 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. “Weak?” He repeated back. “No.” The word was so instantly rejected, you’d almost felt stupid bringing it up in the first place. “You’re so far from weak, Y/N. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Your hands went to hide your face, too ashamed of how quickly you broke before him. From the solitude behind your fingers, you couldn’t see the way Peter also broke at the words. He wasn’t sobbing as you were, but he couldn’t help the sulking of his shoulders. Peter truly blamed himself for this. Setting down the rag, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “Anyone who thinks you’re weak is blind to who you are. That, or they’re fucking stupid.” He spoke softly, pulling your hands from your face.

“You’re the most courageous person. The amount of bullshit you put up with, and the reporters you call out– Fuck, I can’t even imagine walking away from a fight like you did tonight..” His words of endearment warmed your heart. “You’ve seen the unthinkable, are still going, and you think you’re weak?” He shook his head. “Impossible.”

You and Peter stared for a beat or two before he stood up, carefully helping you to your feet. “I think you’re all set to shower. Do you want me to walk you upstairs?”

Taking a breath, you took Peter’s words to heart. You got this. “I think I’ll be okay.” Ignoring the shakiness in your voice, you took paces to the stairwell. “If I’m not back in thirty, you have permission to make sure I didn’t pass out.”

Peter cracked a small smile at you, “Noted. Text me if you need anything!” He added the offer, to which he saw you nod to, and he caught a glimpse of your timid smile. He knew you’d be okay, but it still didn’t 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. “Mister Stark, I–”

“Where the hell were you tonight?”

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.

Peter’s shoulders squared at the intensity carried with Tony’s aggravation. He took a breath, pausing in the doorway. “Sir, there was an armed–”

Tony’s fist met the marble counter in a startle. “Damn it, Pete!” Kid couldn’t get a word in if he tried. “Damn it, you had one job!” His index finger went up to emphasize his point.

“What was I supposed to do??” Peter felt like he was fighting a losing battle. “I had no idea what was going to happen!” In the midst of his hushed defense, his voice broke a bit from the weight of his guilt. “Mister Stark.. I think it’s time we tell her.”

A scoff was what Peter was met with. A rush of air caught on Tony’s disbelief, throat, and dismissal. “We’d tell Y/N what? That you’re Spider–Man? That we’ve been lying for this long?”

It was a tough call, and Peter knew that. Peter also knew that Tony couldn’t keep this shit up any longer than he could. “She deserves to know!” He planned to plead his case. “Whoever attacked her tonight planned this. It wasn’t by chance, she was targeted–”

“You don’t know that—”

“And you don’t either!” Peter wasn’t about to get cut off again. He let out some of the steam he’d began to bottle. “The way she’s acting.. Something’s off about what happened. And I think she deserves to know why I wasn’t there to defend her tonight.”

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. Tony’s expression melted, and he finally reached over to turn off the stove.

Dinner was almost ready.

The back of Tony’s hips met the marble countertop behind him, supporting his weight as he crossed his arms, looking at Peter sympathetically. “Look, kid. I don’t blame you for what happened tonight.”

A weight or two instantly lifted from Peter’s guilty–conscious. “I know.” He lied.

Tony’s lips curled ever so slightly at the hasty quip. “As much as I agree with your conspiracy theories on Y/N’s attacker, I don’t know if coming clean about everything will solve this.”

There was a subtle sinking to Peter’s mending optimism. “Then when do you plan to tell her?”

A pause. Tony sighed, releasing a breath he’d been holding since Peter’s spider bite. “I don’t know..” Genuinity. Tony’s paternal protocol kicked in, and he wasn’t 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. “I’ll tell you what.” He started, “You tell me how you’d suggest telling Y/N you’re Spider–Man, and I’ll consider it–”

“Peter’s what?”

Ice. The room turned to ice too quickly, both Tony and Peter snapping their heads to look at you in the doorway. They hadn’t noticed you’d been listening. You’d been standing there for who knows how long, considering that you hadn’t 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 false–confidence you’d ever seen your father carry.

“Dinner’s ready.” His voice cracked.

Yeah, there was absolutely no coming back from this.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

peter and reader at avengers tower and they’re both avengers but they’re “best friends” 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 !!!

✨masterlist✨.

1.4k.

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 wasn’t something you’d 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 Steve’s turn to pick. Unfortunately, he chose “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.”

The entire team corralled on the couch, sharing four or five bowls of popcorn and chips, and watching the movie on the giant flat–screen in the meeting room. You were sandwiched between Steve and Peter, attentive to the screen in fear that Steve would be offended if you weren’t. 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 don’t recall at what point of the movie you fell asleep, or how the blanket got draped over you, but it didn’t 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 would’ve tried to drift back off to sleep in the midst of comfort, if not for the snickers heard beyond your closed eye–lids.

“They look so cozy.” Bucky’s 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.

“I’m going to make that my lock–screen.” Sam added, trying not to sound as amused as he felt.

There was a quiet pause. “Isn’t that a little weird?” Bucky’s 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 mid–slumber, unconsciously catering to your new position.

A smile touched your lips at how peaceful he looked beside you — 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 Peter’s cologne, and the ghost of his arm leaving your waistline colder than the rest of your body.

You didn’t 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 slow–burning ache, the way you missed him. But he was merely your best friend, and the rest of the team seemed to agree with that.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” 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. “I think you’ve got your Disney movies mixed up.” You started, pressing on your tiptoes to reach a bowl from the shelf. “We watched Snow White last night, Sam.”

He hummed, sounding skeptical. “Well, everybody but you and your little cuddle–bug boyfriend.” Sam tried to keep himself from laughing. He started to steam the milk he’d set aside to froth to cut you off from giving a witty remark.

Boyfriend. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend, and he probably wouldn’t 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 didn’t flash through your mind.

The steam wand simmered down, and you made it a point to let out a scoff that he could hear. “He’s not my boyfriend–”

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. “Who’s not your boyfriend?” 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. “I’ll give you guys the room.” 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 Peter’s 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.

“Boyfriend?” You pressed air through your closed lips, blowing a dismissive rasberry. “I didn’t say boyfriend, I said Boygenius–” It was a solid cover up, for sure; you thought, pouring milk over your cereal. “They’re performing this weekend with Clairo–”

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. “Y/N, are you hiding something from me?” He faked an offended expression, mouth agape from his act of shock.

