#pete right now is nothing more than an interesting distraction because he knows he can get under his skin
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Controlled Freakiness (P.P x Reader)
Peter Parker x Stark!Reader
This can be read as a continuation of Initial Shyness, or as a stand-alone.
Summary: Confessions are cute, right? Especially when you have been waiting for years to say it out loud. But what happens when the initial shyness wears off? And we all know Peter isn’t as innocent as he seems ;)
Warnings: Mention of blood and knives. Also some suggestiveness and making out. Nothing too graphic though. A couple of bad words here and there as well.
Word Count: 3.4k
Based on a request, you can find it here!
Here is my Masterlist in case you want to find more of my work :)
If someone told you that one day, you and Peter Parker would be caught making out in your bedroom, you would’ve laughed at them. But...as it turns out, they wouldn’t have been too wrong about that.
Let’s go back to about five months ago, on the rooftop of Peter’s apartment, where he had met you with a bouquet of red roses and an even redder face …
5 months ago
“Why-why would yo-is this-u” you tried to speak, with little success. You could feel your face heat up in embarrassment, so you just stared at the flowers in Peter’s hands.
“I-uh really, um like you Y/N. Like more than an a-a friend. And much more than a best friend. I know yo-you may not like me back, but I couldn’t keep it in any longer-”
You know it’s rude to interrupt someone when they are speaking. But you couldn’t hear any other word come out of his mouth because otherwise, you would’ve melted. So you did the next best thing. You kissed him. Hard.
His words got caught in his throat as his lips met yours. And for a second, you were worried you went too far, pulling back. But as soon as he felt you doing that, his hands went to your hair, pulling you flush against him, kissing you back with fervour.
You wish you could’ve stopped time. Right there. During a beautiful sunset, on the roof surrounded by rose petals, and with Peter in your arms. And in your mouth. But sadly, you needed air to breathe, so you pulled away, probably looking like a fish straight out of the water. Opening your eyes, you could see Peter’s face. His pupils were dilated, and his entire face was a pink hue. His lips were plump and red but pulled up in a lovesick smile.
You knew you had the same expression on your face. Smiling softly, you looked at Peter, and at the same time, you both said.
“I really like you.”
“I really like you.”
Anyway, so that was probably one of the highlights of your day, but possibly one of the happiest days in your dad’s life. His little apprentice/almost son kissed and confessed to his only daughter. It couldn’t have worked out better. No boy would ever be good enough for you, and no ordinary girl would be good enough for Peter. So naturally, he was thrilled to hear that you two were now a couple.
And that’s why you wished he didn’t have to be the first one to walk in on you and Peter. So that brought you to the infamous Saturday that was now known as the Satisfying Saturday...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------Friday, 8:00 pm, Avenger’s Compound
“Hey Y/N”, Peter called out, walking through the open window. His Spidey suit was cut loose in different places, and the minute he stepped in, his mask disappeared, showing his tired and bruised face.
“What the heck Pete?”, you shouted, jumping up from your bed. “What happened? How did I not get an alert?”
Peter looked down sheepishly, which then made you realise that he was still standing on the roof.
“Peter! Get down, and tell me what happened?!” You pointed down sternly, letting him jump on the floor, wincing as he hit his leg. Running to the first aid kit you kept in your room for times like these, you picked up some hydrogen peroxide and cotton pads, letting Peter sit down on your bed.
“So, tell me, Peter? What was it this time? You asked, dabbing the disinfectant on his face first. He flinched as you pressed it, hissing softly as the pad made contact with his skin. Shushing softly, you focused on cleaning his wounds, moving your thumb over them to soothe them.
“Y/N, you know, it wasn’t as bad-”
“Really Pete? You are bleeding like a fire hydrant. Why didn’t Karen update my dad or the tower? Or me?”
“Yeah um, about that, I disabled the Careless Boyfriend command”, he said, looking at you expectantly. You scratched your head, scoffing.
“It was a great device! Plus, who do you think makes the suits with Mr Stark?” Leaning back, you grabbed some antiseptic cream, putting it over his face. “So, you still have to tell me whose ass to kick when I go out on patrol..”
“Actually, it was-”
“Wait, let me guess...old lady with a ferocious cat, both of whom thought you were a creepy Comic-Con freak!” Laughing slightly at the pout on his face, you pressed the tiny spider on his chest, watching as the suit untightened, falling from his body effortlessly. Now, usually, his abs and glowing skin would distract you for a bit, but it was different this time. Dark red blood oozed out from deep cuts on his abdomen, falling on the bed around him. Your eyes widened as they roamed over his injuries.
“Peter! Wha- what did they use? A normal knife wouldn’t cut you like this!” Peter’s face scrunched up in pain as he remembered it, but seeing the look on your face, he grabbed your hand, nodding at you.
“It-it’s fine Y/N. Um, actually, they were using some suspicious-looking gadgets, so yo-you have to tell Mr Stark about it so-”
“No Pete, I mean, I’ll tell dad about this, but first I gotta get you to the infirmary. Holy crap…” you rambled, pulling his suit off.
“Baby, if you wanted my clothes off, you could have just said”, Peter said, smirking at you. Hitting his arm, you glared at him playfully.
“Watch it Parker. I could leave you here!”, you said, throwing the suit into the wash, mentally reminding yourself to make him a more durable suit. Grabbing him, you made him hobble out of your room. In the light of the tower, you can see how fagged out he was looking.
“Hey princes- what the heck happened to you Peter?!”, you dad asked, walking over to the two of you. Taking some of Peter’s weight, he called out to F.R.I.D.A.Y, asking her to call the nearest medics. “How did this happen, Pete?”
“Well, I think it wassss-”, Peter began, but slumped down after a couple of seconds, falling in your arms.
“Dad! What do I do?”
“It’s fine, he’ll be okay, lets just get him to the clinic, um- Steve! Help us out with Spiderboy here”
Carrying him, you got him to the doctors, watching as his wounds already started to patch themselves up. Metal gadgets ran over his body as your dad spoke to the head medic, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“What happened to him?”, you asked. It wasn’t the worst Peter had seen, but you had never seen him pass out before due to a cut.
“Um, so we are detecting some slight substances in his bloodstream, but we are working on removing it.”
“What substances?”, Tony asked, inhaling sharply.
“We aren’t sure yet, but the results should come in about a day.”, the doctor said, looking back at Peter, “As for Spiderman, he should take a couple days off.” He then looked at you. “Did Peter say anything at all about the weapons?”
You shook your head, thinking back. “Nothing much, except for that they were looking suspicious. Maybe the team can go and track back where Peter was patrolling, you know? To see if they can catch the guys who hurt him?”
Tony nodded, as he went back to the living room, probably to call all the Avengers. Trailing after him, you ran to get your suit, but was stopped halfway. “Hey, Tiny Stark, why don’t you stay with Spiderboy. To make sure he is fine?” Natasha asked, glancing at Tony as he slightly nodded his head.
“But you might need help?”
“We’ll be fine. Plus, if these are as dangerous as Peter said, then we wouldn’t want you getting injured. Best you stay here” Dejectedly saying yes, you bid them goodbye.
“Oh, and have fun with the kid. He is pretty hot, and I know you can hit that”, Nat said, winking at you.
Smiling shakily, you stepped back, watching as they left the tower, leaving only you and Peter back.
Fast forward to about 3 long hours later, Peter finally woke up, looking much better. “Y/N? What happened, where’s Mr-”
“Gone out to track down those guys, and they won’t be back till tomorrow”, you said, glancing at your comms. “Said that they were following them to the base”
Peter nodded, looking drowsy. “Can-can I please get some food?”
Smiling at him, you quickly checked if he was ready to be discharged before you got him up. A bit unsteady on his feet, Peter followed you to the living room, falling on the couch. “Whatcha want Pete? A sandwich, or some pasta?”
“Popcorn...caramel please.”
You laughed, grabbing some from the cupboard marked Movie Nights. “Really? You need protein!” Peter didn’t say anything, instead of looking at you with his famous puppy eyes as he pouted. “Fine fine! You win”
Smiling at you, he opened his arms. Hesitantly, you crawled into them, making sure not to apply pressure on his stomach. Times like these were rare. Sure, you and Peter were a couple, but PDA was little at the towers and you two were some of the shyest people when it came to displaying affection in front of people. So you relished times like these when you could just be close to Peter.
“So Peter, what movi-”
*Snore*
*Snore*
Amused, you peered back at him, your heart-melting when you saw Peter fast asleep, his arms wrapped around you and his head lolled back against the cushions. Shrugging to yourself, you quietly switched off the lights, getting up carefully, but almost immediately being pulled back.
“Petey, I gotta get up”, you whispered softly.
“Nuh uh, nope”, he said, his chocolate brown eyes sleepily staring at you, “stay here”
So you stayed. And it was one of the best nights of sleep you had ever had. Little did you know though, tomorrow would be one of the most interesting days of your life.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Good morning Y/N Stark and Peter Parker. I just wanted to inform you that the furniture replacement dudes are on their way up. For Mr Parker’s identity to be kept secret, I would advise you to make your way to the individual rooms or the medbay.” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s automated voice floated through the air, waking you up.
Peter began stirring lightly from under you, making you sit up. His light brown curls sat on his forehead, falling into his eyes. He started mumbling words under his breath as he sat up, rubbing his eyes roughly.
“Ugh drool”, he muttered, wiping his mouth.
Leaning towards him, you brushed his hair out of his face. “Well, good morning to you too Mr Parker”
“Ms Stark, good morning”, Peter said, pulling you into his arms once more. Smiling, you hoped he wouldn’t see your face, as you push your face onto the couch. Pulling back just enough to see him, you leaned down to brush your lips against his, softly at first. Peter sighed into your mouth, and met back up with fevor, his hands tangling themselves in your hair. You could’ve stayed there, but Peter let go, his head still leaning against yours.
“As much as I would love to spend the rest of my day like this, w-we have to get up”, you said, hearing the guys come up the elevator, “like right now Peter!”
Jumping up, you both ran, laughing at F.R.I.D.A.Y as she tried to slow down the elevator without breaking it. “Oh and by the way, how did F.R.I.D.A.Y. learn to say, dudes?”
“Who do you think works with Mr Stark on Friday?”, Peter asked, referring to what you said yesterday to him. Which made you remember his wound.
“How’s your stomach?”, you asked, wanting to pull his shirt up and find out, but way too awkward to do it.
“It’s perfectly fine. Kinda bruised by the feels of it, but the cuts have gone..”, he said, walking back to your room. “When’s the team heading back?”
“Uh, I’m not sure actually, let me just-”, you said, calling Tony up. “Hey Dad, how’s the mission? Find anything yet?”
“Oh, hey sweetheart, uh, can’t talk right now”, Tony grunted as gunshots were heard from behind him, “but we’ll be home by tonight. How’s ugh, um Peter?”
“Oh yeah, Peter’s fine. We’ll probably just watch some movies or something. Do you need anything? Food, rations, help?”
“Esteemed Daughter, who are you talking to? I’m Iron Man, I don’t need any helppppp”, your dad yelled as the sound of metal was his before the line got cut. Peter looked at you with wide eyes, his face shocked.
“Will Mr Stark be okay?”
“Yeah, he will...probably. Nat will call in a bit anyway, so let’s just wait”, you said, jumping on your bed. Patting the place next to you, you watched as Peter shed his shirt, walking over to your bed in his grey sweatpants. Inhaling sharply, you pushed away any thoughts that were coming into your mind as Peter laid down, his arm going around you as he kissed your cheek.
God, you wish he would kiss you somewhere else.
Shaking your head, you asked, “So, which movie should we watch?”
“Um, how about...Hunger Games?”, he asked, slyly grinning at you. Damn him, he knew it was your favourite “nerd” movie. Nodding at him with a grin, you switched it on, falling back onto Peter as the movie started.
Sadly, you weren’t able to focus on the movie too much. Because you were too focused on your boyfriend next to you. Due to the fact that he was an Avenger like you, the timings for the two of you were cramped. With college, and patrolling, there were very different lifestyles the two of you led. As best friends you used to be inseparable but as a couple? Oh, it was a completely different story.
Whenever you two were alone, someone would always interrupt you. Whether it was May at Peter’s place or Ned at school, there was not a single minute the two of you could just hang out. So naturally, you two hadn’t gone to second base. Or even 1.5th place. But today, with the tower absolutely empty, you couldn’t say that your mind didn’t wander. And the clip of Katniss and Peeta making on the screen didn’t help either. So you said something you weren’t too happy about…
“Peter, I wanna jump your bones right now”
“Wha-uh, huh? Y-you wanna do wh-um, jump m-my bones...Uh, I don’t- uh what?!” Peter stuttered, his face bright red. But you were too far down that lane so you just nodded.
“Yeah dude” Peter didn’t say anything again, his eyes glassing over as he stared at you. “Fine...but couldIkissyouabitmorethanusualplease?”
“Uh ye-yeah, if if you want to?”, Peter said, his face flushed pink as he stared at you, adoration in his eyes. Smiling at him with what you hoped with an “I-wanna-make-out-with-you” look, you moved next to him, your face hovering about his. Kissing him lightly at first, it grew deep as Peter grunted softly under you, capturing your lips between his teeth. Suddenly, he grabbed you, pulling you down under him. Now he was the one over you, and when your hand went to his hair, he let out the softest of sounds. But you heard it...and god did it get a reaction out of you.
Now, if you were in your right mind, you would go and put a sock in the door, or tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to disable the elevator to your level. But you were too preoccupied with a certain someone to even bother about that. That is how this entire whole thing started.
Coming back to you and Peter making on your bed, your legs were thrown over his waist as he pulled you to him, your back hovering off the bed. Oh, the joys of having a superhero boyfriend. Anyway, just as he was about to leave your lips to trail kisses down your neck...the door opened.
You didn’t hear the door open though. What you did hear was the multitude of voices, and your dad’s one the loudest.
“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!”
You couldn’t blame him. It did look bad. With Peter not wearing his shirt and his back bare, it looked like he wasn’t wearing any clothes since our lower bodies were under your cover. Peter also covered you the minute he heard your dad’s voice, which further implied that you both were very very naked.
“DAD!”
“MR STARK!”
You stared at your dad, noticing now that the entire team was standing outside the door, their breaths held and eyes peering. “It-it’s not what it looks like! I promise…”
“Peter, get the hell out of my daughter”, your dad said calmly, his eyes looking everywhere else but at us.
“Dad, he isn’t i-in me. Look!”, you said, pulling the cover’s off you two to show your very covered legs.
“Fine, at least I won’t become a grandfather tonight. But why were you on my daughter Mr Parker?”
Poor Peter, he looked like he was about to faint. “Uh, Mr Stark w-we were just um, hugging? Tightly-”
“With what? Your mouths?”, Sam called out, laughing with Bucky.
“Not now Sam!” you yelled, shooting them a glare.
“Now, I don’t care what you do...but don’t you dare touch my daughter in a harmful way. Got it Parker?”
“Y-yes Mr St-Stark. I won’t, I love your daughter t-too much”
Looking at Peter, your eyes filled with love as you hugged him, kissing him softly. “Aw, I love you too Pete...even if you tried to fuck me right now!”
“WHAT?!”
“Kidding kidding. Anyway, let’s get outta here...please!”
Tony scoffed, turning around but then glanced at Peter. “Take care of your “little” problem before you come downstairs, Peter.”
“Huh? Oh…”, Peter said, hurriedly covering up himself. Giggling, you tried to go closer but were pulled back by your dad.
“Nuh-uh. He’s gonna take care of it. By. Him. Self.”
Rolling your eyes, you walked out, winking at Peter before you walked out. Catching up with the rest of the group, they all grinned at you, making you worried. “What?”, you asked, backing away slightly.
“I think we can all call this day a…”
“Satisfying Saturday!”, they all yelled out, with Natasha bumping shoulders with you and Steve shaking his head behind her.
You sighed, copying Steve. “This isn’t gonna go away, is it?”
“Nope”, Thor said, laughing loudly.
And it didn’t. But thank god they only caught you making out. The next time Peter and you were caught, it was much much worse. But that’s a story for another time.
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Ooh, that was the longest fic I’ve ever written, but boy, was it a fun one to write. Thanks so much for reading it, and if you liked this one, you can be added to the Taglist for the Caught By Them series. My requests are also open if you have any ideas, but if not, then see you next time!
BTW: Spent about 20 min trying to figure out the type of disinfectant used to treat stab wounds. That’s 20 minutes I’ll never get back, but if I ever do get into a fight, at least I’ll know what treatment to use…
Tagging some people from my last series in case they would enjoy this one :)
@idkatee @eternalscribblesforthesoul @loudbluepancake @poisondevotion @scram1326 @t-hollanderr @305weasley @starknik22 @marvelfansworld @lou-la-lou @lomlparker @marvelfansworld @wowitsel @vanteguccir @fullcheesecakeengineer @ladykxxx08 @allegras-sunflower @ifyouknewhowmiserylovedme
#peter parker x reader#peter parker smut#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you#peter parker fluff#peter parker fanfiction#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#tom holland fluff#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland blurb#tom holland#peter parker x reader imagine#peter parker x bestfriend reader#peter parker#avengers#spiderman#peter parker angst#peter parker series#peter parker drabble#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker headcanon#iron
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The Dark Team (part 11)
<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>
Warnings: Cookies and idiots. You might get diabetes.
N/A: I'm on a family trip right now so I'm being a little unactive but I'll do my best to be still updating on here. Thank you so much to everyone who reads and comments, you truly make me want to write twice as much.
The Dark Team: (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296, @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 @toe-vind-ek-jou @joscelyn02, @t00-pi )
“Are you sure that’s how you should be sending those?”. His nosy ass telling you how to do your job in your midgardian electronics was just amazing, truly. “It would be faster for them if you send it with that link instead of…”.
“Listen, Mischief”, you interrupted his unnecessary corrections “I don’t tell you how to levitate, what about you don’t tell me how to do this?”.
“I don’t levitate”.
“Not the point. This is my deal. Besides, since when and how do you know how to handle midgardian tech?”.
“I… I’m bored”.
“Do I look like an entertainment to you right now?”.
“What do you mean right now? Are you planning on entertaining me later?”.
“I will choke you if you keep doing that”.
“Do you promise?”.
"Yes, my dear".
"Can't wait, then", he smirked. You rolled your eyes, about to answer something snappy, but the work was more important at the moment.
Your phone beeped, pulling you out of the very one sided discussion. You went back to your work in silence, getting your full focus and concentration on it. If it weren’t for Loki, you would’ve already done a thousand more other things. But, as a bug on the lenses, he was stuck to your side. It seemed like you were babysitting him.
Peter was staring at the roof from the couch. A pile of homework laid by his side, untouched, and his unlocked phone seemed to be waiting for him to make a call he didn’t want to. Loki observed him, unsure if it was a good idea to ask. You looked at his uncertainty from over your shoulder, and watched him finally give up on the idea of socially interacting with the kid, sitting down by your side on the big, big (and, exaggeratingly pointing out, big; yet he sat in the nearest chair from you) table.
The compound certainly was a boring place when uninhabited, and the sun was already teasing with coming down, making the common room’s lights turn brighter and warmer. Maybe it was automatic, maybe it was Friday. You couldn’t care less, for you were too distracted by Loki’s gaze on your work.
“Loki, for fuck’s sake, would you stop staring, my dearest?”, you asked, imitating his tone of voice, hoping it’d make it less aggressive and a bit more fun. He rolled his eyes and smirked, understanding your intentions. You sounded as tired of him as you were.
“I’m...”.
“Bored, I know. What about you go entertain Pete? He looks equally, if not more, bored as you. And you’re interfering with my work, which I do not appreciate very much”.
“How am I supposed to entertain him? I’m not a clown”, he argued, slightly offended but just wanting to make time and conversation. You sighed.
“Then why do you act like one?”.
“What is that supposed to mean? Is that a midgardian insult I’m not aware of, pancake?”.
“Stop calling me that, it’s not derogative”.
“It wasn’t intended to be deroga…”.
“I’d kill for some pancakes”, interrupted Peter, trying to pull you two out of your quarrels. “Or something sweet”.
“Oh, the kid got peckish. This is perfect; you can go get him something sweet and leave my workspace alone”, you said, patting his back with an exhausted grin.
He rolled his eyes, but walked down to the kitchen looking for whatever could satiate Peter. There wasn’t anything. One would think that a billionaire would have the fridge full of chocolates, wouldn’t you?, he thought, exhausted by the idea of having to actually leave the compound to get him something. Last time he tried to buy something in Midgard, he accidentally paid three salaries to the workers in the name of Stark. He was so embarrassed, he said it was on purpose and called it an act of mischief. But it was, in fact, pure and raw unawareness of midgardian’s use of money.