That’s 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 didn’t 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 he’d 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. “Nope! Nothing. I’m not hiding anything!” 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 wasn’t the first time you’d gotten these intrusive–romantic thoughts about Peter Parker, or when you’d gotten these frantic–giddy 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 wouldn’t die out as quickly as you’d hoped. You couldn’t lie, though…It was a pretty cute photo. Although, you didn’t have too much time to dwell on the captured moment. The neon–pink sticky note on the top right corner caught your attention.

‘I better get invited to the wedding, —Sam.’

Shit.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

Hey so I don't usually request so sorry if this is a mess but can you do how Peter Parker would deal with you being dusted right in his arms and the aftermath of how he'd cope. (Even better if your starks daughter and they share the grief)

okay so i wrote this with you and peter getting dusted and how tony would cope, but pt. two will be how you and peter cope with tony’s death🤭🤭

i promise it’s still angsty!

WARNINGS – gory, angsty asf, rewriting the ending of infinity war so if you watched it recently it might feel repetitive, i forget if there’s swearing but here you go just in case<3

✨masterlist.✨

1.5k.

You knew it was risky to follow Tony and the wizard that morning. God, you knew it was risky. It’d been like any other morning–out for a run with your dad: talking about projects, talking about his engagement to Pepper, watching the immediate protective shift he had when a portal appeared on the shoreline path in front of you.

The grave look on his face said it all.

And you knew the risks. You’d signed up for these kinds of dangers when you were born with the Stark name. It was a target sewn to your back by DNA. The same genes gave you the stubborn spirit to sneak onto an alien spacecraft to help your dad; genes that made you look like the spitting image of him when you’d found out Peter Parker also had the same idea.

In hindsight, you were glad your boyfriend made the trip. It made you feel better protected.

Especially seeing as you lost.

If someone were to tell you on your run that morning that you’d take a punch to the gut and a dagger to the thigh by later that evening, you would stand speechless. If someone were to have told you that you’d lose this badly, and nearly lose your dad in the process, you wouldn’t believe them.

Laying on the dry–graveled surface of whatever planet this was, you pushed yourself up as high as you could. Your upper thigh screamed with blood and the burn of a fresh cut. It was the deepest one you’d ever received. A hushed whimper forced a response out of you at the feeling, making your father turn his attention towards you.

You regretted even being there the second it all happened.

With his head turned to his left, toward you, Tony lost his footing, meeting the fatal kiss of Thanos’ dagger right to the stomach. You watched the blood instantly choke out through his lips, and the way he stammered back as the purple giant shoved him harshly into a rock.

“NO!!” You shouted, as if your cry stop it. As if it would save him. You couldn’t lose your father. You couldn’t live without him. You didn’t even want to think of the possible outcome.

One of your arms gave out, shoving you face–first back into the ground beneath you. Your eyes welled with tears, and you tried to fight against your own pain to make your way over, to say goodbye. To try and fix this. You had to fix this.

“Stop!” The world stilled as Dr. Strange spoke up “Spare his life..” Dr. Strange sat up, pained. Pained and protesting, but willing. The tone of his voice gave you chills. “And I’ll give you the stone.” It wasn’t a request, nor a bargain, rather than a demand.

“No tricks?” The single drop of blood glistened off Thanos’ temple in the several setting suns of the planet, highlighting how little patience Thanos had left, too. Highlighting just how much Tony Stark bled out at his mercy beside him.

Without a word, Stephen maneuvered the air and the Time Stone appeared between his thumb and his first finger.

And thus, Thanos agreed.

In a manner of moments, you’d pressed yourself off the ground, standing. You used some tech your father lent you to spray some sort of temporary stitch–up over your wound for the time being. Looking up, you met your father’s eyes and saw the stabbed indent disappear. Dr. Strange handed the stone over with a white flag and a twinge of regret. You felt the world shift as it happened, the gravity of it growing heavy.

Everything you knew was changing.

Thanos vanished, leaving you all to sit in the feeling and process what had happened. You felt it in your gut that this loss would be horrendous, but the only thing that ran through your mind was making sure your dad was okay.

Limping, you rushed over as quickly as you could, hugging him with all the strength you had to muster. You didn’t care that you were crying. You didn’t care that your body was lined with dirt and blood and bruises. You held him tightly, and kept yourself from processing what the hell happened. Kept yourself from the distraction of Peter Quill blasting the space that Thanos just stood in.

“Did we just lose?” He asked, misery and frustration and denial clear in his voice.

But you and Tony ignored him. Your father held your face in his hands, taking you in with the fear that it might be his last time ever doing so. “Whatever happens, I love you.” He told you, and the words tattooed in your memory and stood alone among anything else he’d ever told you. You cling to them with every ounce of energy you had left.

“Whatever happens, I love you too.” You repeated back to him, ignoring the trembling in your lip.

Peter rushed over to the two of you, hugging both of you tightly. Both your dad and Peter helped you stand upright, but Tony handed you off to Peter while he confronted the wizard.

Tony looked at Strange with a look of both gratitude and confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“It was the only way.” Dr. Strange took a few shaky breaths, his expression unreadable. “We’re in the endgame now..” Was the only response he allowed, the universe allowed.

“Uhh, Mister Stark!” Peter called out, his grip morphing on you. The way he held you suddenly got tighter, more secure, more protective; as if you slipped through his fingers, or you would, or you were dying. His breath quickened, like something grave was happening. “Mister Stark!! Something’s happening!”

Tony didn’t waste a second before he walked over to the two of you, watching as Peter lowered you to the ground, cradling you in his arms. Nothing was happening, as far as you were aware, you didn’t feel anything. And Tony didn’t see anything.

But the sweat that traced Peter’s temple wasn’t something unnoticed. The way he held you, the way he looked at you, Tony knew Peter was sensing the state of their loss. “Kid?” Tony asked, sitting beside you two, grabbing one of your hands and squeezing Peter’s shoulder with the other. “Kid, what’s happening?”

Peter was between hyperventilating and being entirely speechless. His head shook rapidly, glancing from you and Tony. “I’m not–” Tears lined his eyes, quick to run down his face. “I’m not sure.. But I don’t–”

“Something’s happening.”

Each of you turned to Mantis as she spoke, soon obliterating, turning to dust on spot and dissipate into nothing. She was simply gone.

Panic. Pure panic flooded the air.

Drax’s focus went to his hand as it started in his fingers, his hand disappearing. “Quill?” His tone was nothing but concernment, uncertainty. Then he was gone, too.

“Steady, Quill.” Your dad quipped, watching the space where Peter Quill stood.

It started in his legs, traveling up his body as he turned into the same textured substance. “Oh, man..” And his face lingered, imprinting the dust before blowing off with the breeze.

“Tony..” Stephen spoke up, seeing the look in your dad’s eyes. Seeing the thoughts as they ran courses, miles, laps in Tony’s head. “It was the only way.” He repeated. His tone was apologetic as he, too, fractured into immeasurable pieces. His body turned to molecules, fading into the air.

Peter swallowed thickly, beads of sweat dripping from his hairline. His knuckles were white around your hand as you brought them to your lips and kissed it. You weakly squeezed your father’s hand, smiling up at the both of them. “I love you guys.” And as if you knew what was happening, spouting from your legs and spreading to your fingers, you turned to dust, too.

Your father tried to catch it, squeezing his fingers tightly around the space your hand had just been. He felt tears sting his eyes as you vanished in front of him. His whole world, his daughter, gone in a matter of seconds.

“Mister Stark..” Peter broke the deafening silence. “I don’t–” His eyes studied the hand that had just held yours, eyes glossy with grief and denial. “I don’t feel so good..”

His breaths were choked, ached, agonized as his legs gave way. Tony watched the way he turned to dust just as everyone else had. He kept hold of Peter’s shoulder, speechless. Tony couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

Peter looked to him, panicked. Completely and utterly panicked. “I don’t wanna go.” He repeated the phrase like it was all he knew, “I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go–” And when the pain became immeasurable, undeniable; when his fate was sealed, he took a final breath, clenching his jaw to try and keep himself from breaking in his final moment. “I’m sorry..” And just like that, he was gone.

He was gone, and Tony was alone. He stared at Nebula, nervous that if he looked away, she’d disappear too. The two didn’t know each other well at all, but her company was something he grasped onto like water. He clung to anything and everything she had to offer, hoping to God they’d make it out of this.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to live without you, but knew he needed to. If there was any shot or hope or reality of getting you back, Tony needed to get to it. He had to find it, and he wouldn’t rest until he did.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

“ cuddle–bugs. ,,

(( REQUEST FINAL PART. ))

mcu!peter parker x reader.

!!! read parts one | two | three | four here !!!

IN WHICH — the avengers wouldn’t let you and your best friend live down cuddling on the couch, but after an intense mission, you realized confessing to him was the only thing left to do.

✨masterlist✨.

2.1k.

Peter woke up suddenly, gasping, cold. Cold and unsettled, with heavy breath and urgency. He woke up recalling that Bucky made him leave you in the medical wing, knowing that he needed to get sleep. He remembered just how much he resisted, just how much he wanted to stay by your side. But the team knew he needed to rest just as much as you did. Still, he woke up knowing damn well that he needed to make sure you were alright.

Were you alright?

The question sent a splintering shiver down his spine, giving him only more motive to toss off his covers and get out of bed.

Stumbling to his feet, Peter fully fathomed just how much of a blur the past few days had been. He had nearly forgotten about how teasing Sam and the team had been, or just how nervous he was that his best friend was slipping through his fingers. He was practically in denial that the two of you hadn’t been on speaking terms before this mission.

Now, Peter was nervous for other reasons that you were slipping through his fingers.

Bruce had discovered just how lethal this winter–kissed poison was in the midst of you being unconscious. He’d said that the antidote wasn’t entirely stable yet, either. But it was between giving the antidote to you raw, or risking that your bloodstream freeze overnight. Either choice was a gamble.

So when Peter came across your empty bed in the infirmary, he was met with a sigh of relief. Still, he was restless as ever. He wouldn’t ease until he knew you were okay. Until he saw you for himself.

He peeled his head through the neckline of his crewneck, shaking off the chill of December as he walked. He paced down the empty early morning halls of the compound, each step quicker than the last as he searched for you. It wasn’t long before he found you, seated on the couch in the meeting room. The two of you met eyes immediately.

“What are you doing awake?” Both of you asked in unison, equally concerned for the other.

You stood from the couch, slow and sickly. You watched Peter as he stood beside you, arms carefully corralling around you in case you were to topple over. He seemed more focused on you than answering the question at hand. So, you answered first. “It was getting stuffy in there. I couldn’t sleep.”

Taking in Peter, you could tell he at least got a little bit of sleep. His curls spouted in eight different directions and his body still radiated the warmth of his covers. Despite how much his eyes studied you, they looked weighted by the ghosts of slumber. You could tell he was fighting them off. His presence was a lot more alert than anticipated for someone who’d just gotten shut–eye.

“Peter, why aren’t you sleeping?” Your voice came out gentle, eyes tracing him with worry. You, too, disregarded just how bitter the taste of his name had been for the past day. You’d forgotten that he said what he did, and quite frankly, you didn’t care anymore. Death seemed more hefty than a mere misunderstanding.

He blinked away the remainder of slumber, his body weight drawing closer to you. Perhaps it was the thickness of night, or just how dark the room was, but you could see just how little the space was between you. Inches kept you apart, but your warmth kept drawing the two of you together.

“I had to make sure you were okay.” Peter replied, his tone soft and sincere. He went to grab your shoulders, but he found himself tensing a bit at the contact. His eyes glanced down your body before catching your stare again. “You’re still cold..” His voice came out barely above a whisper just before tracing his hands down your arms slowly and cupping them around your own. He never broke eye contact as he breathed into them, trying to warm you up as best as he could.

The effort didn’t really change much about your condition, but the thought of it did warm your heart with how sweet it was. Then and there, through the dark, you swore you could see it. You could’ve sworn that he looked at you with admiration. You swore he looked at you lovingly. It was a look that shoved away every insecurity you had. The look reminded you of the vow you had made yourself the night before.

Taking a breath, you bit back your nervousness. “Peter, I need to tell you something.” Your voice almost came out a mere breath, but you could still hear the fragile nature of your tone.