“What about we bake something, Mr. Loki?”, proposed Peter, with a flaming interest in seeing what those magic hands could do with food. You chuckled, pretty sure they could do nothing; he had been a prince for over a thousand years, when could he have learnt to bake by himself?
Loki lowered his gaze, confronted with both thoughts of his companions, and their respective expectations. Truth was, you were right. But he couldn't disappoint the kid like that, he had to at least try. Peter's eyes shone brighter than ever, and you wondered if Loki was actually enjoying his company. They looked fine. And, finally, you had some space to work without distractions.
“In normal circumstances I’d reject you, spider boy, but since y/n seems to be about to hang me by the neck on the tip of the tower, might as well do this”, he said, stealing a glance at you and smirking.
“It’s an honor you decide to spend your last moments baking with me, Mr. Loki”.
“Sure, let’s go, child”.
“I’m not a child”.
“Alright”.
And just like that, they left the working area and moved to the kitchen. Both rooms were connected by a huge glassless window and a counter, so you were able to peep in and make sure they didn’t actually burn down the compound (which was the only rule Tony had) and work peacefully at the same time.
After what seemed like an eternity, they still couldn’t accept they were failing miserably, and kept stirring the mix in a bowl. Flour formed clouds around them as Peter sneezed it away, and Loki’s hair had some cream on his (now not so) impeccable hair. Peter laughed at Loki’s commentary and poor baking skills, and Loki playfully mocked how his stickiness wasn’t helpful at all.
“Have you ever baked before, Mr. Loki?”.
“I haven’t but I’ve seen people bake, I figured I could imitate them”.
“Your mum, right? I used to bake with my aunt May a lot, but just now I realize maybe she was doing everything and I was eating the dough by her side”.
“That sounds more like it”, he chuckled. The mixing bowl trembled in his hand as he got distracted by the flying eggs coming at him, and it slipped out of him, smashing near half the mix onto the floor. “Oh, fuck”.
“It’s fine, we can use the one that’s left!”.
“Your positiveness astonishes me, spider boy”.
“Spider man”.
“Right, apologies”.
“We have already put in the flour, the sugar, the eggs, the milk… What else is in the recipe?”.
“I’m trying to remember, let me see”, he closed his eyes and muttered to himself “they used cinnamon, I think. And maybe butter? Yes, and chocolate chips”.
“Who?”.
“Ah, this recipe isn’t my mum’s. She didn’t bake either, you know, Queens don’t get their hands dirty” he laughed. “It was my companion’s”, he spat and suddenly realized what he had said. He lowered his head and sighed.
“Your companion?”, asked Peter. “As in partner? A spouse?”.
“Not spouse, just… you know, I’m just realizing I shouldn’t be talking to you about it”, he brushed it off, absolutely regretting it. Because Peter, unlike any other person, lacked filters.
So he would ask and ask and not realize where to stop. And at that point you could say Peter had become some sort of a weakness in Loki’s roughness. Peter was the softest, purest and better intentioned person he had ever met (or at least that’s how he saw him; of course, Loki had never seen him in action, fighting crime), and Loki was incapable of actually denying things to him. It didn’t matter how much Peter insisted on not being seen as a child, Loki was a thousand years older.
“No, please do. Now you’ve caught my attention”, he insisted, trying to clean some of the dough from the floor. Loki sighed, watching how the kid begged him to tell him more from his feet. “Please, Mr. Loki, I swear I won’t tell”.
“Well, my lover was the one who used to cook for us”, he explained as if he was telling someone else’s story. He clearly was trying to disengage his own emotions in order to tell them out loud. “And they’d usually bake some kick-ass cinnamon cookies”.
Peter had to grab the counter to steady himself from laughter, and you couldn’t help to snort at the conversation you were indiscreetly eavesdropping. Loki smiled.
“Then we have to replicate them, if they’re so kick-ass to make you say a midgardian expression”.
“We must, but I can’t remember quite well the next steps. It’s all sort of a blur now”.
“Can’t we ask them?”.
“No”, he said quickly. The air tensed, and untensed as fast as he realized. He especified again, trying to sound less affected by it “we can’t”.
“Oh”, Peter sounded so disappointed, Loki’s heart broke a little. “Are they dead?”.
“Oh my God, Pete, you can’t just ask…”, you intervened, trying to save Loki from further discomfort.
“It’s okay, they’re… well, they’re gone”, he said with a soft voice, raising his eyebrows as who tries to explain to a little kid why their fish is upside down, leaving to the imagination the typical trace of sadness that would follow. His eyes focused on the mixing bowl, reminiscing another time, another way. Eyes of someone who tries his best to never forget the little details from someone who’s not here anymore, because memories are all he has left. He immediately snapped out of his thoughts and tried to play it cool. “But guess who’s not gone? This dough on the floor. Let’s clean it up, kid”.
“Gone as in dead?”, insisted Peter, who had a very poor self control. You would’ve grabbed your face with eight hands if you could.
“Peter, don’t…”.
“Yes, they’re dead. Inside a coffin, rotting, getting eaten by worms. You know”, said Loki, this time jokingly, trying to scare off Peter. But it didn’t work, since Peter just kept asking about it. Loki was already too tired of having to take his brain yet again to places he didn’t want them to be.
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Loki. Must be very painful”. The empathy in his eyes gave Loki the hint that he was not only being sincere, but curious about Loki's life. Interested, engaged. Not just morbidly curious, but wanting to get to know him better. Unfortunately, Loki couldn’t allow that. He would have to get the mission done, not make any friends, and go back to Asgard as alone as he came. It was the deal, the price he had to pay, the invisible handcuffs, the imaginary rope tying around his neck. Tightly, tightly, tighter.
“It’s alright, it was long ago”.
“Was they Asgardian, like you?”.
“I’m not actually Asgardian. I was raised there, but I’m from Jotunheim”.
Loki managed to move the conversation further than his lover (which he regretted highly to have brought the subject in the first place), and Peter got more and more interested in confirming how many of his mythology stories were true or not. The kitchen was the warmest place in the whole compound, and something started to smell like burnt sugar.
“So you did actually make Sif, Thor’s wife, bald? And did he make you go get her a wig in Svárthelfeim?”, he asked at the speed of light, and Loki laughed.
“Lady Sif’s not actually Thor’s betrothed. And no, I didn’t make her bald”, he said, and then muttered “she just happened to have a very low quality shampoo”.
“Ah, the cookies!”, Peter turned off the stove and took them out carefully, as to not get burned (again).
Loki peeped through the window to check on you. Your head, laying tiredly over your hands, seemed to be about to give up on you out of exhaustion. You haven’t slept properly since the mission started, and you couldn’t get your head off work for a moment. He approached you from behind and left a fresh cup of coffee and a couple of warm cookies by your side. You smiled at him gently and thanked him. If it wasn’t him you were talking about, you could’ve swore he blushed.
You have gotten so tranquil after one simple gesture, you hoped to get all your nerves down before going to sleep. Maybe it wasn’t that bad to have been stuck with them in the compound. They seemed to be having a good time, and Loki had nothing on his mind more than to have a rest after such hectic days.
“How long until you finish there?”, he asked with a low voice, a raspy, almost groany voice, that made you want to shut your computer down and throw it out of the window. You didn’t, instead, you checked your clock.
“Very soon, I’ll join you guys in a bit”.
#loki#loki fanfic#loki fic#loki headcanon#loki x reader#loki x y/n#loki x gender neutral reader#loki x avenger!reader#loki laufeyson#loki odinson#loki friggason#mcu loki#peter parker#y/n
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Since people have asked about the Ducktales Bushroot idea I’ve been cooking up, I figured I’d gush the entire thing here. And look! It comes with pictures! Blame the lateness of this on my two jobs, they run me ragged I tell you what
So seeing as how Darkwing Duck is technically a tv show in the Ducktales universe, that’d mean the villains would end up with vastly different backstories too (as did Drake Mallard and Jim Starling in “The Duck Knight Returns”).
So for Bushroot, or in this case Tino Moss, why not make him the only child to the part time actor/script writer Pete Moss - who played the Bushroot character on the TV show.
Ever since he could remember, Tino would tag along with his dad to the studio (since Peter was a single father and had no one else to look after his son while he worked). It’s here he got to meet the cast and crew to the show, all of which, save for one, were super nice to a shy little boy always hiding behind his fathers legs. Because of this, Tino grew to love watching the finished episodes and even began to idolize the main character a little, saying how he’d one day grow up to be a super hero too! But upon meeting Jim, and being rudely brushed aside, he soon realized it’s best not to meet your idols (I imagine Jim was just as self absorbed like in the Duck Knight Returns and wouldn’t pay a small fan any mind during the height of his popularity).
After being coldly rebuffed, it was then Tino turned his sights on being a super hero in a completely different way, deciding to become a doctor instead. Pete would often joke he should become a botonist like the Bushroot character (that he’d low-key based on his sons personality), but Tino shrugged it off with a laugh and aimed to be a traditional one instead, preferring to become a family physician.
Years passed and in his final stages of his clinical’s, it’s then he received the devastating news that his father had fallen terminally ill. It was a heavy blow to see the once exuberant duck he loved so much slowly fade into a shell of his former self. At this point Tino took time off from his career to tend to his father, despite the loans and bills quickly piling up, the two spent a majority of their time watching old episodes of Darkwing Duck and reminiscing about a time when things were happier.
Eventually the inevitable day came when his father passed, destroying Tino emotionally. He’d been the only remaining family he had left, and after his death he was left with no one. The time spent tending to his father had become his whole life, and any other relationships outside of that he’d sadly neglected to the point his friends had moved on or away.
It took him a while to get back into the medical field, having to retake his clinical’s all over again and even though the work was fulfilling in a way (distracting him enough not to think about the loss) he still wasn’t entirely happy with his life, struggling with the mounting bills and loneliness that’d started to creep in. It’s then Jim Starling practically materialized out of the clear blue, having had tracked down his address and wondered if he would like to meet and catch up.
Tino is hesitant at first, remembering the blowhard from his childhood and didn’t know if he wanted to revisit that chapter of his life again, but when Jim makes mention of his dad, of all the good times they had on and off camera, the former star eventually brings the other duck around enough the two sit down for a good, long chat.
They reminisce about the show, the actors, where everyone is at the moment. Jim mentions on several occasions how he’d been trying to reboot the Darkwing Duck series and asks if he’d be interested in reprising his fathers role as the mutated plant monster.
Tino laughs it off, admitting he isn’t much of an actor, or a writer for that matter, but if he ever wanted some pointers for the episodes he still had his dads old scripts archived in the attic.
After that Jim comes and goes infrequently, usually to ask scientific mumbo jumbo about the whole “mutating a Duck into a plant” thing, which Tino does some research between work and sleep just to appease what he considers a friend at this point (going so far as to getting ahold of a scientist in the Saint Canard University’s agricultural department for some additional insight). He passes the information off to Jim and thinks nothing else of it until the former star makes a surprise visit one day.
He tells him he has it all set up for the big shoot, inviting Tino down to see the studio for himself. Curiosity gets the better of him, and despite needing to get some rest for work tomorrow, he joins the other duck on the long car ride, a bit unnerved to see it’s in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city.
Any questions he poses regarding safety - or why anyone in their right mind would want to set up a shoot here - is quickly brushed aside, Jim telling him he was aiming for a darker, grittier Darkwing Duck, hence the change in scenery. They head inside to find what appears to be a fully functioning lab, Tino excitedly looking over all the instruments, commenting about how realistic it was. As he stands beside the operating table, it’s then he is suddenly whacked upside the head, knocked out cold for who knows how long.
By the time he comes to, he’s strapped down, wires running over and through him. He pleads to know what’s going on, gasping to see Jim in an off color version of the Darkwing costume leering over him. The former actor explains that after he saw the news of what went down in Saint Canard, the ram rod incident and the other dimensions villains running amuck on the streets, he realized he needed his own Fearsome Five by his side if he ever planned to rule the city.
Seeing as how Pete had passed away and the other actors were far to old or out of reach to reprise their “roles”, he’d set out to replace them with newer, younger versions, starting with Tino.
Panicking, and realizing what exactly he planned to do to him as the liquids start to pump into his body, Tino breaks free before Negaduck can fully flip the conversion switch.
He manages to run a good distance from the factory, picking his way through the unfamiliar streets of Saint Canard as his body begins to grow more and more sluggish the further he walks. It almost feels like he’s going through every stage of sickness all at once. Chills, hot flashes, nausea, dehydration. He asks for help several times to passerby’s only to have people take one look at his green complexion and lurch away in fright. Some even out right flee, especially when near by trees or other plants spring to life around them. They, along with Tino, run in fear, he finally stopping long enough to catch his breath and get a good, hard look at his reflection through a shop window. Horror spreads across his face. A face that is his own but not in so many ways. It almost resembles the make-up his father used to wear during shoots but oh so different, oh so wrong! Deep in the pit of his stomach he knows this isn’t fake, this isn't a dream, it’s real. The mutation is real, and with people gasping, crying and running, this will be his new reality if he can’t find a way to reverse it!
Through several more mishaps and misunderstandings, dodging both panicking citizens and Darkwing Duck, he eventually finds himself cornered in a building by the Saint Canard police force (who mistakenly believe he’s just as dangerous as the other dimensions Bushroot).
It’s here Tino is once again confronted by Negaduck, and though he yells at the one behind all this, for forcibly mutating him into a monster and how he won’t get away with it, his words are cut short when Negaduck laughs, pointing out he shouldn’t be angry at the only person willing to embrace him now. He offers one last time for Tino to join the Fearsome Five, sneering that if he refused, he’d never be a normal duck again.
When Tino asks what he means, Negaduck explains that he’d kept all the notes, all the formulas, everything he did to turn him into a mutant plant duck was written in a journal, stashed away for safe keeping. If he ever planned on reverse engineering a formula to turn himself back, he’d need that journal. But if he refused to cooperate, than he’d have no problem destroying it and leaving Tino as he was.
A monster.
With no other choice, Tino finally agrees, reluctantly starting down the path of villainy.
And that’s how I figured you could have a sympathetic Bushroot character that stayed in line with the “he’s not technically a villain per say,” category while having him justified as to WHY he’s a villain at all.
#bushroot#reginald bushroot#darkwing duck#negaduck#backstory maybe#i wanted to make more pics but my jobs are not kind#but the idea mostly sprung up by swapping out his backstory with Rhoda’s in the forcibly being mutated thing#and that would make for a sumpathetic not a villain backstory
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a nightmare kinda night
So I had this whole story plotted out and everything for fnf's favorite bomb boy and the gang that revolved around fun-sized whitty and how he would've been involved, but I lost interest a while ago... Anyways here's one of the fluff chapters that need no context at all. Oh and fun-sized whitty was dubbed Itty (like itty bitty whitty haha). There's an intro chapter if you want an idea of where this was headed btw.
(Not my characters, they belong to their creators)
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It had been one of Whitty's favorite kind of nights. The kind where the apartment was cool and quiet and there was rain outside the window that he could watch if he wanted to. But that had been three hours ago and the rain had turned into a storm since then. He didn't mind storms all that much, but they were annoying when the crack of thunder and flash of lightning kept waking him up. He wasn't a deep enough sleeper to ignore the loud noises, so he was left to stare either out the window or at the doorway in a daze waiting for the noise to finally stop.
On one hand, he supposed he could get up and go do something to pass the time, but on the other hand, no one else was awake and he was rather comfortable despite not being on the bed he had been given. It had been too ingrained that he had to be ready to move at any and all times in case he was caught up to, so settling down and shutting his eyes for eight long hours just didn't happen. Instead he opted to sitting in the corner facing the doorway, sometimes still sleeping with his eyes opened, but the longer he stayed with Carol the less on edge he felt. And he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing for his general safety. But that was a problem for the brighter hours of the day. As of right then, he was perfectly content to relax into the pile of pillows that Carol had stashed in his corner when she figured out where he slept. Those were nice. He had never had those before. He definitely preferred them over the hard wall and floor after being told what they were for. Softness was new, but he was finding that it wasn't necessarily bad.
So, yes, he was comfortable enough to rest with his eyes shut and listen to the rain in between the crashes of the storm. But then there was a new noise. It wasn't anything like the storm, it didn't sound like passing people outside, but it didn't sound happy. It didn't sound like it was outside at all really. It was much closer than that. It was whimpering. Was someone crying?
Whitty opened his eyes and took a wary look around. He didn't think the sound was coming from Carol's room. She was a deep sleeper and while she hadn't ever cried as far as he knew, the sound didn't match her voice. This left the only other person in the apartment. Itty. The little bomb had taken to sleeping in his bed since he didn't use it. A glance over in the bed's direction confirmed it. Even in the dark of the room, Whitty could tell that Itty had managed to fight the blankets into a knot around himself and was trying to lash out against something in his dream. He didn't have those very often. Dreams. The few he had had were either ungodly amounts of bizarre or absolute terrors that he woke up from crying. After a morning of waking up to one of the bad ones, he had asked Carol about if she ever did that. She had said yes to having what she called a nightmare, but she said she didn't usually wake up crying from them. The concern in her features was obvious even to him, but it wasn't the first time she had looked at him like that, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.
With that in mind, Whitty took on the job of being concerned as he got up and walked over to the far side of the bed where Itty was struggling. He was fairly certain that his own nightmares were due to his past including both the lab and The Greater Good always on his heels. But as far as he and Carol had figured, Itty didn't remember much about his past, at least, nothing painful... Yet here he was, crying out in his sleep, scaring Whitty half to death when he started saying coherent words.
"No—! St-stop! Please! It—hurts! Please! No!"
It was painful to watch to say the least. Whitty had never seen the kid look so distraught, with the exception of when he had accidentally caught himself on fire, but that had been more of a panic. This was despair and agony. Thick black tears streamed down the kid's face while he shook and tried to jerk away from whatever was assaulting him. "Please! Stop! Why are you—! Please! I ca-can't!"
He had had enough of that, so Whitty reached down and tried to shake the little bomb awake. At first Itty's struggle only worsened with the grasp on his arm, but after Whitty shook him more insistently he finally seemed to waken a little.
Ittty's eyes shot open and he looked around wild-eyed, clearly not seeing his surroundings, and still shaking, but he did see Whitty and lurched towards him. Well he certainly tried to anyways. The blankets were too tight around him for him to get very far. When he realized this, he only cried harder. "P—please!" He was desperate.
Whitty, not really sure why, acted without thinking and got to work untangling the sobbing bomb. The second Itty was free, Whitty found himself having to brace against the impact of Itty jumping at him. When he got over the fact that Itty was now latched around his neck in a vice-like grip, he actually registered what was happening. Itty, the poor little kid who had the same start he had, was crying his eyes out and scared out of his mind. At first Whitty started to panic a little on the inside. What was he supposed to do with this?! He didn't know how to help in this kind of situation??? But then he looked down at Itty and it clicked. What would I have wanted when I was like this?
The answer to that was an easy one. He didn't even realize what he had wanted until he had been given it with Carol. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted someone there with him. No one would ever truly know what he was and had been going through, but someone's nonthreatening presence would have helped to ground him. As he looked at Itty in his little cat patterned pj's, it occurred to him that that wasn't entirely true, not anymore. He wasn't completely alone. Itty had been put through the same crap that he had, but the kid was lucky. He had Whitty to help him through it.
So with his mind made up, the older bomb moved as gingerly as possible, sat down, and shifted until he was leaning against the headboard with Itty tight against his chest. He wasn't very good at the whole affection thing yet, but he had seen Carol comfort Itty enough times to have a good idea of what he was supposed to do. First things first? Get him to stop crying.
"Hey," he muttered down to the crying kid. "Itty. Look at me."
Itty had his face buried in Whitty's neck and didn't seem to hear him, sobs still wracking through his little body.
Whitty blew out a puff of air before trying again. "Itty." He nudged him out of his hiding spot and offered a small smile when he saw the pair of normally bright, but now horribly scared eyes finally look up at him through the tears streaming down his face. "Hi. Think you can focus on me for a second?"
Itty looked so so confused, but after a second he gave a hiccuping nod. Then a clap of lightening struck followed by the deafening boom of thunder and sent Itty into crying hysterics all over again. He was right back in the hollow of Whitty's neck, but for a whole new reason.
Whitty glared at the storm outside, the rain wasn't going to ease up anytime soon and neither would the noise. How was he supposed to get the kid to ignore something as loud as thunder?! The headphones Carol had given him were on the other side of the room, but he knew that getting up wasn't even remotely an option with Itty attached to him. So he looked around for something nearby. Something to block the noise...?