The look Peter caught in his eye gave you the courage to keep going. “Yeah, anything.” His voice was so earnest, you could’ve kissed him right there.

However, you didn’t. The race of your heart and the shakiness coating your throat were already too much to handle. You swallowed your pride, needing to rip the bandaid off.

“Peter.” You took a beat, glancing from either of his eyes to try and gage his reaction. “I love you.”

And there, he smiled. Peter smiled at you in a way you wish you had photographed. He let out a small chuckle, squeezing your hands in his. “I love you too.”

You realized of course. Of course, Peter loved you. The two of you were best friends, and had been for as long as you could remember. Of course he loved you. And you did love him platonically, too. That just made all the more difference now to make sure he understood what you meant.

A smile touched your lips, letting out a gentle laugh. “Right. And I love you for that.” You started, “But I–” The words got caught in your teeth, hesitating. “The thing is, uh–” Should you even tell him? Was the friendship worth risking? Well, fuck, the words were already halfway out of your mouth. “Well, the difference is..” You made sure to breathe, “I’m kind of, sort of, a little in love with you.”

A shift. The air changed, and you felt it. You watched as Peter’s expression shifted, his eyes widening and his posture straightening out. All you felt inside was a scolding rush of panic. Watching the way his lips parted, you startled, just knowing that he was going to reject you.

So you kept talking.

“– And I don’t want it to change anything in the friendship!” Shit, you were talking fast. “In fact, if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine! Just don’t say anything and I’ll be on my way and we can just forget about everything in the morning!”

Peter squeezed his hands around yours again, his lips curling. “Y/N, I–”

You kept going.

“And—And with Harley–” You laughed a little, “God, I’m so sorry.” Head shaking, body quaking, panic still running rampant; you couldn’t think. “I just got so hurt that you didn’t want to kiss me, and I think I just wanted to make you jealous? But it’s stupid. You shouldn’t have to kiss me, or force yourself to, and sure as hell you shouldn’t get forced into a mission just to—”

Nerves had clouded your senses as you spewed off explanations, so much so that you hadn’t noticed just how close Peter got to you. You weren’t sure whether it was the feeling of Peter tracing his hands back up your arms that cut you off, or the feeling of his palms cupping your face. You stared up at him, scanning his face for any hint or look of detest or rejection.

What you found was the opposite. His hands cradled your jaw carefully, and Peter looked at you like the words he heard were ones taken right from his tongue. He looked at you with genuine wholeheartedness, and it made you feel like there was nowhere else you would rather be than right there in his touch.

“I do want to kiss you.” The words were so smooth, you swore he’d rehearsed it. It made your cheeks flush, not only because you were flattered, but it also felt a bit humiliating to have kept rambling when he could’ve just said so.

You stared at him, eyes widening for a second. “Oh.” Was all you could muster, quickly captured by the sight of his lips so close to yours. Perhaps, it was Peter who leaned in to close the gap, but you felt so eager to kiss him that you couldn’t keep track.

Kissing. You and Peter Parker were actually kissing. Finally. It was all smiles and sincerity and sickly sweetness. Hands around his body, holding each other close, it was absolutely beyond everything you could’ve dreamt for. It was perfect.

Peter broke back from the kiss, looking at you with a grin that said everything you wanted to. You both shared the same feeling, and it was wonderful.

“The thought I was planning to tell Sam the other day was that I didn’t want the whole team watching the first time we kissed.” His words immediately warmed your heart, and made you feel a little foolish for not hearing him out sooner. “I didn’t want our first kiss to have an audience.”

“It’s a little too late for that.”

The voice startled you so bad, you stared out at the figure like a deer in headlights– Well, it wasn’t exactly headlights, more than shuttered flash from a cellphone camera.

Shit.

Blinded from the light for a second, it didn’t take you more than a second to recognize the voice as Sam, and to notice that he was accompanied by someone. You heard Bucky chuckle beside him, looking at the photo. “That’s a good one.” He stated, “I’m making that my lockscreen.”

You and Peter held each other, in the dark, both looking out at Sam and Bucky. You both took the moment to catch your startled breaths.

“As much as I’m happy for you two love birds, could y’all keep it down?” Sam kept his voice quiet, yet still had a stern tone to it. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Yes sir!” Peter spat out quickly.

Sam and Bucky left soon after, both saying hushed goodnights before heading off to their rooms. You and Peter shared a silent laugh before Peter took your hand and guided you back to his room where the two of you could sleep. Together.

Which brought you to Christmas morning.

The entire team sat around the meeting room, opening gifts and sipping hot beverages. They were all gleeful and filled with gratitude. It felt so peaceful and warming to be a part of the Avengers. Which made it all the more conflicting when Sam handed out his gifts for you to open.

You held the large boxy gift in your hand, unsure whether to feel nervous or not to open it in front of the team. Still, when everyone else started to open their presents, you felt a bit left out.

Once the wrapping paper tore off your gift, you saw the photo Sam took of you and Peter in the thick of night, clinging to each other and staring at the camera in shock and surprise. The photo made you laugh, giggling to yourself as you read the post–it note stuck to the bottom.

‘Glad I could help you out ;)’

You fought back an eye roll before Peter called out to you across the circle.

He smiled at you, “Y/N, you gotta see this!” Peter gestured to the box on his lap. Curious, and mirroring his smile, you stood from your seat and walked over.

Confusion met your face when you saw that the small box was empty. “What exactly am I looking at?” Meeting his stare, you noticed the hand he stretched up above you, holding a piece of mistletoe overtop of the two of you. You didn’t even take a second before leaning down and kissing him, not caring who was paying mine to you.

You could hear some audible reactions from the group, some encouraging, and one annoyed and childish grimace from a little ways away.

“You and your cuddle–bug boyfriend need to get a room.” Bucky spoke with distaste. You and Peter both stretched your arms out to flip him off, kissing just a little more to get on his nerves.

“Shut the hell up, Bucky!” Sam responded back. You could feel the way that Peter smiled from the comment, laughing quietly.

Sam was right. He’s definitely invited to the wedding.

tag–list: @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger @abucketofweird @thievin-stealing @hawkinsavclub1983

[deathbyathousandspiders]

“ cuddle–bugs. „

(( REQUEST PART THREE ))

mcu!peter parker x reader.

!!! read part one | part two | part four | part five here !!!

IN WHICH — you fell asleep on your best friend during movie night and the avengers won’t let you live it down. meanwhile, peter plans to ask you out, but an old friend of yours gets in the way :0

✨masterlist.✨

3.2k.

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 wouldn’t 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 Harley’s holiday visit.

You hadn’t 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 Peter–debacle 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 couldn’t decipher what it was stemming from.

Part of this made you feel giddy. It gave you a chance to open the bottled up feelings you’ve 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 long–term friendship that you two had.

His response could either be something equally as smitten, or something that’d haunt you for the rest of your life. It was conflicting, but also you knew that at a certain point, you wouldn’t be able to hide from your feelings anymore. Peter would inevitably find out. You just hoped that it wouldn’t ruin the way he looked at you.

While re–wiring the drone’s hardware, you began to spiral down the dark abyss of how badly this could end. He wouldn’t necessarily get angry with you. Peter Parker didn’t 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 he’d react the same way he did when you both found out you were superheroes, or when you’d 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?

“There you are!” Peter’s voice from the doorframe disrupted your thoughts. You immediately felt the way your heart leapt in your chest.

You did hope that things wouldn’t change because of a dumb crush. However, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t 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 wasn’t 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. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 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. “Oh yeah?” You mused, cheeky. “How come?”

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.

“I wanted to show you my new lockscreen.” His tone outlined his smile audibly. Peter excitedly showed you the addition to his phone, as though he’d 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. “Sam sent it to me.” 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 he’d 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.

“Peter Benjamin Parker.” 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. “Give me your cell phone!”

He laughed, raising a brow. “You want my phone?” He was playing coy, teasingly. “You’re just jealous of my lockscreen.” You two traveled around the large laboratory, him still walking backwards like it was nothing. “I could just AirDrop it to you, if you want it so bad–”

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. “You’re so evil.” Your playful glare was one of Peter’s favorite looks of yours. He took it in like he was taking a picture of it.

His brow arched again, mocking you. “Am I really?” He bantered. You had to admit: as stubborn as you could be, Peter’s playful spirit was something you always enjoyed. And the banter was absolutely riveting to partake in.

Peter’s 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, you’d 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 he’d already memorized. The scent of his shower would’ve 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. Peter’s mouth opened, dry as he scrambled to find his words. “Y/N..” His voice was soft, gentle. “I need to ask you something.”

Curious and confused, you tilted your head a little. “Ask me what–?”

“Y/N!” You heard your name called from the doorframe. Both you and Peter shifted your focus to meet the interruption, finding Harley waiting impatiently. “C’mon! I’ve got something to show you.” How inconvenient.

A look of apology shadowed your face when you looked back up at Peter. “Can you ask me later?” It was the last thing you wanted to ask, but you couldn’t 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. “Yeah! Yeah. Go.” He waved at Harley, noticing the small glare that accompanied the mirrored action back. “I’ll catch you later.”

He watched you smile at him before running off with Harley. That was how things had been since he’d 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 one–up 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 didn’t make his conquest any easier. In fact, he’d done nothing but get in his way. It was almost like Harley knew what Peter was trying to do.

Last night was Sam’s pick for team movie night. Of course, Sam chose a festive rom–com; he chose The Holiday, and sent Peter a little wink as he cued up the movie. This was an opportunity, and Peter wasn’t going to take it for granted. However, Harley wasn’t 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 Peter’s head all day, especially while this question burned in his throat. He’d never been so eager to ask you something; so compelled to know the response you’d 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. You’d 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 wasn’t 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.

“C’mon, Keener.” You pressed him, trying to get the boy to crack. “It’s like you’re holding me hostage here.” For the past hour, you’d been trying to leave to go find Peter. Your hands went up in defense when Harley shot a look of surprise at you. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve missed you too, but I’ve–”

That’s when it hit you. Harley was getting at something. Something big. The look he shot at you was overwhelming. You couldn’t 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. “Y/N, I need to ask you something.” His tone was stern, precise. He’d 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. “Yeah, anything.” The last thing you wanted was for Harley to feel like he couldn’t 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 Peter’s was–

“Would you go out with me? Li–like on a date?”

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. “Harley, I’m flattered, but I—”

He interrupted you. “You have feelings for someone else?” His question came out like a scoff, almost like he was trying to beat you at answering him. “Parker, right?”

And in that moment, when your heart swelled and your cheeks flushed, you finally accepted it. Your posture settled a little, and the breath you’d been holding for the past few days finally released itself. “Yeah.. Yeah, I do.” Your lips curved sympathetically, not wanting to put salt in Harley’s wound. “Y’know, I still appreciate you though, right?”

Harley smiled at you, “Yeah, yeah, whatever..” He laughed quietly. “Now, go find your love–bug boyfriend. I’m sure he’s dying to see you.”

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 shouldn’t 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 weren’t 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 Peter’s voice. Waltzing with his words was the sound of Sam’s 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, “You going to the holiday party tomorrow night?” He asked, “I heard there’s gonna be mistletoe.” You could hear the way his voice shaped into his mug as he took a loud sip of his drink, “You should take Y/N and go find it.”

Heat flooded your face at how forward Sam was, and at the idea of kissing Peter. It was thrilling to think that in just twenty–four hours, you could be kissing Peter Parker. You wouldn’t have to avoid him anymore, you could freely sit with him and express your feelings–

A sigh could be heard from closer than anticipated. A sigh that sounded dejected, conflicted. Rejecting. Ouch. You slowly crept around the corner, eying Peter’s back as he replied to Sam.

“I’m not gonna do that. I can’t.” Peter seemed to hesitate, but that didn’t take away from how much it hurt. “I just don’t want..”

“You don’t want to kiss me?” You found your place to interject, now standing in view of Sam and Peter’s back.

As Peter turned to look at you, it didn’t 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 wasn’t; you had your answer.

Peter Parker didn’t love you like that.

“Y/N, I–” 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. “No, no. It’s fine.” You tried to keep earnesty and understanding in your tone. “But you don’t have to make kissing your best friend seem like such a chore.” You snapped a bit more intensely than you’d 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 didn’t 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 didn’t know whether it was a welcomed company or something you wanted to turn away.

Before you could open your mouth, Sam spoke up.