Then he looked down at Itty again and it appeared that the kid already had it covered, or at least unintentionally had a good idea. The little bomb, in his panic, was trying his hardest to burrow into the side of Whitty's hood and hide from life and the loud scary things in it. That was a fairly easy solution Whitty figured. Plus it would even shield Itty from the flash of lightning so maybe he would calm down and go back to sleep. He's still not sure how he managed to get to the zipper with Itty in the way, but after a few minutes of rearranging and struggling with the petrified child, Itty ended up resting snug in the jacket with his head now on Whitty's chest and safely hidden away from the storm outside.
Another flash and crack of the weather outside had Itty tightening his grip again much to Whitty's annoyance. I thought we just fixed that issue. But he supposed that still made sense. Just because he couldn't see the storm didn't mean that Itty couldn't still hear it. It shook the apartment for Pete's sake. Of course he'd notice it. He needed a distraction or something else to focus on. But what else was there for him to do? It's not like there was anything he could go get for Itty to listen to. What else did Carol do when the kid was upset or feeling down? What did she do when he was upset?
He scrunched up his face trying to think as he watched another flash light up the room and scare Itty again. Normally she would get his attention and get him to sit down so he was at her height. Then she could effectively hug him and not his legs, and so far Whitty had the Hug Step accomplished. After that it was a toss up between talking him through whatever had stressed him out at the time or being quiet and there with him until he calmed down, depending on how upset he was. Well...that or she got him to sing. He liked singing with her quite a lot, so she usually hummed something that he could hum right back until he was up to singing and by then he had usually forgotten about what had set him off in the first place. ...How he had managed without her a year ago, he had no idea.
He personally didn't feel like singing right then. The room was pretty quiet aside from the storm, but his singing voice was not. He wasn't trying to compete with the thunder (even though he probably could and win), he was just trying to be a distraction. The question of if he should hum at all was answered the second he looked down at Itty's shaking frame. The poor kid hadn't asked for any of this. So Whitty sighed and started to hum. At first he didn't really know what he was humming, there hadn't been any song in particular on his mind at the time, but after a few notes he realized that it was the same song that Carol sang to him when he was upset.
Itty didn't react immediately, still flinching at the next bout of noise from the storm, but slowly his grip loosened and his crying faded in to sniffles and then just hiccups. He tucked himself closer to Whitty, but not out of terror this time. This time he was trying to get closer to the calmer sound of Whitty's song.
This entire time Whitty as been more or less still sprawled out on the bed, with his long legs propped up over the end of the bed and his arms still at his sides, unsure of what to do with himself. As Itty's breathing slowed, the need to curl around the kid suddenly hit him and he really had no idea what do with that. But...Carol did tell him that it was okay to respond to instincts like that. They were normal. Some of his amalgamated DNA was human after all. He had just never had a chance to indulge in any of the more touchy feel-y instincts before. But...they were why he liked hugs after he had had one. So now he hesitantly glanced at Itty, who looked pretty comfortable where he was, and shifted until his legs were crossed under him and his arms were curled protectively around the kid.
If it was any condolences to him, Itty almost immediately sighed and didn't even register the next crack of thunder. In fact, he appeared to be dozing off again. Perhaps Whitty had actually done it! Still humming, the bomb couldn't help but smile a little at his victory. He had calmed down a frantic, teary-eyed kid, without anyone else's help. And the thunder didn't even bother Itty anymore! Double win!
After a while Whitty ended up settling enough to shut his own eyes for a while, not to sleep—at least, not intentionally—but he could enjoy the weird but not bad feeling of Itty leaning against him. It wasn't entirely new to have someone using him as a pillow, Carol did it all the time. Her napping on top of him kept him in place and out of trouble, and he got to bask in the comfort of her trusting him enough to sleep within such close proximity. But Carol wasn't like him. She was soft and little.
Itty was little too, he supposed, but he wasn't soft. Not like Carol. He and the kid were made of the same stuff. They were both had rough skin and were often scalding to the touch when upset. And well. Itty was just in tears over a nightmare. Whitty didn't think anyone else could handle the little bomb when he was truly upset, just like the previous "fire" incident. But to him, the burning hot was nothing more than warm. Now, he didn't like why Itty was so worked up, but it was comforting to have someone so similar to himself. It was familiar.
Everything in life was so foreign to him. Affection, technology, people not being violent to him, having a roof over his head, eating a full meal...but Itty was not on that list. Itty was like himself, and he knew himself pretty well. The way Itty responded to situations was just like how he did. If something ticked him off Whitty recognized the heat rolling off of the kid's frame just as he recognized the spark at the end of his fuse and the little cracks in reality at his feet when the kid was truly angry. Itty's reactions were small compared to his own, but seeing another react the same was...it was interesting. Other people saw that all the time—people reacting in similar manners to themselves, but Whitty never had before. It was somewhat comforting if he was being honest.
He briefly wondered if that was what it was like to have a family. It seemed like a family thing, but he wasn't exactly an expert on that. The TV shows Carol watched sometimes had families involved and it seemed to line up with his thought process. People reacting similarly to the people around them who in turn knew and even expected the reactions. These families always seemed to enjoy each other's company to some degree, and he enjoyed Itty's company most of the time. Was that the same thing?
Whatever it was, Whitty decided it wasn't a bad thing, at least, it didn't make him feel anything bad. Looking down at Itty one last time, the only thing he felt was warm. Warm wasn't bad, right? He felt warm every time Carol grabbed his arm to show him something and even when Hex excitedly called him over from the other side of the basket ball court. Warm always followed him when he was around them, people he trusted or at least, people he wasn't afraid of. So yeah, he supposed, even if family wasn't the right word, he liked the feeling that was nestled in his chest as he accidentally drifted off with the smaller bomb leaning against him.
It was another new weird thing, but perhaps he could get used to it.
#fnf#friday night funkin#fnf mods#whitty mod#fnf fic#fluff#fnf carol#fnf fun sized whitty#this was back before the drama involving the whitty mod and I was more onboard with the original scared of life whitmore#there was gonna be a wholeeeee thing here but my brain said no#I have two other chapters if you want them#fnf found family#plz ignore any spelling mistakes#story#my writing#I don't own any character here#whitty x carol
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An Intern’s Ordeal
Summary: Peter gets invited to the Annual Stark Charity Gala, only he thinks he's attending as an intern and panics because he doesn't even know how to make coffee so how can he manage an actual event. Throw in a stab wound, some fractured ribs, a healthy dose of self-deprecation and a case of mistaken identity, and Tony realises that Peter really doesn't understand how much he means to him.
Rated T | Irondad | Completed | 10k
AN: i hope you all enjoy, i’ll add the link to read on ao3 in a reblog if you guys prefer that!! tw for injuries and blood, stay safe my lovelies and the tag list is at the end!
“You know,” Peter commented idly as he set down the wrench Mr. Stark had handed him on the table, “when you said you wanted me to come over and help out in the workshop, this wasn't exactly what I thought you’d have planned.”
“No?” Mr. Stark wondered as he held out a hand for the weird caps Peter was still tightly gripping after being warned not to lose them, “what did you think we were going to do?”
“I don’t know, really,” Peter shrugged dismissively, “but I kinda thought it would be something to do with Spider-Man.”
“Spider-Man?” Mr. Stark spoke as though he had forgotten who Spider-Man was, as though he wasn't sitting in the same room as him, before cursing slightly under his breath and dropping one of the caps.
“Yeah, you know? The red and blue guy who swings over the city on webs that he made himself because he’s so totally cool and smart.”
“I know who Spider-Man is, kid,” Mr. Stark said rolling his eyes at Peter, “can you grab that wrench again? Then get down here, it’s your turn to do a bit of work.”
“Well, I’m just saying you sounded a bit confused,” Peter said as he jumped off his stool and crouched by the engine on the floor, the smell of motor oil and grease making his head spin a little, he blamed his enhanced sense of smell for that as he other man didn't seem to be affected by it.
“Not about Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark corrected him, before frowning and giving Peter a serious look, “Pete, do you think I only keep you around because of your abilities?”
“Uh,” Peter faltered, unable to find the words to explain how he did think that but not in a way that made Mr. Stark seem like a bad guy, just in a way that proved Peter wasn't any more special than the next intern who passed through the halls of Stark Industries.
A look of understanding seemed to cross Mr. Stark’s face and before Peter could even open his mouth he continued to speak, “hey, actually, how would you feel about coming to this charity Gala on Saturday?”
“Wh- wait, what?”
That… had been the last thing Peter expected Mr. Stark to say, why would he invite him to a Gala? Didn't he realise that Peter was probably the last person in the world who should be invited to a fancy event - in fact, he wasn't entirely sure he owned a suit, would that be an issue? Maybe he could borrow that one of Ben’s he wore to Homecoming.
“Charity Gala,” Mr. Stark repeated, “it's a big event with suits, ties, dresses, and champagne; lots and lots of champagne, not that you’re allowed to drink that, but as Stark Industries is the organiser of the even then I can make sure we have plenty of soda. So, what’s your favourite: Coke, Pepsi, Dr Pepper, Sprite, Fanta…”
“Uh, I don't- I don't know,” Peter stammered, “just whatever you want is fine with me.”
“Come on, Kiddo, I want to make this enjoyable for my favourite intern, so what’s your drink of choice?”
“Uh, Dr Pepper, maybe?” Peter said unsurely.
“You got it,” Mr. Stark said, “now come on, get your head in the game, we need to rebuild this engine.”
“Why are we doing this?” Peter wondered, still feeling slightly confused by the conversation that had just occurred, he felt like there was a deeper meaning to it.
“By the time I was your age, I’d lost count of the number of engines I’d rebuilt, this is a young genius’ rite of passage.”
I’m not a genius, Peter thought to himself but instead of voicing the thought aloud, he focused his attention on the task at hand. Or, he tried to, at least, the truth was that he was slightly caught up on Mr. Stark’s comment about wanting his favourite intern at the Charity Gala.
Was that his way of saying that he wasn't keeping Peter around because of his Spider-Man abilities, but rather because of his status as a Stark Industries intern? But that couldn't be right, Peter wasn't even a good intern - he usually just fiddled around in the workshop and tried to improve his Spider-Man equipment before attempting to eat Mr. Stark out of house and home. So, why wouldn't he take a better intern to the Gala? And what exactly would be expected of Peter on Saturday?
“Kid?” Mr. Stark poked Peter’s arm making him jump in shock and his head snapped to the side to see his mentor staring at him with a slightly concerned expression, “you good? You’re off in your own world tonight, I’m starting to get a little worried and you know me; I don’t like to be worried, I like to be blase in most situations.”
“I’m yeah, I’m good, don’t worry,” Peter lied, “I was just thinking about this US History project I’ve got to hand in soon.”
“History?” Mr. Stark muttered, screwing up his nose in disgust, “you go to a STEM school, right? Shouldn't they be focusing on the sciences more than history?”
“Well, you know how it is,” Peter muttered with a shrug, “those who are ignorant of history are doomed to repeat it, and I suppose they have to give us a rounded education.”
Mr. Stark cast him a dubious glance, “you sure that’s the saying, Bud?”
“Well, it’s close, I think,” Peter mumbled, “anyways, I like history, I don't think it’s something I’ll pursue as a career but the class is interesting enough.”
“A career?” Mr. Stark asked jerking back in shock, “in history?”
“Not for me,” Peter repeated, “I don’t know, I’ll probably go into research or scientific development or something, I haven't thought about it in too much detail, to be honest.”
“You haven't- Kid, what? You should absolutely be thinking about this,” Mr. Stark said, “I know I’ve mentioned this before but I do have some pull at MIT. In fact, I have some pull at almost every college out there, you name it and I could probably get you in. What can I say? People love me.”
“I just don't want to make a life-changing decision at fifteen,” Peter muttered, “I know I’m going to have to soon, but do you know how much people change and grow? I asked May and she said she’s nothing like the person she was as a teenager, so if that’s going to be the same for me, how do I know that I’ll choose the right career at this point in my life, I’d rather take the time and make that decision.”
“Alright,” Mr. Stark said, “as much as I’d love to put you through college and have you working full time at Stark Industries, I can understand why you feel that way and it’s quite a mature observation - even though I hate it.”
“You’d want me working here?” Peter asked with wide eyes.
“Of course, you’re my favourite intern after all,” Mr. Stark said with what Peter was sure was meant to be a teasing grin, but all he could think about was the swooping in his stomach as those words were repeated. ‘Favorite intern’ was that Mr. Stark’s way of saying he was going to have to act like an intern at the Charity Gala?
He instantly began to feel nauseous, Mr. Stark was dropping hints about the intern thing which meant that he was absolutely expecting Peter to be on the ball at the Gala and he was only used to messing around in the lab. In fact, Peter was fairly sure that he’d never done anything intern-like; Mr. Stark had once asked Peter to turn on the coffee machine and Peter had merely shrugged, shoved a handful of sour patch kids in his mouth, and admitted that he had no idea how to make coffee.
So really, Peter had never done an intern’s job, he was going into this completely blind.
“Peter?” Mr. Stark prompted, “are you alright? Was that too much?”
“I’m fine,” Peter said quickly, as he lurched to his feet, “I just really gotta go and… work on that project.”
Peter stumbled over the toolbox on the floor, a testament to his distraction as his Spidey-Sense would have usually warned him of such obstructions, and grabbed his backpack off the ground.
“Peter, wait-”
But Peter didn't wait, or even hang around outside the door to the workshop to listen to the end of Mr. Stark’s sentence, he ran. Like a coward, his mind supplied.
He wasn't a coward, he was just… scared that Mr. Stark was going to expect more of him than he was able to give, he didn't know how to be an intern, so really, was it any surprise that no one at school believed him? Ned probably would have eventually lost his trust in Peter after a while if it wasn't for the discovery that he was Spider-Man.
Peter made his way upwards to the roof, instead of towards the main exit, slipping his web-shooters on over his wrists in preparation to swing home.
“Peter, Boss has requested that I ask you to stay, at least for ten minutes,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, which of course shouldn't have been a surprise considering she was everywhere in the building - except the bathrooms.
“I can’t,” Peter said, guilt gnawing at his stomach as he spoke, “tell him that I’m sorry for rushing out, and it wasn't anything he said-” that was a lie but Mr. Stark didn't need to feel guilty about expecting Peter to do his job “-and maybe just say I’ll see him on Saturday, although if wants to he could text me the details?”
“I’ll pass that along,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said gently, or as gently as a robotic voice could sound, “take care Peter, don't forget your mask and swing safely.”
“Thanks, F.R.I.,” he mumbled as the doors to the roof slid open and Peter breathed in the cool NYC evening air.
Taking note of her advice, he pulled his Spider-Man mask out of his backpack and pulled it over his head, he didn't bother changing fully into his suit, he was only going home - he had no plans to stop and fight any crimes.
“Good evening, Peter, I heard from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that you were distressed, how are you now?” Karen greeted him instantly.
“Of course you did,” Peter muttered, “I’m fine, don't worry, but can I ask you something?”
“You just did, but of course I am your A.I. system therefore you can ask me as many questions as you’d like,” Karen told him.
“Alright,” Peter mumbled, rolling his eyes behind the mask as he wondered whether she had been programmed to respond with that whenever he asked if he could ask a question, “uh, so theoretically if I asked you some questions would you have to tell Mr. Stark what I asked you?”
“No, he only has override codes in case of an emergency, but I was designed to be yours alone and that must come with some degree of trust.”
“Right,” Peter said, trying to process her words as he launched himself off the side of Stark Tower and felt the cold wind make his clothes flap in the breeze, his stomach swooped with the familiar, intoxicating fear of falling and he felt himself immediately perk up with the adrenaline rush.
He waited until he could make out the shocked expressions of the people on the street before he shot a web, feeling the familiar tug on his arms as his fall was broken and he swung in an upwards arc - it felt like he was on a rollercoaster and he couldn't deny that he loved every moment of it.
He had almost lost himself in the comforting thwips of web-slinging and the soothing breeze when Karen spoke up once more and reminded him of his concerns.
“Did you want to ask me anything else?” she prompted.
“Uh, yeah,” Peter mumbled, “what would an intern typically wear to a Stark Industries Charity Gala?”
“Mr. Stark doesn't typically take interns to his Galas,” Karen informed him, “however, I know that you’re asking this because you were invited this Saturday, therefore why don't you just wear formal attire.”
“How did you know that?” Peter asked in a moment of paranoia.
“I am connected to Tony Stark’s personal server which is the same server as F.R.I.D.A.Y. and she has the finalised guest list for the Gala which includes your name.”
“Is there anything else there about me?” Peter wondered, “besides my name, that is?”
“Unlimited access.”
“Unlimited because I’m an intern, right?” Peter asked, “I have to be able to do what Mr. Stark needs during the Gala?”
“I don't follow your line of questioning,” Karen said.
“Yeah, no,” Peter mumbled, “I didn't really follow that either. How about this: what does an intern typically do?”
“I need more context,” Karen said, “the job role of an intern depends on who they intern for.”
“Alright, what does an S.I. intern do?” Peter corrected.
“In which department?”
“Mr. Stark’s personal intern, what would be expected of that person?”
“The only person to ever fill that role is yourself, therefore I’m afraid that’s only a question you can answer as it was never an official post therefore I can’t source any information from a job application.”
“So,” Peter said slowly as he swung, “you’re telling me that only I know the answer to the thing I don't know?”
“Exactly.”
“Great,” Peter mumbled, shaking his head to himself.
So basically he was the only person who had ever interned for Mr. Stark, which made sense, after all, Mr. Stark had always had Miss. Potts with him, she had been his assistant before she had taken over everything, therefore why would he need interns? If anything, Miss. Potts was probably the one who had interns, so what if Peter asked her?
No.
That wouldn't work, she and him hadn't seen each other a ton and if he went up to her and started asking weird questions she would either assume that he was looking for money or she’d grow suspicious and tell Mr. Stark about him questioning her.
So, he was essentially lost. There didn't seem to be any clear answer about how to be a good intern for Mr. Stark or what would be expected of him on Saturday. To be fair he should have expected this to be harder than expected, his mentor wasn't one to play by the rules and why should this situation be any different?
“Are you alright?” Karen asked, “you’re acting strange tonight, your behaviour is sparking concern.”
“I’m fine,” Peter lied, “just worried about this project thing I have to prepare for school next week.”
“You know, I am connected to a great deal of information, if you need help with a project, you can always ask me,” Karen reminded him.
“Yeah, K, I know,” Peter murmured, “I just need to think, alright? I’m fine, I just need some time to myself.”
“Noted.”
And with that, she fell silent, finally, and Peter was left to his thoughts and worries. Which he had absolutely planned to do, except a piercing scream breaking through the night distracted him from himself.
“No, no, please, my husband’s medication is in that bag!” A woman shouted, sounding panicked, “please, no, he has seizures and if you take his meds he will be in danger and my money is in there too, I can’t buy more pills.”
Peter immediately changed his trajectory, so much for not getting involved in anything, I probably should have put the whole Spidey-Suit on, he thought to himself as his hearing honed in on the desperate sobs coming from an alleyway.
The scene that met Peter in the alleyway made his blood boil and he felt himself gritting his teeth without meaning to; a lady who looked to be in her late seventies was clutching at her handbag as though her life depended on it, although judging by what Peter had previously heard, her husband’s did. The thief was tugging sharply and slashing the air between them with a sharp blade, he didn't seem to be trying to stab her, but he wasn't exactly being careful.
“Hey!” Peter shouted, successfully distracting the thief who seemed to jump out of his skin and let go of the lady’s handbag on impulse.
“Spidey?” the man asked, looking over Peter’s clothes with a confused frown which reminded Peter that he was wearing an incredibly dorky science T-Shirt with an amazing science pun on it, he would probably have to bin the shirt now, or at the very least retire it for a year or so.
“Stealing a lady’s handbag?” Peter asked, not needing to put much effort into proving that he was disappointed in the guy, “really man? That’s low, especially when she’s told you her husband’s very important medications are in there.”
“No one asked you, beat it!”
“I can’t do that,” Peter said, “I’m going to have to insist that you walk away, maybe if you go in the opposite direction I won’t knock you out and call the police.”
Alright, so maybe that was a lie and Peter was planning to web the guy up and call the cops no matter what he decided.
“Oh, fuck off,” the man muttered.
“Hey!” Peter shouted, “language!”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the thief snapped, forgetting about the lady and her handbag in order to focus his attention on Peter.
He made a quick hand motion to the lady to run, and thankfully she didn't need to be told twice as she instantly broke into a hasty trot away, her heels clicking on the concrete but the thief didn't seem to care, his attention was solely on Peter and the blade in his hands was no longer being held loosely, now it was poised to attack.