“I know what happened back there wasn’t.. The best, but I swear it was–”

“Sam.” The words came out shorter than you were used to. “If you’re here to talk to me about that, I don’t want to hear it.”

It sucked. You hated the feeling of being rejected. It also felt so much heavier because you’d already been avoiding Peter, you’d 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. “Right, okay.” His tone became less sympathetic, but his expression still said everything that his words didn’t. “Buck 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 back–up for you two.”

You blinked a few times. He was really asking you to do that? To sit in a car with Peter after he’d just ripped your heart out?

After thinking about it like that, you fully realized that Peter was oblivious to your heartbreak. He didn’t know he’d 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. “Fine. I could do that.” You placed your hands on your hips, raising a brow at Sam. “Did Peter agree to it?”

“Cuddle–bug said that as long as you were okay with it, he’d be more than happy to.”

Hearing the nickname lodged a dagger in a spot you didn’t think was reachable. God, it hurt. It might get worse with this mission, but you also knew that you’d never forgive yourself if you’d fully pushed Peter away.

“Okay. Then tell him to meet me in the garage tomorrow morning.”

Sam seemed to respect the boundary, and let you be after you’d given him the request. You didn’t have the stomach to see Peter before the stakeout, and you knew you’d have to prepare yourself quite a bit before you’d have to spend god knows how long with him tomorrow. Alone.

God knows how long you’d 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.

tag–list : @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @luvherfairy @agaybandgeek @lazy4teen @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger

[deathbyathousandspiders]

omggggg can i request billingual reader and maybe peter finds it cute that when shes explaining stuff she has a thinking face of what to say next cos she wants to be sure of how to say it in english 🥹 or maybe hearing her speak in her mother tongue/native language does he find it cute or smn :(((((((

as a white english–speaking woman, i only feel comfortable writing for a bilingual reader with a language/culture that i’m relatively familiar with and could properly represent, which isn’t many :,)

so i will write an imagine for a bilingual reader with a language i’m going to school for: ✨sign language✨

i hope that’s okay :)

a/n — i am still a student and i’m constantly learning, so if there’s a detail or some information that i’m incorrect about, please tell me asap !!!

✨masterlist✨.

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 weren’t 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 you’d 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 you’d 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 didn’t 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:

‘Do you know any sign?’

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. ‘Yes, I know one’

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. ‘Bullshit,’ 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.

‘Bullshit,’ you mouthed back at him. The crinkle in the boy’s brow marked his confusion.

Pen met paper again as you wrote out the explanation. ‘Hearing people came up with a fake sign to act like they knew shit.’

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 he’d return it soon after.

‘Then maybe you could teach me some instead?’

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 ‘sure:)’ 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. ‘Y/N?’ 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. ‘Peter?’

You’d never forget the way he smiled at you afterwards. ‘Yes:)’ He wrote back. ‘You want help with chemistry?’

And that’s 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 wasn’t being Spider–Man.

He never told you that he was Spider–Man. In fact, you didn’t find out he was until a few months into your friendship. After months of study hours and movie nights, you watched Spider–Man signing to a Deaf kid on the news; the web–slinging superhero signed what like salad.

That was a classic Peter Parker mistake.

So, when were you planning to tell me you’re Spider–Man? You asked him, signing nonchalantly. You’d 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 wasn’t 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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t 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, you’d dismissed your in–class 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 you’d 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 he’d met before watched the world with your eyes, or lit up a room so vibrantly. You always asked the right questions, saw straight through people’s bullshit, and put others’ needs far before your own. Don’t even get him started on the fact that you’d never even heard your own laugh before.

Peter couldn’t 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 it’s a principle more than a privilege, you’ll get nowhere. He knew he’d waste time dwelling on things you weren’t even sad over.

Instead, Peter would marvel at how fluently and beautifully you’d sign when you were passionate about something. The choreographed tangents that you’d 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 you’d 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 couldn’t 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 flimsy–looking, 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 ‘stupid’ and ‘Parker’ from his muted speech.

You were used to bullies, but you couldn’t sit while this dickhead kept Peter Parker’s 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.

That’s when Peter Parker swooped in and forced the boy away from you. Anger wasn’t an expression you’d seen on Peter’s face, and you couldn’t 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 couldn’t 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 principal’s office.

In an instant, all eyes found their way to you and your dirt–stained top. Before you let them react to the heat growing on your cheeks, you rushed off, going to the one place you knew you wouldn’t 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 weren’t 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 that’s when you realized that his breath had been fanning your face; you were inches away from him. The atmosphere of the room changed.

‘What?’ You mouthed, brows creasing together with concern. You weren’t 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 didn’t notice it til right then that the room was getting hotter.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of his lips and you hadn’t noticed that you were staring at them. Peter’s face moved closer to your’s and that’s 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 didn’t have to tread as cautiously.

Peter kissed you and every inch of you felt warm. You swore you’d 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 your’s.

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 couldn’t help but stare at the stain.

You couldn’t 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 you’d get so lucky as to meet Peter Parker, but now that you had him, you knew you’d never let him go.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

“ cuddle bugs. ,,

(( REQUEST PART FOUR )).

mcu!peter parker x reader.

!!! read part one | two | three | five here. !!!

IN WHICH — you fell asleep on your best friend’s shoulder during movie night and now things aren’t going the way you anticipating. how far will things go before one of you confess your feelings?

✨masterlist✨.

3.2k.

Peter found it quite amusing how every single trip to the compound kitchen somehow involved Sam Wilson. He wasn’t 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.

“You going to the holiday party tomorrow night?” Sam asked, a smirk coating his lips. “I heard there’s gonna be mistletoe.” His eyebrows wiggled as he went to sip from his drink. “You should take Y/N and go find it.”

Just the idea of kissing you made Peter’s legs turn to jelly. He’d tried to picture what such an intimate moment would be like with you, but he couldn’t fathom it. He especially couldn’t 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. “I’m not gonna do that. I can’t.” He saw the way Sam’s eyes widened a bit, and Peter figured that it was because he’d gotten confused. “I just don’t want..” Peter trailed off, wanting to find a way to explain without getting extra cheesy. He wasn’t sure why Sam wasn’t holding eye contact anymore, leering behind Peter’s shoulder, or why he looked so shocked, but Peter knew he needed to find his words sooner than later.