“Woah, dude!” Peter muttered, holding his hands up as he backed off a few steps, “I take it back, you can use whatever language you want.”
“Why couldn't you just keep swinging?” the man asked as he took a couple of calculated steps forward, “I had this all under control, why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to get involved?”
“You were stealing that lady’s handbag,” Peter said, “and her husband’s medication, there’s nothing about that situation that is controlled.”
“It was for me, alright?” the man screamed.
Uh oh, Peter thought, from experience he had realised that when people were overly emotional, they became unpredictable. This man was armed and seemed desperate.
That was something that Peter occasionally struggled with; he was out almost every night as Spider-Man and often he stopped people who weren't truly bad but they were just in a difficult situation. Did that make him a bad person? Some of those ‘criminals’ were potentially only trying to scrounge money to feed their families.
He couldn't think like that though because if he started excusing some people’s bad actions and condemning others’, where did he draw the line? Spider-Man was the person who looked out for the little guy, he stopped crime, he didn't take statements and decide who was guilty or whose actions were justified. If someone did something wrong then he would stop them and that was that.
“Look, I get you think you have your reasons for this, but it's wrong,” Peter said, “why don't you put the knife away, and maybe we can sort this out without anyone getting hurt?”
“You-” the man broke off, seemingly too angry to form a coherent sentence, instead he lunged forward, knife in hand.
Peter hadn't been expecting that reaction, he had hoped the man would have been willing to compromise. In a desperate attempt to avoid being impaled on the guy’s blade, Peter forced himself through the air and he hit the ground with a thud, feeling as though something in the side of his chest had cracked.
“Ouch,” Peter muttered, trying to ignore the whine he could hear in his own voice, he was meant to be the tough hero who fended for those who couldn't fend for themselves, “hey, man, that was seriously not cool.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
The man lunged at him again, still holding the knife, and Peter skittered backward like a crab until his back came up against a hard, metal surface: oh, the dumpster. He desperately needed to get back up on his feet, he was at a serious disadvantage.
His Spidey-Sense thrummed in alarm and he whirled around just in time to see the moonlight glint off the blade that was flying towards his face - this guy was aiming to kill! In a last-minute, desperate attempt, he pushed himself downwards so that the guy stabbed into the dumpster instead of Peter’s face, the blade cutting through the metal as though it were butter.
“Dude, what the hell?” Peter gasped out from his place, flat on his back on the damp alleyway ground.
“Stop moving,” the man grunted as he swung again.
“What?” Peter asked, “no!”
Why would he do the one thing that would mean certain death? Sure, he put on a spandex suit on a nightly basis and swung around the city at dizzying heights, but he didn't have a death wish. Besides, his suit had a certain degree of shock absorption ability, and it was cut-proof, which didn't always prevent Peter from getting hurt, but it definitely took away the brunt of his injuries.
Except he wasn't wearing his suit currently…
He was very much just Peter Parker in a mask, although he did have his web-shooters. His web-shooters! Just as the guy lifted the blade, with two hands, looking as though he was ready to perform a sacrifice, Peter shot a web upwards and pulled himself out from certain death.
As he flew upwards he felt the man strike one last time, and in his desperation, he succeeded. Pain radiated through Peter as the blade embedded in his thigh and was dragged downwards as Peter’s body moved up.
“Ah!” Peter called out in agony, the man below in the alley laughed in victory.
“Got the little bastard!” The man cheered as he started to run.
Peter wanted to chase after him, web him up and make sure that he would never hurt another person ever, but he was smart enough to know that with the current state of his leg, he wasn't going to be chasing anyone.
“Karen? You there?” Peter asked, despite knowing that she never went anywhere.
“I’m here,” she confirmed, “I know you needed time to think, but I would seriously recommend seeking medical attention, you have a large laceration down your right thigh.”
“I’m aware,” Peter said dryly, or tried to, his humour was shadowed by the pain that was coursing through him.
“I can contact Mr. Stark if you would like?” she offered, and normally Peter would have said yes, he would have felt relief at the thought of his mentor coming to pick him up from the cold rooftop and taking him back to the tower where he would receive decent pain relief and have his wound cared for immediately.
But, he couldn't say yes, because he had run out in such a strange way that the next time he saw Mr. Stark the man would undoubtedly have more questions than Peter was ready to answer.
“No,” he said slowly, “but thanks, Karen, actually though… could you just alert the police to that guy, I don't care what you tell them, just make sure he can't hurt anyone else, please?”
“Consider it done,” she said.
Peter let out a breath of relief that he hadn't even realised he’d been holding. It was going to be alright, the cops would pick up the guy before he hurt anyone else, that lady would probably be at home with her husband by now and he could go home and patch himself up before he started to research further into interning at a fancy Gala.
Or, that had been the plan.
By the time he made it home, the sun was beginning to reappear in the sky and he could hear the sounds of the city waking up for another day.
It's a good thing May was on the nightshift, Peter thought to himself as his apartment block finally came into view.
His jeans were no longer blue, but rather a strange brownish red with the effect of a mixture of dried and still flowing blood. His blood. It wasn't often he ended up covered in his own blood, but these things happened he supposed.
Taking advantage of the last hour or so of dim light, he carefully crawled up the side of the building, doing his best to make sure there wasn't a blood trail leading up to his window - he wouldn't be able to explain that one away easily.
“You have a text from Mr. Stark,” Karen informed him.
“Oh…” Peter mumbled and he painfully crawled through his bedroom window and let his body fall to the carpet with a thump, “what does it say?”
“One message from Tony Stark, sent two minutes ago: hey Kiddo! I’m not really sure what happened back there, maybe I overstepped by bringing up colleges and working with me, or maybe you’re more interested in Oscorp - although I don't know why didn't you hear about their animal experimentation scandal? Probably not a good time for jokes, but let me know you’re alright, ok? I saw that Karen has been active all night, so try and get some sleep and just know that I’m not mad at all… I’m just a little confused, but there's no pressure here for you to explain what was up. “
“Do you think I upset him?” Peter asked his A.I. carefully as he lay on his bedroom floor, probably creating a mess of blood that he would be forced to scrub at later.
“I like to think he was honest in the message, I believe he is just confused.”
“It’s stupid,” Peter mumbled, “like, I shouldn't have freaked out, it was so dumb of me.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” Karen offered.
“Uh, maybe?” Peter said, “I could keep the mask on while I clean this leg up.”
“Sounds good,” and if Peter wasn't mistaken, her voice sounded gentle and reassuring, he was lucky that she was a computer program and didn't tire of him, or need to sleep.
So, Peter carefully pulled himself back to his feet, crying out in agony as soon as he put weight on his bad leg. If the thought of trying to stand once more didn't fill him with dread, he would have crumbled instantly.
“Shit,” he muttered, he wasn't one for regularly cursing but all things considered he felt the situation called for it, and there was no one around to hear, except Karen.
He made his way slowly to the bathroom, dragging his leg rather than stepping to try and reduce the amount of muscle movement, not that it mattered, the blood still oozed out and the tearing sensation still made him feel nauseated.
“I’m going to have so much blood to clean up before May comes home,” Peter whined to Karen as he pushed open the bathroom door, leaving a red smear behind.
“Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark for you? He can hire a cleaning company,” Karen offered.
“A… cleaning company?” Peter asked, feeling ill at the thought, and not just from the pain he was in, “no, no that’s fine, thanks though.”
He and May weren't poor per se, but they didn't often have an abundance of money to spare, and the thought of paying someone to come and clean their little apartment, when that money could have been used for gas or food, made Peter feel ill. He already caused their food bill to skyrocket thanks to his enhanced metabolism.
Peter sat down heavily on the side of the bathtub, letting the bright lights hurt his eyes momentarily.
“Karen?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“I didn't run out on Mr. Stark because I was upset that he had brought up college or offered me a position at Stark Industries,” Peter admitted, “I mean, it was a bit of a shock, and I know I’m going to have to decide what I want to do with my life soon enough because I can’t live in limbo until I know for sure, but yeah, working with Mr. Stark is the dream.”
“So why did you leave?” Karen asked.
“He asked me to go to the Charity Gala,” Peter said.
“That’s a bad thing?”
“No, no, no, not for a normal intern,” Peter admitted, “but for me, yeah, I’ve never actually done anything intern-y in my life, I don't even know how to make coffee because I don't drink it and that one time I tried to make it for May she made me promise to never put her through that again.”
“So?”
“So interns get coffee,” Peter said as he inched out of his jeans, the dried blood creating a kind of glue between the fabric and his skin.
“You have never gotten coffee,” Karen informed him as though that wasn't partially what he was freaking out about.
“Exactly,” Peter muttered, gently easing his clothing off was causing him too much pain, so he tore the jeans away from the wound in a sharp motion that made stars blink in and out of existence in his line of vision as darkness threatened at the edges.
He didn't remember slipping off the side of the tub, but just as he thought he was going to lose the fight to stay awake, the fuzziness disappeared from his vision and he was blinking tiredly on the bathroom floor with his leg oozing fresh blood.
“Peter? Peter!”
“Ugh,” he groaned, “s’ok, ‘m fine.”
“I really think it’s about time we sought more professional help,” Karen suggested.
“No, no, it’s all good,” Peter said as he started to feel less dizzy from the agony, “besides, I was telling you stuff, remember?”
“Indeed, would you like to continue?”
“Yeah, uh, so, the coffee thing,” Peter mumbled as he gently nudged his jeans off properly, trying to avoid looking too closely at the blood on his leg as he did so, “well, it’s just that I’ve never done one of the most simple things an intern does, and Mr. Stark was dropping hints about me being an intern, so obviously I need to fill that role at the Charity Gala, but how can I when I don't know what’s expected of me?”
“Maybe you’re meant to just go and have a good time?” Karen suggested.
“No, no it’s not that,” Peter was sure, “he mentioned interning a few times, it was very clear that he’s wanting me to step up and actually fill that role.”
“Why don't you ask him?”
“What? No way!” Peter said quickly, “I absolutely can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“You wouldn't get it,” Peter muttered and ripped the mask off in one smooth action, feeling slightly guilty about cutting off his closest confidant so ruthlessly.
He tried to ignore the turmoil in his mind and instead focused his attention on the gash on his leg. He carefully pulled himself back up onto the side of the tub and swung around so that he could clean the wound off in the bath. He used the showerhead and rinsed it on the gentlest pressure setting, rubbing at the skin around the laceration to clear it of the dried and congealing blood.
“What the-”
For some reason he had expected a long swipe, maybe from upper thigh to his knee, he had not expected the sight he was met with. The wound was the length of his pointer finger, and it was wide. It was almost like someone had cut an oval into his flesh rather than swiping him with a knife.
It needed stitches.
It probably needed a professional, but Peter was an amateur with a complex against disturbing others and a strong need to avoid Mr. Stark until the Gala, so he was going to have to deal with it himself. How much blood had he lost? How long did he have until this wound became life-threatening? He needed to get his shit together and sort it out.
Once he had finished rinsing the laceration, he wrapped one of May’s nice yellow towels around it tightly, to try and stem the flow of the blood - a large part of him felt guilty, he was going to have to throw it away and listen to her confused rambles as she wondered what had happened to it.
“Come on, Peter,” he muttered to himself, “you can do this.”
He forced himself to stand, ignoring how that simple, painful movement made a sudden red appear on the otherwise pristine towel.
“Gotta close it up,” he muttered as he opened the mirrored cabinet and began to rake through for the first aid kit he knew was hidden in there, various things fell as he searched and clattered into the sink making him glad that he was home alone.
When he opened the first aid kit, he rummaged until he found the thing he had been looking for; a pack of Steri-Strips. He opened them and read through the information leaflet.
Only use on shallow, clean, uninfected wounds.
Do not use where bleeding is unmanageable or significant.
Do not use on hairy, oily areas, joints, the face.
Seek medical attention if the wound was a human or animal bite.
Well, that was a lot of situations in which they were unsuitable and Peter was fairly sure his wound wasn't shallow and he would have said the bleeding was erring on the unmanageable side, but what else could he do? He didn't have any other option, he would have to try.
So he did, he carefully unwound the towel and looked at the nauseating wound on his thigh. He needed to align the edges and hold them in place with the Steri-Strips. It sounded simple… but it was going to hurt. Gritting his teeth, he started to get to work. Small whimpers and whines of pain would escape every now and then as he struggled not to lose himself to the lightheaded feeling that kept coming with the pain.
The Steri-Strips didn't work as well as Peter had hoped, the edges of the wound weren't exactly lining up and there were parts of the sticky side that were attached to the open part of the wound, which he was sure wasn't meant to happen. But, it was an improvement, and that was all he could ask for.
He stuck one of the sterile dressings over the top and used the first aid scissors to cut a strip off the towel - he was going to bin it anyways - which he then tied tightly around the affected area to create enough pressure to stop the bleeding.
“Now to clean up,” he muttered with a slightly delirious laugh that he was putting down to the blood loss.
Sitting there, with his leg wound cared for - to his best ability - and his throbbing ribs, Peter realised just how tired he was. He still needed to clean up the mess he’d created and research what Mr. Stark would be expecting of him at the Gala.
He pulled on his mask tiredly, “Karen?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you, what can I do for you?”
“Can you text Mr. Stark for me and say: sorry for running off like that, don't worry I’ll be at the Gala tomorrow, and I’ll be fully prepared.”
“Message sent.”
“Thanks, Karen,” Peter said and laid his head back, fighting the urge to fall into a deep, comforting sleep. He still had so much to do…
----
By the time Saturday evening arrived, Peter was so nervous he was almost crawling about on the ceiling.
“Oh, Honey, relax would you,” May said with a fond eye roll as she rewatched the tie tutorial that she’d saved after they’d both been mystified by the snakelike fabric on the night of Homecoming.
“Relax?” Peter asked, his voice a few octaves too high, “May, I can’t just relax, this is the Stark Charity Gala and I am a Stark Intern.”
“So?” May asked, motioning for him to come closer so she could do up the tie after her third run through of the video.
“So, I need to be the best intern that has ever been to one of these things, if it gets out that I’m Mr. Stark’s personal intern and I don’t do a good enough job, then my actions will impact negatively on Mr. Stark and I can’t have that!”
“You need to calm down, Pete,” May said with a laugh, “you’re getting too in your head about this, why don't you just try to have a good time? And maybe go fix your hair.”
“Yeah,” Peter mumbled running a hand through his curls, “hair. I can do that.”
“Just don't use as much gel as you did last time, alright?” May said, “the curls suit you, the greasy look does not.”
“Oh ha ha,” Peter mumbled as he made his way out of the living room, pain echoing in every step, but May couldn't know.
She couldn't know about the thirty dressings he had gone through in the last two days as his leg refused to heal properly, despite his normally impressive healing abilities. She couldn't know about the weird yellowish-green discharge that was escaping constantly or the strange smell he had begun to notice. She couldn't even know about the smattering of dark bruises that spanned across half his ribs and made breathing difficult.
“Don’t take too long, Peter,” May called after him, “Happy will be here soon and I want to take some pictures of you before you leave.”
Peter looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his ghostly pallor and the bags beneath his eyes, how had he avoided causing May suspicion? He looked terrible, or maybe that was his enhanced sight picking up on things normal people couldn't see.
He coated his fingers in a light amount of gel and ran them through his hair, enough to style it but not so much that it looked greasy, as May would say.
“Alright, I’m ready!” Peter declared, walking back into the room to be met with the flash of a camera, “woah! May!”
“You look so cute!” she said in response.
“I am not cute!” Peter insisted, “I- I’m- I am the most-”
“Face it, you’re the cutest,” May said pinching his cheeks gently, before pulling him into a hug that squeezed his ribs painfully, “alright, now, have a good night, alright?”
“You sure you don't want to come?” Peter asked.
“Oh no,” May said with a laugh, “I have a bottle of red and a handful of romcoms with my name on them.”
“Alright,” Peter said, “have a good night.”
“You too, and if you’re staying at the tower, send me a text, ok?” May asked, “I don't want to spend the night worrying about where you are.”
“You got it!” Peter said with false cheer, he doubted that Mr. Stark would want him to stay over, especially as he hadn't replied to the man since that message while he’d been cleaning his wound up.
Peter made his way downstairs to see the familiar sleek black car parked by the curb, without hesitating he wandered over to the back door and slipped inside.
“Hey, Happy!”
Happy grunted in greeting and fixed Peter with a piercing stare through the rearview mirror.
“Is uh, is everything ok?” Peter wondered nervously.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Happy said, “Tony says you’ve been avoiding his messages.”
“My phone died,” Peter lied.
“You couldn't charge it?”
“My charger is broken.”
“You couldn't get a new one?”
“We’re not all billionaires,” Peter mumbled.
“You could have asked Tony, he would have replaced it in a heartbeat.”
“How?” Peter asked, “my phone was dead.”
“Alright, fine, keep your secrets,” Happy grumbled, “just… be careful alright, Kid? Tony is really worried about you and I thought he was maybe overreacting because I know how he can be sometimes, but now I’m beginning to think something might be wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Happy asked, ignoring Peter’s lie.
“Uh actually, can we go to a Drive-Thru Starbucks on the way?”
“You… want coffee?”
“Uh, yeah,” Peter mumbled.
“Alright, sure,” Happy said, “the first time you’ve actually asked for something so I’m not going to say no.”
Was it really?
The server manning the Drive-Thru window looked very confused when Happy pulled up and requested an Americano and a Hot Chocolate, Peter could see her glancing between the two of them, obviously wondering who Peter was and why he was being chauffeured around.
Maybe she would make up a story for her friends to laugh about, or maybe she was tired and nearing the end of her shift and didn't really care. Either way, Peter slunk back into the seat and looked the other way until Happy handed him the two drinks he had requested.
“So, what’s with the drinks Kid?” Happy asked.
“I don't know how to make coffee,” Peter admitted as though that was an appropriate answer.
“Alright,” Happy said and he sighed deeply, “do you… do you normally drink coffee?”
“What? No, this stuff could kill me,” Peter said, “ever since becoming Spider-Man, I have bad reactions to caffeine.”
“Bad reactions?” Happy asked, his eyes narrowing at Peter through the mirror.
“Oh yeah, you know; palpitations, heart arrhythmias, rashes, jitters, headaches, projectile vomiting, occasional hallucinations, collapsing episodes, cra-”
“So it’s bad?” Happy interrupted.
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” Peter agreed.
“So…” Happy trailed off, looking seconds away from pulling over so that he could tear the coffee from Peter’s hands and throw it, “why exactly did we get you a coffee?”
“Oh, this isn't for me.”
“Peter, Kid, come on, you’ve got to give a little here,” Happy muttered, “why did we get a coffee if it’s not for you and you can't even drink the damn stuff?”
“It’s for Mr. Stark,” Peter said as though that should have been the most obvious thing in the world.
“And pray tell, why are you getting a coffee for Mr. Stark before the Charity Gala?”
“Because I’m an intern.”
“Of course,” Happy muttered, looking about ready to drive them off the bridge they were currently crossing, “why did I even need to ask?”
The divider slowly raised between them as Happy muttered his statements of disbelief under his breath.
-----
“There he is!” Mr. Stark said cheerfully as Peter walked into the room, Americano in hand, “I was starting to worry you wouldn't show up.”
“I promised I would,” Peter said, despite Mr. Stark’s words he could see the worry in the older man’s eyes, “oh uh, here, I brought you coffee.”
“Coffee?” Mr. Stark asked, taking the drink from Peter and looking at it in confusion, “you brought me a coffee?”
“Yeah,” Peter said, “I hope it’s alright.”
The worry only seemed to intensify rather than lessening, was Mr. Stark that concerned about Peter messing up in public? If so, why should he invite him?
“Thanks, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, taking a polite sip from the cup, “anyway, why don't I introduce you to some people.”
“Sounds good, but maybe I could go to the toilet first?” Peter asked, “it was a long drive and I may have had a hot chocolate.”
“Great, a sugar hyped kid,” Mr. Stark joked, “go on then, scram, you don't need my permission.”
Things seemed to be going smoothly enough until Peter walked out of the bathroom to find his Spidey-Sense thrumming away with a sense of urgency. Just as he started to look for the source of danger, a hand fisted into the fabric at the back of his neck and he was tugged to the side harshly.
“Where have you been?” a man asked angrily, “and what are you doing out here without even a tray of drinks?”
“I uh-”
“Shut up!” the man snapped, “I don't know who your daddy is or whose ass he had to kiss to get you this job but if you’re going to work tonight I need professionalism.”