“You don’t want to kiss me?”

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 hadn’t 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 weren’t just hurt by his words, you were hurt by him and his actions. It sliced at his heart in a way that he didn’t think was possible. He couldn’t tell if the sound of shattered glass came from your heart, or his.

“Y/N, I–”

It absolutely crushed him to see you take distance when he got closer. Peter knew he didn’t set up his point well, but he hated that he couldn’t explain it to you. He hated every second that he couldn’t spend giving you the security that you needed.

“No, no. It’s fine.” 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 didn’t. 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: “But you don’t have to make kissing your best friend sound like such a chore.”

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 didn’t have to.

He turned back to face Peter, “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” And that was all he needed to say to give Peter some peace of mind. At least, a little peace of mind.

Peter didn’t know that Sam’s plan was to dupe him into a partnered stakeout with you. He didn’t know that the two of you would be stuck, in a car, alone, for hours. He didn’t 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 driver’s 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 didn’t want the silent treatment to go on any longer.

He knew he had to say the first word. He needed to. He just didn’t 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 wasn’t going to let this be the rift that tore your friendship apart.

His eyes finally stuck to your figure for longer than a second’s 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.

“Y/N, I’m sorry–”

Your eyes shut tight, and your face scrunched in a way that had regret immediately wash out Peter’s bloodstream. You didn’t even look in his direction when you said the word: “Don’t.” Your tone was sharp, trying to slice off any remnants of the conversation; a conversation that you were well trying to move past.

Peter’s lips pressed into a thin line, hiding how frantically he wracked his brain for the right words to say. “But I need to explain myself! Can’t you let me do that?” 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. “Peter, I don’t see what’s there to explain.” Your tone was short, stiff, and stuffed with something you hoped sounded like a backbone. Lying to yourself wouldn’t stop the fact that you were hurting, silently grieving over the loss of your expectations. Grieving over the loss of what could’ve been between you and Peter Parker. “You don’t want to kiss me! What else is there to understand?”

“That’s not true!” Peter was quick to defend himself, his voice growing a bit in the process. “I do want to kiss you–”

Scoffing, you also raised your voice a little. “God, Peter! I don’t want your pity!” You couldn’t believe him. He was just pulling shit from his ass to try and make you feel better. “I don’t need your pity either!” 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. “Y/N, it’s not pity–”

“Harley asked me out.” 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 he’d 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 wasn’t just about a kiss, rather than wanting a romantic connection. It wasn’t about the misunderstanding, but the way he’d go about fixing it. And it wasn’t 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 didn’t know where to go from here, and it was obvious.

You let out a sigh, irritated and remorseful and heartached. “Harley asked me out, and I–” Pausing, you looked straight ahead, unable to meet Peter’s eyes while the words muttered from your lips. “I think I’m going to change my answer.”

Peter’s 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.

“I–”

You couldn’t even stomach the sound of his voice. Your nerves spiked much higher than you’d anticipated. What were you even getting at? Making him jealous? All you felt was guilt. Embarrassment. Suddenly, you were nervous. “I need some air.” You choked abruptly, fleeing from the passenger’s seat and exiting the vehicle.

Peter sat in the driver’s side, frozen in his place as he watched you walk further from the car. He couldn’t deny how much of a gut punch your words were, but he also kept replaying the way you’d phrased it like a broken record.

‘I think I’m going to change my answer.’

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.

“Shit!” Peter panicked. He slipped his mask on, updating KAREN to alert Sam and Bucky. He was lucky that whoever had taken you didn’t 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 you’d finally come to.

Some scrawny white man with disheveled hair and a short–sleeved 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 didn’t seem any bit irked by your presence in the slightest.

Maybe that was because your wrists were tightly chained to exposed water–pipes spouting from the floor, or because he’d finally discovered your super–heroine 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.

“Astonishing..” His accent was thick through his words, letting the statement fall heavy with the sigh it traveled through. “It’s working…”

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: “Wha–what’s so funny?” 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.

“You’re cold.”

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 wasn’t 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 “diabolical” plan, your brian was clouded with more pressing matters: how you left things with Peter. You didn’t know how long it would take for the team to find you, or if you’d 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 hadn’t known how long it had been, or how much time you had left, but pins and needles pricked every inch of your body and you’d spent however long shivering just to try and shake the feeling.

Peter immediately swooped down from the ceiling at Sam’s 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 he’d ever given you; record time of point–two seconds. “Jesus Christ! Y/N, you’re fucking freezing!!” It were though he hadn’t 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.

“KAREN!” Peter called out, his mask still on over his face. “Turn on the thermal–heater–protocol thing!! Pronto!” 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 didn’t waver as he sat down on the plane, and his jaw didn’t 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.

“We should probably call Harley and tell him you’re alright.”

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.

“Harley doesn’t– He doesn’t need to know.” Confusion washed over Peter’s face so quickly, you nearly forgot the rut you dug yourself in. “Pe–Pete.. I owe you an apo–ology.” 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. Peter’s 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 couldn’t tell whether the rapid rhythmic heartbeat was your own, or Peter’s, but either way, you had to force these words out before they staled with the lump in your throat. “I–I–” You took a deep breath to still your chattering teeth, feeling Peter’s grip tighten reassuringly around you in the midst of it. “I was upset that you didn’t want to kiss me.”

The apology flashed in his eyes just as he went to open his mouth, but you weren’t finished. “I was upset, because I–” You nearly sped through the sentence, but halted. “I—” 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 weren’t for the feeling of your body washing white, you would’ve 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 Peter’s 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 wasn’t 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 couldn’t 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 weren’t 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 wasn’t sure whether this was better than feeling the sting of Peter’s rejection, but you knew that was a demon you’d 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, you’d tell him how you’d really felt.

You were going to tell your best friend that you’d been in love with him. And still very much so were.

tag–list : @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger @abucketofweird @cayleejx16 @thievin-stealing

[deathbyathousandspiders]

𝕸𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝕷𝐈𝐒𝐓 & 𝕹𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

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 :,)

🕊️ — content masterlist ;

here’s everything i’ve written so far !!

• 𝕴𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒.

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 doesn’t 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 protégé than you nowadays, and you’ve reached a breaking point.