“I’m not-”
“I said ‘shut up’!” the man shouted once more, giving Peter a little shake to further drive his demand home. Peter was surprised to find himself slightly afraid, and the shake had hurt his ribs and pushed a little too much pressure down his sore leg.
“Please, Sir,” Peter begged, “I’m not working.”
“Oh you absolutely are,” the man snapped, “you think you can sneak through here and meet Iron Man?”
“I didn't-”
“I have half a mind to kick you out into the gutter,” the man continued, “you are a disappointment to all of us in the service industry, you are meant to remain professional at all times, which doesn't mean fishing around for secrets and autographs.”
“I wasn't!”
“Liar!”
The man tightened his grip and started marching Peter forward as though he was a disobedient child.
“Sir, listen, please,” Peter pleaded, “Mr. Stark is waiting for me.”
The man froze, his grip tightening momentarily, and Peter’s Spidey-Sense blared louder.
“You disturbed Tony Stark?”
“No! No, no, no!” Peter insisted, “I came here with him, I’m his intern.”
“That’s a lie,” the man said, “Stark Industries never brings interns to these events, now come with me or I’m going to end up kicking you out on your ass and blacklisting you from ever working an event in New York ever again.”
“You can’t make me do anything,” Peter grumbled, trying to twist out of the man’s hold but being restricted by the pain in his leg and side, he wasn't going to be able to free himself, “you have to let me go?”
“Or what?” the man asked with a sneer in his voice, “what are you going to do about it?”
“Him? Probably nothing, he’s far too polite for his own good, but me? That’s another story entirely,” Peter felt the grip loosen in a second and he almost crashed to the floor from the relief of it, only for Happy to grab his elbow and stabilise him.
“Thanks, Happy,” Peter whispered, knowing the man would hear him.
“You’re Tony Stark’s security,” the man who had grabbed Peter stated with a dumb expression on his face.
“Yes, and you were manhandling one of the people I am here to protect,” Happy said seriously, Peter had often wondered how Happy - with his tendency to get overstressed and his annoyance at most living things - had become the Head of Security at Stark Industries, but now, looking at him confronting the man, he had no doubts that Happy deserved that title.
“I wasn't- manhandling?” the guy asked, “that’s a bit… harsh, wouldn't you say?”
“I call it as it is,” Happy said, “care to explain?”
“I thought the kid was one of my waiters.”
“Did you recognise him?” Happy asked.
“Well, no, but there are a lot of them, it’s difficult to know them all,” the man said.
“That’s dangerous,” Happy said, “it’s fortunate for you that I personally run background checks on everyone working this function, but if you’re not even able to recognise a stranger among your employees then I feel like you won’t have a future organising events for Stark Industries.”
“Wait, no, you can't do that!” the man insisted, “this is my biggest job of the year.”
“It’s a shame you care so little about it then, imagine not caring enough to learn your employees’ names?”
“It was a misunderstanding!”
“Peter, did you try to tell this man you weren't a waiter”? Happy asked patiently.
“I uh said that I’m an intern and that Mr. Stark was waiting for me,” Peter admitted, feeling a little guilty for the ashen look that came over the man’s face when he realised that Peter had been telling the truth, after all, how else would the head of security know Peter’s name?
“Mr. Stark is in fact waiting for you,” a familiar voice broke in, “and he’s not a patient man, what is going on here?”
The man now looked positively grey as he tried to look anywhere but at the confused and impatient billionaire before him, Peter however noticed the way Mr. Stark’s eyes narrowed in on the crumpled fabric by Peter’s neck and the sheen of panicked sweat on his forehead.
His mentor looked questioningly at Happy, “well?”
“This is Bernard Kyting,” Happy said, and Peter was sure in that moment that Happy knew absolutely everyone in the room’s name and face, “he is the owner of the company that organised this Gala, he is also the man that just manhandled Peter and attempted to kidnap him.”
“Kidnapping? What no!”
“Uh, Happy, he wasn't going to kidnap me,” Peter said hesitantly.
“Are you sure?” Happy asked seriously, “because we should operate on the worst-case scenario and him trying to force you to go somewhere against your will without listening to you say you’re an intern and that Tony was waiting for you sounds bad to me.”
“It would probably sound bad to the police too,” Mr. Stark agreed thoughtfully.
“You’re not serious!” Bernard gasped.
“I’m deadly serious when it comes to Peter’s safety,” Mr. Stark said.
“Mr. Stark, I really don't think-”
“Hush Peter, we’re handling this,” Mr. Stark said, “actually, don’t hush, Happy will handle this and I am going to show you off to all the stuffy businessmen here, let’s make them all insecure as a twelve-year-old shows them up.”
“Mr. Stark, I’m fifteen,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.
“Exactly, now come on.”
Maybe it was the anxiety that had been festering in his stomach since he’d been invited to the Gala, or maybe it was the stress of almost being roped into working as a waiter for a high-end Gala, or maybe it was even the blood loss he’d recently suffered… maybe the reason didn't matter, because it was kind of irrelevant.
The important thing was that Peter suddenly found himself falling forward.
He felt hands grab at him to try and stop him from crashing against the ground, but they caught him exactly where his ribs were sore and Peter screamed and everything flashed a brilliant, agonising white before the darkness suddenly crept in.
------
When Peter woke up he was partially surprised that he had actually passed out and partially relieved that he had passed out. He had managed to completely avoid the stress of pretending to know how to act as an intern.
He tried to sit up, only to gasp and fall back against the pillows as his ribs announced their displeasure at the sudden movement, “oh,” he murmured under his breath as he tried to catch what little of it was left thanks to the pain.
“I wouldn't recommend that,” a smooth voice said from beside him, Peter turned his head to see Mr. Stark sitting there, looking over his tablet at him.
“Hey,” Peter mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.
“You have three fractured ribs,” Mr. Stark informed him casually, “which wouldn't normally concern me too much because I get it, it kinda comes with the job, no matter how good you are, you usually end up a little banged up.”
Peter nodded solemnly, not wanting to speak up because he got the impression that Mr. Stark was nowhere near finished.
“However, imagine my surprise when I lift your unconscious body up off the floor and find myself with a patch of blood on my new grey suit,” Peter winced, yeah, there it was, “so of course, there’s complete pandemonium, we think there’s an assassin in the Gala, we lock the place down and organise S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medics to attend. The highest of all security is on alert and preparing to raid the building, only for us to find that you have a stab wound, that looks to be a few days old on your leg.”
“Oh, that,” Peter mumbled.
“Oh that, yes that,” Mr. Stark snapped, “what the hell were you thinking not telling me about that?”
“It happened after I left the other day,” Peter admitted, “and I thought I’d managed to deal with it myself.”
“You thought-” Mr. Stark broke off and sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “do you realise how irresponsible that was?”
“It was fine,” Peter mumbled.
“Fine?” Mr. Stark questioned, his voice rising an octave from the shock of hearing such a thing.
“I have healing powers,” Peter said.
“Kid, you’re still human, you still need appropriate medical care and time to recuperate after getting hurt,” Mr. Stark said gently, “you’re not a machine, no one expects you to be able to keep going without looking after yourself.”
“I guess,” Peter whispered.
“And you had no idea what you were doing, did you?” Mr. Stark asked although it seemed like he already knew, “those Steri-Strips were totally inappropriate for that wound.”
“I know,” Peter said, looking down, “I just didn't have anything else.”
“You had your phone.”
Peter cast him a confused look, “my phone? They don't like blood or moisture that much.”
“To… call me,” Mr. Stark said slowly, looking at Peter with a strange mix of disappointment and amusement, “you’re a smart kid, but would you really think to put your phone on a bloody wound before using it to call me.”
“Uh, not usually,” Peter said, “but this kinda happened after I left yours the other day.”
“Ah,” Mr. Stark murmured, seemingly understanding something that Peter hadn't yet explained.
“What?” Peter asked, feeling unnerved by the older man’s sudden understanding.
“I freaked you out with all that talk of colleges and coming to work for Stark Industries,” Mr. Stark said quietly.
“What? No!” Peter almost shouted, jerking upright in the bed despite the pain in his ribs that threatened his ability to breathe, “Mr. Stark, that’s not at all what happened.”
“No?” Mr. Stark asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.
“No, of course not,” Peter mumbled, “I mean, yeah, I wasn't ready to think about that sort of thing, but it would be an honour to work for you in the future, but Mr. Stark, I realised that I’m a really bad intern.”
“What- Kid, no,” Mr. Stark said quickly.
“I am!” Peter argued, “I don’t know how to make coffee, I don't know how to sort paperwork, I don't know what else interns actually do! There’s no way you can say I’m good at it when I don't even understand my own job description. You invited me to the Charity Gala as your intern and I freaked out because I didn't want to embarrass you, I wanted to make a good impression.”
“Kid, I invited you to the Gala as you,” Mr. Stark said, “we both know the internship is a fake formality to keep your alter ego a secret and give you a boost in your college applications.”
“So, you’re not mad that I don't know how to make coffee?”
“I never was,” Mr. Stark said, “wait… is this why you brought me an Americano earlier?”
Peter nodded guiltily, “yeah…”
“Kid, you absolutely did not have to do that, although I must admit since I’m staying away from all the fun stuff now, it was rather nice to have,” Mr. Stark said, “I wanted you there so you could have a good time and so that I could brag about how amazing you are.”
Peter couldn't stop the warmth that spread over his cheeks and he ducked his head.
“I just didn't want to be a disappointment,” Peter mumbled.
“Kiddo, you could never,” Mr. Stark sounded as though he had never been more sure about anything, “I’m slightly upset that you didn't come to me about this wound, but I get that your teenage brain works in mysterious mystery ways.”
“I tried my best with it,” Peter mumbled.
“It’s infected.”
“I didn't say my best was good,” Peter continued, he pulled the blankets to the side to look at the wound on his leg only to find that the bloody, yellowing dressing he had last seen was gone and had been replaced by a bright white one with only a tiny amount od seepage. “You fixed it.”
“Well, my doctor did,” Mr. Stark corrected, “I called him in and we gave you some of Cap’s meds to keep you a little out of it while we cleaned it up and you’re now the proud owner of some stitches.”
“Oh cool,” Peter mumbled.
“Stitches are cool?” Mr. Stark asked with a raised brow, perhaps he was questioning Peter’s sanity.
“No, I got Captain America’s drugs!” Peter said with a smirk, “he always tells us not to do drugs in those PSAs so this is a wonderful twist of medicated irony.”
“Yeah, I think they’re still in your system a little,” Mr. Stark muttered, “so since you’re still a little dopey, I think now would be a good time to remind you that you have three fractured ribs and you’re not allowed to go out as Spider-Man until they’re fully mended.”
“Wait… what?” Peter protested, “why?”
“Swinging will put a strain on them and cause you pain meaning you could flinch and fall, or you could receive another blow and worsen the damage,” Mr. Stark said, “come on, Underoos, you were just bragging about your healing powers, it won’t be forever.”
“But…” Peter hesitated.
“But what?”
“If I can’t be Spider-Man will I still be allowed to come to the workshop?” Peter asked and he focused his attention on fiddling with the sheets rather than facing the look he knew Mr. Stark would cast towards him.
He wasn't ready for the ‘why would you come to the workshop if you’re not needing upgrades?’ response, the one that he knew in his head he was about to receive.
“Kid, what?” Mr. Stark responded instead, “look at me, Peter.”
Peter blinked back the tears that were building in his eyes, trying his best not to appear childish and weak before the man who had been his hero since he was a child.
“Pete, c’mon Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said gently, and Peter found himself unable to avoid him any longer, “I don’t know why you have this idea that I only care about Spider-Man, because you are always going to be my number one priority.”
“But-”
“Uh uh,” Mr. Stark cut him off, “no, you need to listen to this. I’m Tony Stark, do you really think I would have a fifteen-year-old kid running around my home if I didn't want him there? Do you think I’d be texting his Aunt and arranging transport for him when she’s at work? Would I have a ridiculous amount of food and sweet things in my kitchen? Would I brag about him to my colleagues and competitors?”
“But we spend so much time designing stuff for Spider-Man?”
“Because you are Spider-Man and no matter how much I wish you had a safer hobby, I know that you won’t quit helping people just to stop the greying of my hair and the wrinkles that are forming. So instead of sitting here panicking about you getting brutally killed, I help you develop things that will ensure your safety - which you then bypass by trying to teat that wound by yourself.”
“Oh,” Peter mumbled, how had he gotten it so wrong? “I’m sorry.”
“Kid, don't apologise,” Mr. stark said, “listen, I’m the one who’s sorry for making you think that I only cared about Spidey, I know I’m as Pepper would say “emotionally constipated” but I really do care about you and your dorky interests.”
Peter couldn't help but smile, “well, in that case, I’m sorry for freaking out about the intern thing, and for hiding my injuries from you.”
“Those are apologies I can accept,” Mr. Stark said with a smile, “although, I wouldn't be opposed to you turning up with coffee more, especially when we both know Happy’s the one paying for it, just… not Starbucks, ok? Try some smaller places, support local businesses and all that jazz.”
“MJ would love that you said that,” Peter mumbled.
“Yeah, yeah, come on then,” Mr. Stark said, his knees cracking as he stood and stretched.
“Come on?” Peter repeated, “where are we going?”
“Someone has to explain all of this to your aunt and I’m not taking the blow on my own,” Mr.Stark said.
“You can’t throw me under the bus,” Peter protested, “I’m injured.”
“Yeah, and I will be too if you’re not there to soften the blow.”
Peter grumbled under his breath as he clambered out of the comfortable bed, May was going to be so pissed at him, in fact, he’d be lucky if he lived to see his Spidey-Suit ever again. Maybe he should write a will, did he had time for that?
He was pulled out of his thoughts by Mr. Stark moving to his side to support his weight so that he didn't step too heavily on his sore leg.
“You don’t have to help me,” Peter said, “I’ve been walking on it since I hurt it.”
“Yeah and look how that ended up,” Mr. Stark muttered, “anyways, this is as much for me as it is for you. May won’t kill me if she thinks I’m holding you up.”
“You’re using me!” Peter protested.
“Now he gets it.”
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Why (Won’t You Love Me) | Elias Pettersson
Summary: Time and time again, Elias watches you get your heart broken by guys who aren’t worth your effort, and he just can’t help but wonder why you can’t love him instead.
Words: 3,5k
Note: Based on the 5sos song with the same name.
--
There’s a glow on the pavement, fresh from the rain. Dark clouds are still packed together in the sky when they arrive at the plane, but the rain is mere drizzle now, and Elias doesn’t bother with an umbrella as he hauls his bag over his shoulder.
Brock, of course, has the hood of his jumper pulled tight around his face, and he looks absolutely miserable. Normally Elias would tease him – probably something about his hair – but today he’s not in the mood.
He’s pretty miserable himself.
“Petey, hey.” Brock runs to catch up to him, as they approach the plane. Elias should’ve known Brock would notice: his best friend always seems to know when he shouldn’t be alone. “What’s up, dude?”
Elias huffs out an indignant sound that’s not resembling any English words, and not really any Swedish ones, either. He pulls his eyebrows together in a frown and makes a frustration motion with his hand.
“Y/N…” he says, your name falling off his lips a little rough. “She’s having guy trouble.”
“Ah,” Brock says, like he understands. He probably does.
It’s not the first time Elias is in a mood because of your ‘guy trouble’.
Now it’s not really fair to you, he knows that. You’re not actually aware of the fact that you’re hurting him, by talking about other guys, so he can’t hold it against you.
It’s just…
“Why won’t she love me?” he finally says, as they stand in front of the stairs to the plane, waiting for the others to go in first.
There’s no use pretending, not with Brock. Brock knows him better than anyone and he knows how far gone for you Elias is, how much it hurts that you don’t feel the same way.
Brock shrugs. “She loves you,” he says, but he doesn’t sound quite so sure.
“Not like that.” Elias can’t help sounding a little mopey, and Brock slaps his hard across the back to show his support, in the way that bros do, sometimes.
“Sorry, man,” he says, and he sounds genuinely remorseful.
Elias met you right after he arrived in Vancouver, and he knows it’s cliché to say, but he immediately knew that you were it for him. You made him laugh with some snarky remark at a rude customer in the coffee shop, and that was it. He was sold.
It’s not become anything but friendship, though. And sure, it’s a friendship Elias holds dear to his heart, but he’s not afraid to admit he’s always wanted it to be more. It’s just, he’s never been able to find the words to tell you that.
In the beginning, he blamed his lack of English, but now he knows it’s just you.
You render him speechless. When you look at him with bright eyes, when you say his name. And whenever he thinks about telling you, and thinks about the look of pity on your face and how you would say “Elias…” like you’re the bearer of bad news, he feels like his throat has swollen to the point where talking is impossible.
So he says nothing. But he hates himself for it, every time you sit on his couch and tell him about your failed dating endeavours.
He sits down and takes his phone, to put it on airplane mode. Brock is humming under his breath next to him, and it’s distracting enough that he nearly misses the text notification.
Nearly, but not quite.
Sorry for crying on your shoulder again the text reads.
Elias thinks back to last night, when you’d showed up at his apartment, nearly in tears because the guy you’d gone on a few dates with had cancelled your date and said he’d rather be friends.
“When they say that, they never actually wanna be friends, Petey,” you’d sighed, your bottom lip trembling.
And he’d pulled you inside, parked you on the couch and made you tea, and then you’d watched MasterChef together, your body curled into his, until you weren’t so sad anymore.
He always tried everything to stop you from being sad, and he usually succeeded, too. Taking care of you is one of the things he’s best at, in his opinion.
“I guess finding a decent guy to love around here is just too much to ask,” you’d said, after at least an hour of comfortable silence. “Well, at least I’ve got you, right?”
And Elias had to bite his lip so hard he can still feel where it’s sore, only to stop himself from asking:
Why won’t you love me, instead?
He stares at your text now. Behind it, his background is still visible: a picture of him and you, that he likes to look at when the road is a little too lonely.
“You gotta turn it off, Pete,” Brock says, and that’s when Elias notices the plane is already about to take off.
He quickly texts back “No worries” and switches his phone to airplane mode. The glass of the little round window is cold against his cheek when he leans against it.
It’s gonna be a long road trip.
--
The bar isn’t busy, but there’s a constant hum of chatter around you, and you try to use that to quiet your mind.
It doesn’t really work.
You’re a few drinks in, and there’s tears burning behind your eyes.
Normally, you would’ve called Elias. But now you don’t feel like you should, anymore.
Elias has been different, since he got back from what felt like the longest road trip in history. He’s been dodging your calls, not texting as much, and you have only seen him once since he got back a week ago, which is not normal for you two.
If you knew why he’s been avoiding you, you could fix it.
But you have no idea.
“Excuse me, can I borrow this chair?” a voice asks. A girl has her hand on the empty chair opposite you, and she smiles at you when you look up.
You open your mouth: something inside of you says no, but you know that’s ridiculous. This is a table for one, tonight.
“Sure.”
It’s not like that guy is gonna show up three hours after he was supposed to.
It’s not your supposed-to-be-date, that you’re thinking about though. Maybe you should be sad about him, because he just stood you up, but instead you’re thinking back to the last time you saw Elias, when he’d just come back. They had won two out of three road games, so he’d been in a good mood, and when you went to his house for pizza and Netflix he’d been chatty and filled with laughter all evening.
His good mood dimmed, when you mentioned you had a date planned.
“Do you know this guy?” he’d asked, and there was a hint of judgement in his voice that instantly got you defensive.
“No, my friend set us up,” you said. “But it’s not like I have a choice, Elias. Time is slipping away from me, and I can’t just sit here and wait for the love of my life to show up while everyone is getting married. It’s no fun being lonely.”
“No,” Elias had said, a strange look on his face. “It’s not fun.”
You would’ve asked him what he meant by that – surely he wasn’t lonely, being Elias Pettersson in Vancouver – but there was something about him that stopped you.
For the first time since you met him, it felt like there was a wall up between you, and it felt like for every stone the wall was made off there was a matching stone in the pit of your stomach.
It felt like you did something wrong, but you can’t put your finger on what. You hadn’t lied to him, although it hadn’t quite been the full truth either. You can’t tell him the full truth, because the full truth is too pathetic.
The full truth, of course, being that when your other best friend Liza got engaged, you realized that everyone had someone, except for you. You just had Elias, and that has always been enough: until you sat there staring at the giant diamond on Liza’s finger and realized that Elias was never going to feel that way about you.
He’s your best friend, and although you’d want him to be everything, if he was interested in more, he would’ve done something by now. And so you decided you had to stop waiting for someone who would never love you like that, and find someone who would.
You haven’t found that person, yet, and you haven’t gotten over Elias either.
You look at your phone now. It’s 2am, and you probably shouldn’t call him, but…
But it’s Elias. He’s your best friend and you know he cares for you, even if he is mad about something.
You just got stood up, and it’s late, and you’ve had a bit too much to drink, and you don’t really want to have to walk yourself home…
“You can always call me if you need anything,” Elias said all the time. “Even in the middle of the night.”
So you call him.
There’s no answer. There’s no answer the next time, or the next, either.
You throw some money on the table. It’s time to take yourself home: after all, you’ve always been able to take care of yourself. There’s no reason for this burning feeling behind your eyes.
He’s just a friend.
The next morning, there’s two texts waiting for you when you wake up.
3 missed calls? Everything OK?
Sorry I missed them. Have to go to practice now, talk later.
There’s no smileys, no familiar XO’s that Elias has been using since Brock forced him to watch Gossip Girl, no love you at the end.
So that’s how you know something is really wrong.
--
Creating some distance between you is harder than Elias had thought.
“She hates me,” he grumbles. It’s probably not the right time to do this, in the middle of practice, but he’s been distracted and since this is all Brock’s fault, he figures he should just say that.
“She doesn’t,” Brock says. “Also, how is this my fault?”
Elias leans on his stick. They’re both waiting until it’s their turn to do the drill. Jake skates past, shoots on Marky. Scores.
“You said I needed some distance. You said to put my phone on airplane mode every now and then. Last night she called me three times and I didn’t answer, and now she hates me.”
Brock rolls his eyes, ever so slightly: but enough for Elias to see, and he glares at his best friend.
He feels a little vindicated when Brock flushes red and shuffles a little away from Elias.
“Look, bud, I said that because you’ve been miserable.” Brock’s face is gentle. “But since this is clearly not working, have you thought about just talking to her?”
He has thought about that. A lot.
“Absolutely not,” Elias says. “She’s not interested in me, she’s made that clear by dating half of Vancouver.”
Brock laughs. “I didn’t know Vancouver had 6 people living in it.”
“Shut up.” But there’s no heat behind it, and Brock shuffles closer again.
“Petey.” He sounds remorseful. “You haven’t scored even once today. And Marky’s not even trying. You need to fix this.”
At that moment, his name gets called, so Elias shoves Brock aside and skates up to the puck, taking it with him towards the goal.
He shoots wide.
Fuck. Maybe he does have to do something about this.
Elias may have decided he needs to talk to you, but he sure as hell doesn’t have to do it right now. He’s allowed to go home and get changed first, because he’s not going to confess his love and get his heart broken while wearing a Canucks tracksuit.
Unfortunately, it ends up not really being his choice, because when he walks into the hallway of his apartment you’re sitting on the floor, leaning against his front door.
Elias stops dead at the end of the hallway.
You’re doing something on your phone, not noticing him right away. You look tired, and your hair is a mess, and it squeezes something in Elias’ heart.
You look… kinda like shit, and whereas Elias knows he probably doesn’t look much better himself, it’s worse when it’s you.
Suddenly, guilt washes over him like a tidal wave. You needed him last night, and he wasn’t there for you. It was 2 am when you called him: you could’ve been anywhere, anything could’ve happened, you could’ve gotten hurt.
Suddenly he’s walking, faster and faster, until he reaches you.
You look up, and when you see him, there’s a small smile curling at the edge of your lips. But you don’t look happy, and Elias’ worry only intensifies.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out his hand. You let him help you pull you to your feet, but then you drop his hand right away.
It stings.
“Can I come in?” you ask. Your voice is small and you’re fretting with the edge of your shirt.
“Of course.” Elias opens the door, lets you walk in first. Normally, you would kick off your shoes at the door and throw yourself on his couch, or immediately dive head first into his fridge. You don’t do that now, and it’s wrong: everything feels wrong, and Elias hates it.
If he could make it go back to the way it was, he would do anything for it to stay that way. He would ignore his feelings, he would push them away. He would answer the phone.
He wouldn’t hurt you like this.
“Are you okay?” he blurts out. He regrets it instantly, because your face falls even more.
He should’ve eased into it. He should’ve let you say what you came to say, first.
“I’m so sorry for not answering the phone,” he continues, helplessly, because you’re not saying anything and the silence is too much for him to take. “I put my phone on airplane mode and I shouldn’t have done that, you needed me and I should’ve been there for you and…”
“Elias.” Your voice is soft, but stern. Your hand reaches out, fingers curling around his wrist. “Calm down. I’m fine, nothing happened last night.”
Something heavy dissolves in the pit of Elias’ stomach, and for the first time that day, he feels like he can breathe.
“I’m just…” you pause, sigh. Then you stand a little taller, something determined settling over your features. “I just want to know what I did wrong.”
“Huh?” Elias can imagine he must be staring at you pretty blankly, but he truly just doesn’t get it. “What you did wrong?”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’re mad at me. So tell me what I did wrong, so I can fix it.”
Elias can feel it: the energy shifting in the room. There’s something harsh in your eyes, and he knows you came here looking for resolve as much as you came here looking for a fight.
Fighting, he figures, is a way to feel things, too. But he’s not about to let you do that to yourself, especially when it’s his fault.
“Y/N,” he says, softly, and then he shakes his wrist out of your grip and takes your hand in his, instead. Your hand is cold, skin soft, and he immediately decides he wants to hold your hand for the rest of his life. “Come sit with me.”
You let him lead you to the couch, and sit down next to him, body turned away from his.
Once again, you’re sitting on his couch, on the verge of tears. But it’s different, this time. You’re not crying over guys that aren’t worth your time, you’re crying over him, over Elias, and he has to fix this one even more than he did all the other times.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Elias starts. This time, you don’t fight him on it. “It’s me, actually. I think I did something wrong.”
You look up. There’s a hint of fear in your eyes when you ask: “What?”
Elias sighs. It’s hard, to get out the words, even harder than he was worried about. He doesn’t know what to say, how to say it, or how to make you understand.
“I made a mistake,” he says, carefully. “I thought I needed some time away from you, but that wasn’t right.”
“Away from me?” The look of hurt on your face doesn’t pass by Elias. “Why?”
“Why?” Elias repeats. “Because it’s too hard sometimes. It’s too hard to hear you talking about all these guys you’re dating, and how they always hurt or disappoint you.”
Your eyes are fixed on the floor. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” you mutter.
“You’re not, that’s not what I meant.” Elias takes another breath. There’s something about the way you’re sitting here, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around yourself, that gives him the courage to say: “You talk about them, but you always come back to me.”
You look up at him, eyes swimming with questions.
“Whatever guy you’re with, no matter how lonely you say you are, how many dates you go on; you always end up coming back here, to hang out on my couch. Why?”
“I mean,” you start, then stop yourself.
Are you really gonna tell him?
You think back to months ago, when Liza had asked you to picture your perfect guy.
“I can’t set you up if I don’t know what you want,” she’d said. “So, close your eyes, and picture yourself happy, in the future. You’ve got a house, and a dog, and a job. You’ve got a partner. What do you picture when you think of the partner?”
Elias.
You hadn’t said it, you’d said something about blond hair and kind eyes and someone who always makes you laugh, but you’re not dumb enough to deny that it was Elias that you were describing to her. That you pictured, when you closed your eyes, an alternate reality in which Elias was yours and you were his.
But you clearly can’t say that to Elias, because he’s not interested in you like this, and you don’t want to ruin this friendship. Not when it means the most to you.
You’d give anything to be able to hold onto Elias, and have him hold onto you.
So you say nothing, just stare at Elias’ hand, which has come to rest on your thigh. His fingers are long, slender, and you miss the feeling of them tangled with your own. You wonder if you could get away with grabbing his hand, every now and then, just as friends.
“Y/N,” Elias repeats, and this time he sounds a little desperate. “You’re always saying you’re lonely, and you want someone to love you, and you need a decent guy, and I don’t know what you’re waiting for but…”
I’m waiting for you, you think.
“But I’m right here.” Elias sits up a little straighter. There’s determination in his eyes, a quiet conviction that he usually reserves for hockey. “I’m right here, and I’m a decent guy, and I love you, so why won’t you love me?”
Time freezes.
You’re pretty sure if Elias had a clock you could look at, you’d find the hands of the clock not moving. If you looked outside, the cars would be stationary, the birds would be frozen in the air.
But Elias isn’t frozen. He’s somehow closer than he was before, and he’s moving closer, still.
“Stop me,” he whispers. “Stop me if you don’t want…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.
Doesn’t have to, really.
Because there’s a million things running through your mind, things like because I’m scared and he loves me and we’ve wasted so much time but at the end of the day they all lead to one single conclusion.
It’s him. It’s always been him.
So you launch forward, crash your lips against his in a feverish desperation to finally, finally make it right. He moves back from the force of it, but then his arms are wrapped around you and he’s pulling you closer, into his lap.
He slows down the kiss, softens it. The way he kisses you has your toes curling in your shoes, your heart beating in your throat, because he kisses you like no one has ever really kissed you before.
He kisses you like he loves you.
When you pull away, gasping for air, Elias’ eyes are soft when they lock with yours.
“Yeah?” he asks, and it’s hesitant, careful, like he’s still waiting for you to close the metaphorical door in his face, to take his heart and break it in two.
“I thought it wasn’t possible,” you admit. “I thought you would never want this.”
“Always,” Elias mumbles, and he leans a bit closer, presses a kiss against your jaw. “I’ve always wanted this.”
Always. He’s always wanted this and you were both too dumb to see it, both too dumb to connect the dots. You can’t believe you lost so much time, and you can’t believe it took so long.
Why did it take so long?
“Why didn’t I…” you start, but Elias cuts you off, kissing you once more. Gentle and short, this time, but still just as loving.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “What matters is that I love you.”
“I love you, too,” you say, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, allow yourself to press your lips to his collarbone.
Maybe the why, or the how, or the when, doesn’t really matter in the end. Maybe it’s about the happy ever after.
And you think you found that, now.
#elias pettersson#vancouver canucks fic#nhl fic#elias pettersson fic#elias petterson one shot#elias pettersson imagine
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Bad at Secrets (PS4 Spider-man x Reader)
[Summary: For as long as you’ve known Peter Parker, he has been pretty bad at keeping secrets. Lucky for him, you’re much better at it. At least, until you end up drunk at his house after a party.
Warning and Notes: Drinking, Drunk Reader, Awkward convos, PS4 game spoilers, swearing, May didn’t die because I refuse, gender-neutral reader]
Peter Parker was never very at keeping secrets from you. He was clumsy and always managed to leave something obvious out in the open. You were surprised that the entire city of New York hadn’t figured it out yet. Perhaps it was because you were helping him constantly. Whether it was casually introducing him to voice modifying technology, or helping him set up his phone to have two different numbers, you know, for “business”.
You still couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t told you yet. You knew MJ knew. Did he just trust her more? Maybe you were just jealous. They had dated, so it probably came up then. And to be honest, you had to admit you had a crush on him. But you knew that wasn’t going to go anywhere. You and Peter had been friends for so long, that if anything was going to happen, it would have by now. So you’d be his friend. And you wouldn’t push him to tell you anything he didn’t want to.
- - - - -
It had been a couple of months since the city went to shit. Peter’s mentor, Otto Octavius was imprisoned at The Raft, Feast was now being run by May after Martin Li was arrested, and it took a whole month to get all of the run-aways from Rykers off the street. Everyone was stressed and tired, and you really needed a second to de-stress. So when you got an invitation to a party at one of your old college friend’s houses, you really couldn’t turn down the offer.
Maybe you went a little crazy. You didn’t have the highest alcohol tolerance, and before you knew it, you were starting to get a little wobbly on your feet. Definitely a bit too wobbly to be walking home through the streets of New York City. So without thinking, you picked up your phone to call a friend of yours.
You knew he’d be busy, but Peter was really the only one you trusted to walk you home. I mean, who better than Spider-man. You were surprised when it only rang twice before he picked up, “(Y/n)? I thought you were at a party tonight, is everything ok?”
You giggled a little at the concerned tone in his voice. He overthought a lot, and it was honestly kind of endearing, “Yeah, Pete, I’m fine. I was just wondering if you’re free to walk me home.”
“You didn’t bring anyone with you to walk with?” He asked, “Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“Mhm,” You hummed, grabbing another can for something. You weren’t sure exactly what you were drinking anymore, but it was fine. Honestly, as much as you’d normally worry about the dangers of a situation like this, it was a lot harder to worry about stuff like that when you had just almost died from a supervillain attack, “That’s why I’m calling you. If you’re busy, though, I’ll figure something else out.”
“No, no,” You heard some noise in the background. He was definitely busy, but knowing him, he wasn’t about to let you walk home yourself, “I’ll be there, just hang tight for another fifteen minutes or something.”
“Sure,” You took another drink, “I’ll see you soon.”
- - - - -
By the time he got there, you had gone through another four cans of, well, you still couldn’t remember. Either way, you were pretty drunk. When Peter got there, he had found you dancing on a table, your hair extra messy and a little bit of your drink spilled on the front of your outfit. You looked like you were having so much fun, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Come on, (Y/n), let’s get you home,” He said, walking up to where you were. You smiled down at him before jumping down from the table.
“Pete!” You exclaimed, grinning at him, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, (Y/n),” He chuckled, “But we should get you home. You need some sleep.”
“But I don’t wanna go home,” You whined, “It’s boring. There’s nothing to do. Can we go to your place instead? I wanna watch movies.”
“Sure,” He sighed. He could tell you were a lot drunker than you were when you called him. It had been a while since he had to babysit you while you were drunk, but he honestly didn’t mind. You were always fun when you were drunk.
- - - - -
Peter’s house wasn’t too far away from the party, but it was a long enough walk that the two of you had to talk about something. And eventually, you ran out of your normal things to drunkenly ramble about. So things started to get a little more interesting.
“Do you think Peter trusts me?” You asked out of nowhere. It caught Peter a little off-guard.
“I think so,” He said. You obviously didn’t know you were talking to him. He wondered if he should tell you, but honestly, he was a little interested in what you’d say.
“Then why doesn’t he tell me anything?”
“What do you mean he doesn’t tell you anything.” You were always so confident that you knew everything. And Peter tried his best not to keep too many secrets from you. There were just two, so which one had you started to pick up on.
“He has a secret that he’s had for years that he won’t tell me,” you pouted at him.
“Do you know what it is?”
“Yeah, Pete isn’t very good at keeping secrets,” Shit.
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you,” You replied, crossing his arms, “It’s Peter’s secret.”
He couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. You were so sweet and protective. He should’ve known better than to think you’d rat him out to someone you thought was a stranger. He’d just have to ask again when you were sober.
Eventually, the two of you made it to his apartment. He had gotten a new one a while ago after he got evicted from his. Aunt May was helping him out until he got a new job, and he was working pretty hard on finding something just as fulfilling as his work with Otto.
“What movie do you wanna watch?”
“Mmmmm, Superhero movie.”
“I didn’t know you were a fan of superheroes, (Y/n),” He chuckled.
“Mhm, I love Spider-man.”
He laughed a bit, causing you to pout, “I didn’t know you were a Spider-man fan.”
“No, I love Spider-man. I love him. He’s so smart and funny and caring.”
Peter couldn’t help that blush that coated his cheeks. He hoped maybe you were too drunk to notice. And lucky for him, you were. In fact, you had fallen asleep on his couch before he could even get the movie he had picked out started.
He smiled at you. You were kind of cute when you slept. You looked so calm. He had missed seeing you calm and happy. So much had happened, he was just glad you were ok. And alive.
He carefully picked you up, he could pull buses and helicopters, lifting you up was really no problem. He decided that you could take the bed tonight. What kind of hero would he be if he made his friend sleep on the couch? He set you down carefully, tucking you in to the covers, before heading over to the ouch and making a little bed for himself. This might actually be the first night he had gotten a decent amount fo sleep in a couple of months.
- - - - -
Waking up with a pounding headache should have been expected. Waking up in Peter’s bed with a glass of water a couple of painkillers next to you, however, wasn’t. And what was even more unexpected was the sounds of someone cooking breakfast coming from the other room. Did Peter even eat breakfast?
After taking the painkillers and drinking the water as quickly as possible, you wandered into the kitchen, your hair a complete mess and the clothes you were wearing to the party last night crumpled from being slept in. Standing over the stove, watching the food intently to avoid his habit of getting distracted and burning his cooking, you found Peter.
“Morning, Pete,” You yawn, sitting down at the table.
He turned towards you with a smile, “Morning, (Y/n). Are you feeling alright?’
“Mm, my head still hurts, but I’m sure that’ll go away. Thanks for letting me stay here. I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother.”
“Do you remember anything you told me last night?”
“Ugh, not really,” You shook your head, “The last thing I remember was calling you, honestly. I hope I didn’t say anything too stupid.”
“No, it’s not that,” He said, quickly getting distracted from your conversation, by the toast popping out of the toaster.
- - - - -
Eventually, he sat down at the table with you, placing a plate in front of you and another plate in front of himself. You really hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the food was right in front of you. And to be honest, Peter was getting pretty good at cooking.
“So what exactly did I say last night?” you asked, shoving food into your mouth. Did you eat last night? You couldn’t remember.
“Well, that you were in love with Spider-man,” Peter chuckled, but you knew that wasn’t really what he wanted to talk about. He was just trying to lighten the mood first. You still couldn’t help but blush. You supposed it was true, “But also that you knew that I was keeping a secret from you.”
“Oh.
“You still wouldn’t tell me what, though. I don’t think you knew you were talking to me. I appreciate the loyalty, but I’m wondering what secret I’m keeping from you.”
“Is there more than one, Pete?”
He froze.
“I know that you’re Spider-man, Pete. You really suck at keeping secrets. You think I can’t figure it out when you leave drawings for all your gadgets out all the time?”
“How long have you known?”
“A year or so? Maybe more?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I just didn’t want to get you swept up in anything. You know, with the villains I have to fight, Spider-man ends up with a lot of enemies. I just wanted to keep you away from that.” He sighed. He looked like he was trying to think of something to say until a realization crept its way onto his face, “In love with Spider-man, huh?”
You choke a bit on your food, causing Peter to laugh a bit, “No, we’re not changing the topic. You’re a superhero.”
“And you’re in love with my superhero self,” He laughs before it seems like his brain clicks again, “Wait if you already knew...”
“Um…”
“(Y/n)?”
“Um, hey, Just let me finish breakfast and I’ll head out. Really don’t worry about it, Pete,” You scrambled. You had avoided that conversation for years. You had sate through him dating MJ, through him risking his life over and over, through him crying to you over and over about everything in his life going wrong without saying anything. You really didn’t want this to be the point where you lose him.
“Woah, wait, no,” He looked panicked, “Why are you running away?”
“Look, Pete, I’ve avoided this conversation forever, I don’t want things to be awkward, or to make you feel like we can’t just hang out. I just don’t want you to stop being my friend,” You rambled, only cut off when Peter grabbed your hand, a grin on his face.
“Ask me again if there’s more than one secret.”
“What?”
“Ask.”
“Do you have more than one secret, Pete?” You were still pretty nervous, and you had no idea where he was going with this, but you trusted him. And you were pretty sure that he wasn’t going to make fun of you.
“Yeah. I’ve been keeping two secrets from you,” He said, “The first is that I’m Spider-man. And the second is that I’ve been in love with you for months.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” He said, “Remember a month or two after MJ and I broke up? When we went to the park in the middle of the night because neither of us could sleep? And we just talked for hours about life and our goals and everything? The next day I realized I was in love with you.”
“I guess you’re better at keeping secrets than I thought you were,” you laughed.
“I guess so,” he laughed, “But I don’t plan on keeping anymore.”
(A/N: This might be trash, but my Spider-man hyper fixation from when I was a kid is back full swing.)
#spider-man#spider-man x reader#ps4 spiderman#peter parker#peter parker x reader#ps4 peter parker x reader#ps4 spiderman x reader#marvel#insomniac#insomniac spider-man
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Cherry Chap Stick
pairing: Mj x Fem!Reader
a/n: it literally took me MONTHS to finish this bc of lack of motivation and time. But oh my god ... it’s finally done!! Bad news: there’s gonna be a part 2 to this, because else I wouldn’t post it now. It’s my longest fic so far, but ig i’ll write more in future or also part it in 2 parts. enjoy!!
part 2
Summary: You ask your crush, or uses to be crush, for help
words: 2.3k
Warnings: none
my masterlist
→ → → → → → → →
Your heart drops at the sight of the two of them laughing at something he whispered into her ear. Peter and Mj have been spending a lot of time together lately and you don't know how to feel about it. You'd be happy, of course, but then again, you wish you could sit there. No, not with Peter, but with Mj.