REQUEST! dusted: mcu!peter parker, stark!reader | genre: angst | IN WHICH you lose your battle to thanos and your dad and peter watch you dissipate.

dusted (part two): mcu!peter parker, stark!reader | genre: hardcore angst | IN WHICH you may have won the war against thanos, but you witnessed the loss of something much greater. the loss of your father.

REQUEST! geeky tangents; mcu!peter parker | genre: fluff, ?smut? | IN WHICH you find it important to prove how sweet & adorable your boyfriend is.

guilty as sin: jj maybank | genre: ?angst?, ?smut? | IN WHICH you & JJ finally face each other after he drunkenly confessed to you, but what will your boyfriend think?

REQUEST! meet–cute: 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 he’s known for longer than you’d thought.

twenty–bucks: mcu!peter parker | genre: angst, fluff | IN WHICH the avengers had their theories about you & peter’s secret pining, but they never realized just how serious it was until a mission went south.

• 𝕾𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

REQUEST! cuddle–bugs; mcu!peter parker | genre: fluff | IN WHICH you & your best friend fall asleep on the couch together, & the avengers can’t let go of the obvious chemistry.

| part one | part two | part three | part four | final part |

hell–bound; mcu!peter parker au | genre: angst, thriller, drama (some smut, some gore) | IN WHICH you are the last hope for saving the world from HYDRA & their zombie apocalypse.

| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six |

🐚 — request boundaries ;

i’m fairly comfortable w anything! i’ll explicitly say if something makes me uncomfortable, like this:

i’m 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, au’s, and any kind of pairing!

leave a request here !!

🥥 — 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 !!

🪷 — about me ;

my name is elle :) [ pronouns: she/they] i’m a college student who finds comfort in writing 🫶. my favorite color’s green, i’m in love w tom holland, and my favorite band is the neighborhood !!! i also have three cats!!

[deathbyathousandspiders]

cuddling w peter 😔🫶

my favorite 🫶🫶

here’s a cutesy lil blurb that i’ve had in the works for a while :) ik it’s mid september but this concept was just too tempting !!

inspired by a prompt on my pinterest feed:

�� let’s get you home. you’re freezing and i don’t want you catching a cold. ”

✨masterlist.✨

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. It’s why you always cling to him whenever you’re 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 you’re together.

You two are almost always together, except when you’re at work, or he’s 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 Peter’s sealed window. Even with the heat on, you felt the shivers shake your figure in the protection of Peter’s hoodie.

Before you knew it, the window opened, revealing your frostbitten boyfriend and his shaking–superhero boots. He’s all shiver–me–timbers 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. “Jesus, babe!” The words came out as a gasp, “You’re freezing..” You could’ve 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 hadn’t 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. “C’mon, Pete, I don’t want you catching a cold.” 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 you’d 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.

He’d 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.

“I love you.” He lulled, appreciatively. Peter’s 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. “I love how you take care of me. And, God..” The last word nagged on his breath so adamantly, his eyes rolled lightly with it. “I missed you.”

His lips traced a thousand words into your knuckles as he kissed them, pulling you in and holding you like it’d be the last time he’d ever be allowed to. He held you like it was his purpose, like it answered all of the questions he’d 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 wasn’t worth releasing to attempt at a safe venture to Peter’s mattress. Besides, he trusted his spidey–sense 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 Peter’s bedroom suddenly vanished. All that was left was the hushed sound of Peter’s 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 Peter’s 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 couldn’t think of anything better.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

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 she’s like wanda and she’s doing lessons w strange like america chavez 🥹 something like that :D thank u!

do u also happen to have a masterlist? i’d love to read more of ur work ure really amazing! ❤️‍🔥

you’re so sweet!! i just published my masterlist and pinned it :)

but here’s the link too !!

✨masterlist✨.

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 should’ve 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 couldn’t pull your focus from. It was breathtaking.

Strange trusted you to house–sit the Sanctum Sanctorum while he and Wong went out to visit Kamar–Taj. It was a little day trip for them, so you didn’t mind the task. Besides, it was the least you could do to make it up to Dr. Strange for letting you stay there. You couldn’t exactly remember how you’d 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 wind–chill 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 doe–eyed. 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.

“Is, uh- Is Dr. Strange here?” 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. “Um, no. Sorry, he’s out today.” Your brows creased, feeling a little sympathetic. You weren’t sure why your powers were picking up his energy so adamantly, but his energy was something that drew you in. “Do you want me to deliver a message?”

It seemed like your words carried a weight that only he knew the gravity of. He suddenly seemed lighter. Hopeful. “I, umm.. No, that’s okay.” He turned on his heel, stepping down the steps again. “Thanks anyways–”

“Wait.” You cut him off. You couldn’t figure out why, but you didn’t 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. “What’s your name?” A small smile touched your lips, “I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

The boy froze dead in his tracks. It was almost like you’d said something wrong. Shit. Doe eyes turned into the stare of a deer in headlights. He didn’t seem to know what to do.

Your brows creased a little more, concernment sewn in the crevasse this time. “Are you okay?” He didn’t reply. He didn’t even move. You weren’t sure why he started malfunctioning, but you knew you had to do something.

“Maybe it’ll help if I tell you my name first?” Even you didn’t 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. “I’m Y/N.”

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.

“Sorry..” He spoke amid the anxious laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” His smile grew at the way your name fit with his voice. “I’m, uh.. Peter Parker.” It was like his name was some forbidden tongue. Getting it out seemed to lift the weight stuck on his shoulders though. “My name’s Peter Parker.”

Smiling back at him, you stood upright. “Well, Peter Parker, it’s nice to meet you too.” You sent a reassuring nod in his direction. “I’ll be sure to let the doctor know you stopped by.” Your brow arched at him, unable to shake the grin off your face. “Alright?”

Peter took steps away from the door, but kept his eyes on yours. “Thank you!” He beamed a little. It seemed to be the first light to hit the boy’s eyes in a while. “Happy holidays, Y/N.” He chimed, walking off into the street.

You hollered the same thing back in his direction before shutting the sanctum doors. You couldn’t quite dismiss the odd energy that your powers sensed from Peter, but it wasn’t a negative feeling. In fact, it was fascinating to you. And walking back to the drafty old window you’d been stuck at all day, you realized you wouldn’t be forgetting about Peter Parker anytime soon.

You hoped you’d be lucky enough to see him soon.