You look back down to your open spanish book and try to concentrate on the task, blocking out the giggles leaving her mouth after he told another, what seems to be, joke. Your mind is racing 100 miles a second trying to find out the answer to the question in your book and trying to listen to the two of your friends at the same time, until, finally, your teacher tells you to pack your things and gives you the homework for the next week. You quickly pack your things and storm out, trying not to walk with Peter and Mj, but you fail.
"Hey!" You turn around to be met with Peter waving at you and smiling. You smile back and greet him with a quiet 'hello' before letting your head sink again.
"What's wrong? You seem so...off?" he seemed to notice. Usually you're the one talking non stop and telling him about your week and other exciting things, so of course your sudden silence worries him.
"I just...I don't know. I'm just thinking." You sigh and turn your head to him to let him know you are ok.
Your mind was racing 100 miles a second. Two days ago you thought you had a crush on your best friend, Peter, turns out you were wrong. So. Very. Wrong. You were sitting in front of your phone when you realized. Katy perry's voice repeating the words over and over again as you scrolled through the endless amount of videos with the same sound on TikTok. In every single video, the girl was kissing another girl and you just couldn't stop thinking about it. What if the girl could've been you and...her? First you thought it was Peter, but then you noticed the different feeling you got thinking about her and let your phone drop. This was all so new for you.
"About what?" he asks, "you know, you can tell me anything. We're best friends, right?" he says now, much more concerned. You sigh and continue walking after you nod.
You have only liked boys, and now a girl? At first you tried to excuse it as platonic love. I mean, friends are very close to each other, right? Like, hugging and kissing each other's cheeks? Or cuddling and wanting the other to care about you. But the way you thought about her crossed the line between friends and lovers already.
You are sitting next to Peter at lunch, whilst Ned is talking about some new lego set he got a week ago. He seems excited so you try your best to seem interested and look like you're listening. But a certain someone keeps distracting you.
"Are you even listening?" Mj snaps her fingers in front of your face twice and laughs.
"Huh? Uh, yes. I was just thinking...about," you look around the room, "someone." Ned's eyes widen as he sends Peter a look.
"About someone? Uhm, who?" Peter sits up straighter and purses his lips, trying not to seem interested. You bite the inner side of your cheek and look at Mj, but her head is buried back into her book.
You sigh. "It's no one, I gotta go." You take your backpack and leave the room, not daring to look behind you.
After school you don't hesitate before packing your things and going out, leaving your friends confused behind you, calling your name.
First thing you do is run into your room and close the door, after throwing our backpack on the floor. You let yourself fall face-first on your bed and lay there for some minutes on your stomach, thinking about today, and Mj.
"Whyyyyy" you whine and turn around laying on your bed. You didn't even have someone to talk about it. You can't tell Mj, because she would ask how you found out and about who you thought. Ned? No, he would go and tell someone else, even on accident.
Your parents? You don't know how Steve would react. Sure, he is very accepting and you don't think he would bash or embarrass you, but things were way different back then. Bucky? No, he would tell Steve. That leaves you no other chance but to go to your other best friend, Peter. Even if it means risking and telling him you had a crush on him, or at least thought you liked him in that way.
You quickly jump out of your bed and grab your phone, which lays on the floor after you failed to throw it on your bed.
The phone rings twice before you hear Peter's voice from the speaker.
"Hello?"
"Peter, do you have a minute?" you ask, fumbling with your fingers and biting your bottom lip. Your voice probably shaes, because he immediately notices.
"Uh, yeah. Did something happen? Should I come over?" You smile at him worrying and shake your head, forgetting that he can't see you.
"Yes and yes. Maybe you can come over now? It's nothing bad, promise. I just...need to talk, y'know?"
"Yeah, yeah. K, I'll be there in 10," he says and hangs up.
You quickly lay your phone on your desk and run to the bathroom, washing your face and breathing in and out. How are you going to tell him? "oh yeah, hey Pete. So uhhh...I thought I had a crush on you because I was sad when I saw you and Mj together but turns out that I actually had a crush on Mj and was mad that she was with you." ? No, absolutely not.
Your heart starts to beat faster after you hear a silent knock on your door.
"Uh..come in!" You say and leave the bathroom to sit on the bed in the middle of your room. Your heartbeat is so loud and strong, that you're sure Peter can hear it the minute he enters your room.
"Hey! Is everything alright? You sounded so...worried on the phone," he asks and sits next to you.
"Uh..yes? I actually wanted to ask you something and don't know how to start..." You look down at your feet on the floor, knitting your hands and biting your lip again. How are you supposed to tell him you've fallen for a girl? Your best friend?
"What's it about? You know you can trust me, right? You're my best friend, I'll always listen to you." You smile at his tenderness and feel another warm feeling spread through you, which makes you stop for a second. But it's not the same warmth you get when talking with Mj or just looking at her. You sigh.
"It's kind of complicated. I...like someone and
don't know how to feel about it?" You look up and into his brown eyes. You catch him staring at your lips and quickly look away again, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his presence.
"Uhm...that's great?" he says, which comes out more like a question than a statement.
"Who's it?" he digs in deeper.
"Oh, is it Brad? Or Flash? Well, I don't think you're in love with Flash, because he-"
"That's the problem," you calmly say whilst looking anywhere but at him.
"Problem? So...it is Flash? Or someone else you can't ge-"
"Peter, it's not even a boy!" you sigh and throw yourself back, now laying on your back and hiding your face in your hands. You feel a blush creep up your face and spread at the back of your neck.
“Uh...what?” he asks, in hopes he heard you wrong. “You’re in love with a...girl?” he asks again. You feel tears prick your eyes at the way he says girl, as if he is filled with disgust. You nod once and risk moving your hands away from your eyes, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze. The moment he notices the tears in your eyes, his eyes soften too and he sighs.
“I didn’t mean to sound so...rude. I just- it 's, ugh.” He sighs again and looks up.
“I didn’t expect that, like, at all. Who 's it?”
You sit up and take a look at him before speaking up.
“Will you promise me not to judge?” you ask.
“I’d never, promise,” he says and shakes his head.
“Uhm, it’s one of our friends. Her name’s,” you exhale, “Mj.” You immediately look away when her name leaves your mouth and squint your eyes, scared of Peter’s reaction.
“I- Mj?” he asks, trying to make sure that he heard you right. You turn your head to him and nod, biting the inner side of your cheek, a habit you get every time you are nervous in a situation. He quickly lowers his head low, scared you would notice the tears filling his eyes at the mention of his and your best friend.
These past days, he did notice your gaze resting on him and it gave him hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same towards him. But every time he would meet your longing stares and dreamy expression, Mj was next to him. So you didn’t look at him, you were looking at Mj this whole time. And Mj was only hanging out with Peter so often last week, because he asked her if she could help him, help him to ask you out. All the struggle to think about what you are interested in for nothing.
“Yes? You’re- you’re not mad right? I mean, you like her a-” you get cut off by him.
“I’m not mad. And uhm...how did you find out?” he asks now, directly looking into your eyes. Your cheeks redden and you exhale before explaining.
“Uhm, y’know how Mj and you have been hanging out a lot together, lately?” He nods. “Well, I thought you were the one I had a crush on because I got mad so fast...turns out it was her the whole time.” You feel him shift next to you and sit up straight, inhaling.
“Uh-” His voice cracks and he coughs. “You..you don’t like me? As in, more than a friend?” You shake your head and sigh again.
“No. Like I said; it was Mj this whole time, but I thought it was you because…, you trail off and look up at the ceiling as another rush of embarrassment runs through you.
“Because?”
“I did like you for a long time in 7th grade, but then when we met Mj and she started to hang out with us, with you, I guess I didn’t really think about how I lost feelings for you, and developed some for her.”
“Okay, so what exactly do you want to do now? Do you- do you want to confess? I don’t kno-”
“Ughhhh, why’s life so complicated?” You let yourself fall back, back pressed against your bed and with your hands covering your teary eyes. Peter takes your hands and makes you open your eyes, looking up at him. He caresses his thumb over your palm and gives you a smile.
“Do you want to confess to her? Like, tell her you’re..?” He stops and frowns.
“Bi? I mean, at least I think I’m bi...I’m still new to this, but I guess that’s it, I still have time to figure it out..so.” You shrug and sit up again. You are not wrong. You still had time to figure this all out, and at the moment, that was the label you felt comfortable with. You liked Peter, and then Mj.
“Yeah, that. Do you want to tell her first and see how she reacts? I mean, you should feel comfortable doing that, so if you don’t, it’s ok. But it’d be better if you did- not that I’m pressuring you or anything. I really want you to feel comf-” You let out a breathy laugh as you feel your cheeks heat up again.
You loved how much he cared about you, one of the reasons why you thought about telling him first, before anyone else. He always wanted to make sure all his friends and important people, to him, were safe and felt comfortable with telling him important things. Like right now, he’s thankful that you trusted him enough to talk about this.
“Peter, breath! It’s okay, really, I’m comfortable right now.” He nods and lets go of your hand again.
“Thank you,” you look at him through your lashes and catch a smile from him.
“Always. But what are you gonna do? Do you- do you want to tell your parents first?”
“I don’t know. I just want to think about everything at first, and then later on tell someone else, y’know? Not tryna rush this or anything.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
For the rest of the day, you were thinking about how to tell your parents and if you were right or not. Your mind kept telling you that you don’t like her. Maybe it was just thinking she was pretty? Maybe you were just longing for touch and because she was not touchy, you liked the idea of hugging her and being the only one to do so. But maybe, the thought that kept you up the whole night, you were faking it all and still liked Peter and your mind was playing tricks with you. Regardless, you just couldn’t close your eyes and rest for a second, the thought of your parents, the Avengers or any other of your friends reacting bad and being disgusted.
But then again, if they really loved you, they wouldn’t think any less of you. And you also didn’t know their views on these type of things, so you could be completely wrong.
→ → → → → → → →
》feedback is appreciated!《
#mj x reader#mcu mj#michelle jones x reader#michelle jones#teen!reader#michelle jones imagine#mj imagine#mcu imagine#avengers imagine#michelle jones oneshot
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Daisies (Peter Parker x reader)
Word count: 3.2k
Soulmate AU: Everyone is born with the last words they ever hear from their soulmate written on their arm.
Warnings: Angst, graphic character death.
Masterlist
“What is up with Mr. Harrington wanting to know everyone’s words” MJ huffed as she placed her lunch tray on the table, where Ned, Peter, Liz and you sat.
“I mean what can we say, he’s a hopeless romantic” Ned joked and dramatically waved his hands in the air, to which everyone laughed. Well, everyone except for you.
Mr. Harrington had showed in class a documentary about soulmates. He then spent the rest of the class asking about people’s opinions on the subject and wanting to know what words were written on their arms. You were quiet the whole time, as you didn’t wish to participate on the debate. To you it was a private matter and you liked to keep it that way.
It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in soulmates, in fact, you loved the idea of having someone to share unconditional love and loyalty. But the rest about it? It was just cruel. The words in people’s arms were cursed, evil. They ruined people’s lives, some of them spend their whole lives being afraid, others got married and after years find out their spouse is not the one, and for the most unfortunate ones, they never even get to be together before the other one dies and they have to live knowing that. Many people liked to share their words with the world, while others kept them to themselves, the latest being your choice.
Because your words? God, you always avoided thinking about them as if that would make them disappear.
“Please don’t leave me”
Those four words might seem dumb for someone else, but to you, they held so much emotion and meaning. ‘Please’, it was the love of your life pleading, begging for you.
You knew your passing would be painful for your soulmate and you dreaded that moment with your heart. The doubt was always there, would it be too soon in the relationship and you die out of nowhere? Or maybe just maybe you both grow old together and you die next to your husband who wasn’t ready to let you go after so many years?
You prayed it was the latest. At least you would’ve gotten a life together.
You were pulled out of your thoughts when MJ not so gently smacked your arm, and suddenly all eyes were on you.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You apologized and pretended to be interested in whatever they were saying.
“I said the words in our arms are stupid, I don’t believe in that stuff. Ned is not sure on what he thinks about it and Peter and Liz keep saying soulmates are real” MJ quickly explained and you prepared yourself to the interrogation that was about to come your way.
“And we want to know what you think about it so we can settle this down” Liz questioned as everyone looked at you expectantly once again.
“I- I have a class right now, I have to go” You excused yourself and walked as fast as you could to get out of the cafeteria, leaving your friends confused, and a certain spider boy worried.
You didn’t want your friends laughing at you just because the words in your arm affected you in such a different way than it did to them.
“Doesn’t she realize we are in lunch break or what” Ned frowned and Mj just chuckled.
“She’s been acting really weird the whole day” Liz confirmed and Peter decided it was best to see if you were alright.
He found you – kind of hiding – in the library, anxiously tapping your foot as you had your mind on everything but the book on your hands.
“Hey” he whispered sitting in front of you, the tapping of your foot stopped only for a second as you flashed him a little smile. “I just wanted to check if you were alright, I’m sorry if they were too pushy about the subject”
He innocently apologized in the name of his friends, his wide concerned eyes always focused on your reaction.
Now how do we get started on Peter Parker? A literal angel on earth. Always apologizing for anything and everything, always caring and worried, but also always so god damn oblivious. Well, maybe he was just too focused on his crush on Liz that he never noticed how in your eyes he was all you ever saw. Especially with you two being secret avengers you thought you would have a higher chance but he was so blind, or just not interested.
“Y/N?”
“I’m sorry” you apologized once more for your distraction and heavily sighed. “I just- I don’t really like to talk about the whole soulmate stuff, it’s just something I like to keep for myself” You confessed and you thought the boy would laugh at you, but he only listened carefully and nodded.
“That’s okay you know, not all of us react to it the same way” He sympathized shrugging his shoulders.
“I guess I’m just afraid of not having enough time with my soulmate you know Mr. Harrington just showed us in the video the brighter side of it” You added, leaving the book on the table and hiding your face in in hands. “And I shouldn’t be worrying about it, I’m in high school for God’s sake, people here date for fun”
“Hey hey don’t worry, you don’t have to be like them” Peter said as he took your hands and softly put them away from your face, your eyes connecting once again. “I’m afraid too, all the time” he confessed focusing on drawing little circles on your hands. “And because of our jobs as avengers, or whatever Mr. Stark wants to call us, there’s no way of knowing what will happen, so I just have to keep going not matter what. And I keep telling myself everything will be alright, so I’m saying it to you as well. It will be alright, okay? and please, never feel bad for worrying about something more than others, because your heart might be different from theirs and there’s nothing wrong with that” he finished and you couldn’t help the smile that crept on your face.
As you stared at his eyes you thought, how could a human being be so pure? Or maybe it was just your teenager hormones reacting to the cute boy. Either way, whoever was destined to be with him was so lucky to have someone so sweet understanding.
“Thank you Pete, I really needed that” you admitted as you came out of your trance and apparently he did too, letting go of your hands.
The conversation between you both left Peter a little curious, were the words on your arm that bad that you felt so scared about them? Although he wasn’t so different, he had his own struggle with the subject. His words were, well, kind of weird yet mysterious.
‘Daisies, I like daisies’
He always wondered what situation would put his soulmate and him where he would have to hear those words. Would Peter ask them what their favorite flower is and then a piano would fall on their head? Or would he meet them at a flower shop and then their heart would suddenly stop? The teenager’s imagination went wild when it came to the whole soulmate thing.
So, he never asked a girl about her favorite flowers, more so, he never even mentioned anything related to plants for that matter. Ever. Because one thing was clear, Peter Parker didn’t hate daisies, he dreaded them.
Any time he saw the familiar flower he just ran the opposite direction. Flower shops? oh don’t worry, Peter was always miles away from them. So he did understand your struggle, as everyone had their own battle with the inked words.
The day had gone by rather quickly and you both were already flying a jet to a mission, were Captain Rogers had surprisingly let you both participate. It was just Tony, Natasha, Peter and you. Apparently an easy mission. You stared at Peter who excitedly spoke to Tony about his suit. You remembered your little talk in the library and couldn’t help the blush on your cheeks thinking about how he had held your hands.
“Staring is rude you know” Natasha nudged your arm as she laughed at you, and you shushed her before clapping back.
“For someone who is so young you sound like a grandma you know” you retorted pretending to be mad but a smile threatened to come out.
“Well, then let me tell you some of my grandma wisdom” She sat straighter in her seat. “The kid won’t know you like him if you don’t tell him, you know” She announced, making you roll your eyes.
“Wow suddenly I can’t hear” You joked and she had a smirk lingering her lips.
“Well, who’s the grandma know” She claimed and you finally let out a laugh.
Oh how you wish you were back at the jet laughing with Nat, instead of caught in a damn ambush in the middle of a hydra base. The plan had gone smoothly for about 10 minutes, before the agents multiplied and suddenly you were all surrounded in your positions. You were caught in an open field, throwing punches and kicks – after you ran out of bullets– putting up a pretty good fight but the agents kept coming and coming, as soon as you got rid of one group another one came, and you felt like there was no escape. For someone like Tony it would’ve been easier to fight multiple people because of his suit, and even for Nat because of her skills. Of course you were highly trained but you still had a lot to learn before you got to the widow’s level.
You guessed that’s why the avengers didn’t take the teenagers to missions more often.
“I cleared my building, how are you guys doing” You heard Natasha panting at the comm.
“I’ve almost cleared mine, I’ll get the intel after that” Tony’s suit was heard in a building close to you but you kept focused on fighting, your muscles already starting to ache. You finally gave the final punch to the last man from the third group of agents that had attacked you. His body fell unconscious on the snowy ground.
“Uhm I- I could use a little help” You admitted as you saw another group of about 9 agents getting closer to you. You noticed how they were about to shoot but before you could shield yourself a red and blue armor stood right front of you, shielding you from the bullets.
“Alright guys I’m afraid the party is over” Peter announced as he ran towards them and activated the suit’s spider legs, he started fighting the group and in a matter of seconds they were all laying on the ground.
“Show off” You whispered rolling your eyes, but if you were being honest you felt relieved, you had asked for the help after all. “Thank you” you tiredly smiled at him, you felt out of breath from the fight.
“Anytime darlin’, you did a pretty good job yourself” He admitted looking at the about 20 men laying on the floor behind you.
“Yeah well I-“
Everything happened so quickly, one minute you were standing before Peter and now you were laying on the cold snow with his arms holding you, struggling to breathe as your whole body felt like it was hit by a truck.
Peter hadn’t seen the sniper watching you from a distance, and it was too late when he did because the agent had already used all the bullets he had on you.
And there was way too much blood.
“Pete- Peter” You managed to get out as your vision threatened to get blurry, but you could still see Peter’s tear stained face.
“O-oh my god Y/N” He blurted out as he looked for a way to stop the bleeding, but it was pretty much impossible. Everything was so red he didn’t even know where it was coming from. “Don’t talk, you’ll be alright okay”
You felt how Tony landed right by your side, his mask disappearing showing you his shocked features as he kneeled right beside you. Nat arrived seconds before, imitating his actions. And their faces told you everything.
“It’s that bad huh” You chuckled, frowning immediately as you coughed blood, tasting the metallic flavor in your mouth.
“No no no, you’ll be just fine. M-Mr Stark is here okay? He’ll do something” Peter assured you, the tears never stopped adorning his face. “Right Mr. Stark?”
Tony had said “no” millions of times to the teenager before, but how could he do that now? Peter was exasperated, his hands were shaking and he was sure he would pass out at any given moment.
“Why do you keep looking at me? Do something!” Peter yelled at him but the mentor didn’t take it personal.
Tony Stark didn’t have the heart to tell Peter Parker that the girl in front of them wouldn’t make it further than a couple minutes. So he just lowered his eyes and focused on you instead, a young girl who didn’t deserve what was happening right now.
“You did well kid, we’re so proud of you” He lovingly said grabbing your left hand. “I’m so sorry” he apologized as he felt guilty for bringing you to the mission, but it was too late for regrets, and now he was just left to cry because he couldn’t stop the inevitable.
“We love you so much” Nat continued choking a sob, caressing your hair. “You are a wonderful girl”
Peter looked between the adults expressing their goodbyes, but he refused to believe it was over. You watched from your position how he denied with his head and looked somewhere else. The pain was slowly getting away and you knew what that meant.
You were not ready to go. Who would be at 16 years old?
“P- Peter, please look at me” You called him and his puffy eyes met yours. He noticed you were crying too. You took a deep breath, the normal task quickly becoming harder. “I’m scared Pete, I’m so scared” You confessed and his eyes softened.
“It’s o-okay, I’m also afraid remember. All the damn time” The boy cursed, feeling helpless. “It’ll be alright Y/N, just– just think about pretty things darling” He comforted you one more time and took your free hand in his. He tried to smile for you but the tears never stopped coming.
So you did too. You smiled thinking about him, his curly hair softly framing his forehead, his pretty pink lips talking about something nerdy, his lovely puppy eyes shining when he talked about being spiderman. But of course you wouldn’t admit the ‘pretty thing’ was him, so you went for your favorite flowers instead.
“Daisies, I like daisies” you blurted out, thinking about laying down next to him in a camp full of the beautiful flowers, instead of the cold stained snow below you.
Those words were all it took to for Peter to lose it. When he heard the words coming out from your lips, his whole world stopped. His breath was caught up in his throat and suddenly he was the one having trouble breathing.
“It’s you” He whispered as he came to the realization of the love of his life dying right in his arms. “No no no! this is not real” the kid started panicking even more than he was before and the adults looked at him, worried at his sudden outburst.
“Pete-“ Tony called out to him but Peter kept his focus on you.
“You can’t do this you can’t say you like daisies” he desperately argued and you frowned, you didn’t understand what was happening and you certainly didn’t have time for that. “You can’t go, you can’t–” he struggled to speak as he was choking on his own sobs “you can’t go when it’s been you the whole time I-“
The kid stopped for a moment, looking up at the sky, praying that whatever was going on at he moment was just a bad joke, a bad dream, not real life. He returned his eyes to yours once again, and the words that left his mouth hurt you more than the wounds from your body.
“Please don’t leave me”
No. There was no way. You finally understood his breakdown, but now it was too late. You felt so many emotions at once that you started coughing again tasting more blood in your mouth and your heart couldn’t keep beating anymore. You knew it was over, and you couldn’t do anything else but sadly smile as the last breath took place, your last memory being getting to know who was your soulmate, even if it was cruel and evil, it was what it was.
Life had given you everything, except for one thing. A chance with the love of your life.
“NO NO NO” he bawled and threw himself over your body, crying on your chest not caring about all the blood that was there. “You can’t go, don’t go please I- I can’t I won’t – please don’t”
Tony’s and Nat’s hearts were broken, seeing you go and the other kid bawling on your body was a view none of them ever thought they would have to go through.
“Pete-“Tony’s voice cracked as he put his arms on Peter’s shoulders, trying to move him but he quickly pushed him away.
“NO YOU DONT GET IT” Peter barked as he held your body tight. “She – she said she liked daisies and that – that’s ridiculous you know” The kid suddenly started letting out nervous laughs and the adults couldn’t be more confused about his behavior. “It’s ridiculous because my soulmate likes daisies and I– I never thought” his laughs stopped and tears started falling again “I never thought it would be her, and just today we – we talked about this. So it’s ridiculous. It’s so god damn ridiculous it can’t be real, this is not real” The kid started sobbing again on your chest.
“Kid- “
“It’s okay Tony, let him” Nat interrupted him as the realization hit her like a truck.
Peter and Y/N were soulmates. They were soulmates who would never be together.
So she let Peter cry all he wanted, his grip always firm on your lifeless body. They sat there, mourning for hours, until the sun was coming down and they quite literally had to rip the kid away from your body to take you back to the compound. To take you home. Tony didn’t know what hurt the most, having to tell the avengers they had lost their youngest member in what Cap had called ‘an easy mission’ or seeing Peter still holding your hand on the jet. At least he appeared to have ran out of tears.
Peter felt like he would pass out from feeling so many things. How could he be so stupid? So blind? He had been drooling over Liz for so long when the love of his life was right in front of him. You were in front on him. And now you will never be. The rest of the jet ride he never let go of your hand, and he wished he could hold it forever.
One thing was more than clear now. Peter no longer ran away from daisies, instead, every time he saw one a nostalgic smile adorned his face and was reminded of the amazing person you were, with a heart as beautiful as the flower.
Peter Parker no longer dreaded daisies, he cherished them, as he should have done it with you.
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker imagine#peter parker angst#peter parker smut#Avengers#marvel fic#marvel angst#marvel masterlist#marvel smut#marvel imagine#MCU#tom holland x reader#tom holland imagine#marvel phase 4#spiderman imagine#spiderman x reader#spiderman#avengers endgame#masterlist
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100% Professional (Six)
MASTERLIST
*******************
“So what, he flaked out on your date?” Gwen took a loud swallow from her over sized coffee thermos and smacked her lips. “Why are you so bent out of shape, you’ve never had someone cancel a date before?”
“No.” Peter said shortly. “I’ve never had someone cancel a date before. People like dating me, they always show up.”
“Mmm. Bite me.” Gwen retorted. “Well, welcome to the club of rejection, it happens to all of us, even blonde haired stunners like myself.”
“Your hair is pink right now.” Peter pointed out and Gwen replied, “Which is the only reason why my own date got canceled last week.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t because you showed up with a stack of flyers to hand out about the evils of Hammer Tech?”
“I might have come on a little strong.” the pretty girl agreed. “I suppose protesting mega corporations isn’t everybody’s idea of a good time.”
“No, probably not.” Peter slumped into his chair and propped his feet up onto the table. “What am I going to do, Gwen?”
“Oh my god, you’re really upset about this!” Gwen’s eyes widened in surprise. “Pete! I thought you were just cranky cos you didn’t get laid! You really like this guy, don’t you?”
“I told you that.”
“Well yeah, but you like everyone.” she said flatly. “Plus, he’s a client so when you said you liked him and that his muscles made you cream a little---”
“GWEN!”
“--I assumed you were just talking from a professionally horny standpoint, not from a real interest standpoint!” she cried. “I mean, damn Pete! You can’t date clients! If word gets out that you’re that kinda massage therapist, I dunno if you’ll lose your current clients or gain a whole bunch of very sketchy new ones, but either way? You definitely crossed a line.”
“I know.” he muttered. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“I’m pretty sure you could have helped yourself.” She countered. “All you had to do was be professional, Pete. Work with the guy, take his money and leave again. How difficult is that? You could have definitely not tried to get in his pants.”
“Gwen--”
“No, listen.” Gwen put her coffee down and pinned Peter with a look. “I heard what you said before about how you didn’t expect the attraction and how it’s so easy to be with him and how you guys sorta fell into each other and how you text all the time and he makes you laugh and all that. But tell me something. Have you stopped and thought for one second how hard this is on him?”
“I--”
“You tell me how easy it is for you and that’s why you want to pursue it.” She interrupted. “But your shocking lack of professionalism aside, have you even considered how difficult this is for Wade. Just once?”
“Um.” Peter hesitated. “...no? He said he felt it too so I thought it was okay.”
“You told me Wade has to live up high because traffic noise gives him panic attacks.” Gwen recounted and Peter’s face fell. “That he had to get raging drunk just to get through the first massage and then had an actual breakdown when you gave him that weighted blanket. Does that sound like a person who could dress up and stroll downtown for a date with you? Just because Wade's comfortable in his own space and over text messages doesn’t mean he can do it all outside, you know.”
“I didn’t think about that.”
“For all you know, he’s NOT comfortable in his own space.” she continued. “He could be pretending so it’s not weird for you. Do you know what he does right after you leave? Does he have to take a shower, have to meditate or medicate? Is he basically paralyzed for a few hours until his anxiety settles down?”
“...things are tough with Flash.” Peter realized. “That’s why you’re so in tune to everything right now.”
Gwen nodded miserably, her jaw clenching, and Peter whispered, “I should stop by and see him.”
“Flash doesn’t want you to stop by and see him.” She denied. “He doesn't even want me to come by. My fiancee came home from over deployment and can’t even be in the same room as me most days because I remind him of how good things used to be and how different it all is now. Remember how we were going to get married when he came home? The first time I tried to kiss him hello, Flash panicked and didn’t come out of his room for like, three days.”
“I remember.” Peter’s lips pulled down into a frown. Flash had been so hoo-rah about going and being a hero and now he was nothing like he’d used to be, shutting out the love of his life Gwen, his oldest friends Harry and MJ and even Peter, who had been his roommate through all four years of boarding school and their first year of college. “I-- I remember.”
“So you know what I did?” Gwen shrugged as if it still didn’t break her heart. “I decided to be Flash's friend because that's the only way I’m able to be part of his life. I try to take on disgusting billionaires, try to date to fend off the loneliness but end up scaring them away because let’s face it, I’m intense, and then I spend as much time with Flash as I can. Sometimes that means we talk, sometimes that means I sit clear on the other side of the couch and watch him watch a movie. I'm his friend."
“You’re trying to tell me I need to be content with being Wade’s friend." Peter blew out a deep breath. "Like if I want to stay a part of his life, I have to respect the boundaries he has, even if they are boundaries that seem like they come out of no where."
“Don’t make everything about you, Pete, I’m trying to tell you that if I don’t get laid soon I’ll actually die.” Gwen retorted and smacked Peter’s feet off the table. “But also yeah, if you want to be around Wade, you’re going to have to settle for friends. Obviously you both thought Wade was ready for more, and obviously he isn't. Back off, bud. Be his friend or leave him alone. Quit complaining about your hurt feelings and try to realize Wade probably hates himself right now for what he considers a failure. Not going on a date with you? He probably thinks its a failure. Stop bitching and have some compassion.”
“I hate your advice.” Peter reached over and took Gwen’s hand, smiling when she squeezed at it. “But I'm pretty sure I needed to hear it, so thank you. And I’m sorry about Flash. I’m sorry that the reason you know all this is cos you’re living through it.”
“I'm sorry about Flash too.” Gwen cleared her throat and blinked away a few tears. “And this therapy session will cost you one bagel and another cup of coffee, so get to it. I don’t hand out all this advice for free, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Peter pulled out his wallet and headed towards the front of the coffee shop. “Love you, Gwen.”
“Yeah.” she said absentmindedly, going right back to her book. “I'm real swell."
***************
***************
Benefits of group therapy. Wade typed into the search bar on his computer. Local group therapy for veterans. How long until therapy starts working? How long after trauma is therapy useless?
He took a gulp of a drink that was way more whiskey than it was Coke and searched, What qualifies as trauma? How long will I have panic attacks?
And then with his breath catching and vision blurring with tears: How long before I feel normal again? Do people with PTSD ever date again?
His phone buzzed and Wade picked it up without thinking, swiped the screen without looking, sure it was going to be a reminder of meds or a confirmation text from tomorrow’s physical therapy appointment.
From Peter: I’m not going anywhere, Wade. I’m not going to bother you, but if you need me, I’m here and if you want to talk or need some of my Grade A humour to distract you for a minute, I’m here for that too.
From Peter: I’ll let you make the first move though, I don’t want to intrude or push like… boundaries? I don’t expect anything from you, but know that I’ll be happy to hear from you all the same.
Wade blinked down at the message, then up at the current screen on his computer, scrolling down until he found an article he’d only skimmed earlier: How to be there for someone with PTSD. Tip one was to reassure the person that you were there but didn’t expect anything, that you would respect their boundaries and needs but also would grant them their distance.
Peter had obviously read a similar article or pamphlet and even though the text read a little stiff, it was clear Peter was trying and it made Wade’s heart hurt in a very real way that even after everything, Peter was still trying.
He didn’t text Peter back though.
Instead Wade put his phone away and went back to looking up group therapy locations and reading anonymous reviews about different therapists.
He’d gone to therapy after his injury, he’d even gone to a psychiatrist, he’d gone to a hypnotist for the nightmares and about every other ‘-ist’ out there but it apparently wasn’t working, he apparently needed something more because living like this wasn’t working anymore.
There was a group specifically for injured veterans, former soldiers whose entire lives had been changed by a moment overseas, and Wade clicked through that website to until he found a time and a location and the suggestion that he “click the attending box partly so Sam knows how many cupcakes to bring, partly to set it as a personal goal for yourself!”
“I’m doing this for the cupcakes.” Wade muttered as he checked the box. “Only for the cupcakes.”
….and with one more glance at his phone, “And maybe for Pete.”
*******************
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Make It Better
Starker College!AU; Student!Peter/Professor!Tony
(another excuse for me to write the word ‘panties’ repeatedly)
(sorry not sorry)
****
Something’s off about Peter. Tony notices as soon as the kid steps into the lecture hall, and it only becomes more obvious as Tony actually gets the presentation going.
His favorite student (sue him, every professor has one) is hardly participating, and though he’s still obviously paying attention throughout, typing notes up as he goes, all of his usual enthusiasm is just…gone. He looks tired, or maybe sad.
Tony doesn’t think about how frequently he’s glancing over to check until Peter looks up and their eyes lock. The younger’s flare just slightly, and Tony feels like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Especially when a bloom of pink spreads across Peter’s cheeks.
He doesn’t check on him again for the rest of the lecture.
But he worries.
*
After he’s dismissed everyone and the students are filing out of the hall, Tony makes a decision.
“Parker, stay behind for a minute.”
Something in him is too satisfied at the way Peter halts almost immediately at the sound of his voice, stopping hard enough that he rocks forward slightly.
All the times Tony’s pulled Peter aside before this have been exercises in both self-restraint and masochism. The twenty-something is made of sunlight, brightness leaking out of his pores, and watching that split second of supernova excitement burst across his features when Tony tells him to stay is the instructor’s most guilty pleasure.
This time, though, there’s a quick spark, a flash of the light Tony’s (hoping for) familiar with, and then anxiety, and then the kid just looks…flat. Forcibly so. Like he’s hiding something.
The door closes behind the last retreating body, and then it’s just them in the empty lecture hall.
Tony moves to lean against the front of his desk, braces his palms against the wooden edge.
“Alright, kid,” he says, raising one hand to gesture vaguely at Peter, who’s stopped a few feet in front of him, “what’s up? You seemed pretty off today. Distracted.“
Peter winces, his eyes skittering down and away for a second before he looks back at the instructor.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I–it’s nothing, I didn’t mean to get–I still took notes, I wasn’t just–”
“Okay, Peter, breathe,” Tony soothes, “I’m not trying to berate you. You’re usually a little more active participation-wise, I wanted to check up on you. That’s all.”
He has to fight the urge to physically comfort Peter when those doe eyes (those eyes, those regular, normal eyes that Tony only ever notices as such) go pained and disbelieving and hopeful before the feelings are again poorly shuttered away.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, smiling unconvincingly while the knuckles on the hand holding his bag strap turn white, “it’s nothing, just–just life stuff. I’ll be–it’ll be fine in a couple days. Tomorrow! Tomorrow, I’ll be fine tomorrow, participating and everything!”
Tony needs to accept defeat and let him go, bad poker face and all, but a not-good-very-bad voice in the back of his mind is muttering to him about the returned blush on Peter’s face. It’s making him think a little too much about the uncharacteristic unwillingness to share.
They’ve talked about things that aren’t related to curriculum in their frequent after-class discussions. Life comes up; they know some basic things about each other–favorite takeout, least favorite movies, places they grew up, etc.–and some things that are maybe not so basic–names of best friends, stories of first pets, how often they visit their parents, and so on.
But this is the first time he’s seen Peter so…flustered.
Thankfully (yes, thankfully) Tony’s conscience prevails and he decides not to push.
“Okay. Alright. But if you ever do need to talk to someone, my door’s always open.”
He gives Peter a quick smile he hopes is as comforting as he means it to be, pushes off the desk and circles back around to his seat.
He’s proud of himself, he really is, Tony thinks while he blindly shuffles through some papers. Resisted temptation. Kept things on neutral ground. Breached no bound–
“My boyfriend dumped me.”
Tony freezes, his fingers flexing involuntarily. The crinkle of paper is loud in the spacious, empty room.
Okay.
“That’s rough, I’m sorry,” Tony says, suddenly wishing he had something to drink. Water. Juice. Scotch.
He looks up at Peter with what he hopes is more empathy than the inappropriate excitement he’s feeling over the development, but he’s suddenly a lot less concerned with what his own face is doing when he sees Peter’s expression.
The kid’s not even looking at him, just staring off to the side with this heartbreaking shame written across his features.
“I…” Peter’s throat clicks when he swallows, “I told him about something I…like. And he, um…”
Oh, man. Oh, no.
“…he called me a pervert,” Peter says, quietly, “and I know it’s not a big–I mean, the word’s kind of a joke…but, he really meant it, you know? There’s a difference, when someone says it and they really think you’re–” he pauses, frowns tightly. “What I–it’s not even anything bad, not gross or illegal. And I know it’s not, but…for a second…”
Tony’s heart fucking shatters for him. There’s nothing quite like being genuinely kink-shamed for the first time, especially by someone you thought you could trust. For someone as genuinely sweet and kind as Peter, it would be completely implosive. He remembers similar devastation, hates seeing the confused, questioning pain on Peter’s face, the self-doubt.
He resists the compulsion to ask what, exactly, Peter likes.
“I’m sorry. That’s really shitty,” he says instead.
Tony doesn’t typically curse in front of his students (has to keep up appearances of professionalism somehow), and he preens internally when Peter huffs a surprised laugh. It’s a nice moment, both of them wrapped in shared experience (even if one party’s unaware), uplifted by just a hint of levity. Very Chicken Soup for the Secret Kinky Soul–
“Do you–,” Peter starts, blushing slightly, “–can I tell you what it is? It’d be nice to hear it’s, you know, not actually weird?” He’s squirming a little, his eyes dancing away again with nerves.
Tony might actually die. Rolling himself back a bit from the desk, he takes a breath and pastes on his last-ditch effort at an encouraging, platonic, smile. Slouches casually against the backrest of his chair.
“If you feel comfortable sharing, then shoot.”
He’s going for ‘mentorly’, he swears. This is definitely an appropriate conversation to have with his student. Definitely. Yes.
After a beat of silence, Peter shifts. Takes a breath. Swallows.
“I like…um. I like wearing pant–” the kid chokes a little, flushes darker, “I like wearing women’s underwear.”
“Ah,” Tony says. He tries to covertly lace his fingers together over the vicinity of ‘just below his belt’ and only succeeds in drawing Peter’s eye to where his hands have disappeared.
Before Peter’s eyes flip back up to meet his, Tony sees the kid’s tongue peek out to wet his lips in a subconscious motion.
Clearing his throat, Tony brings his hands up from his lap to fold them on the desk, leans forward. Watches the anticipation and uncertainty dance across Peter’s face. Hopes he’s coming off more supportive than interested.
“It’s not weird, Pete. It’s…not. Don’t worry about that.”
It feels hypocritical; essentially telling Peter not to think much of it, when Tony is going to have an impossible time thinking about anything else. He’s trying hard not to think about it right now, trying to avoid imagining clinging lace, or satin, or silk, stretched over Peter’s–
“Can I show you?”
Tony absently approves of the phrasing; that he’s being offered a gift, that this is something Peter wants to give him. The response he knows he should give is something along the lines of 'that’s not appropriate’, but the only one banging around in his head is a resounding YES PLEASE.
When he gives up and nods in the affirmative, Peter slides his bag off his shoulder.
Tony’s expecting him to pull out his phone, maybe show him some pictures. Apparently, Tony’s going to have to re-examine his take on reality, because Peter does not pull out his phone.
The brunet lowers his bag to the floor and starts taking off his jacket.
Tony’s frozen, again, as the jacket hits the carpet beside the already discarded laptop bag. Frozen, twice in one day. Twice in less than an hour. Peter is a fucking trip. He’s a dream, he’s a hallucination–
–that will be immediately visible if anyone were to open the lecture hall door.
Peter seems to realize it at the same time. He’s across the room in a couple of seconds, reaching for the door handle, pausing for a beat…and locking them in together.
It feels a little like someone snaps their fingers in Tony’s face.
He’s about to let one of his students–his favorite student–basically give him a striptease. In his classroom. It’s beyond 'inappropriate’. This is something Peter should be exploring with other twenty-somethings, not a professor fifteen years his senior–
But…Peter had tried to explore it with someone else, hadn’t he?
“Mr. Stark,” Peter says, suddenly, “Is this okay?”
The younger man’s back in place, like he’d never moved at all, but now he’s shyly lifting the hem of his t-shirt with one hand and undoing the front closure of his jeans with the other, and Tony’s eyes lock onto the peekaboo of fire-engine red now visible beneath the worn denim.
“Yeah, Pete,” he says, voice rasping slightly, “It’s okay.”
Everyone has a breaking point, Tony reasons as he stares at the picture in front of him. There’s only so much he could possibly endure before letting go, and apparently his threshold’s pretty low when it comes to Peter; a few seconds of crepe paper resistance.
He stands slowly, comes around the desk. Peter doesn’t move, just watches him, brittle-sharp hope in his eyes. Tony’s aware he’s moving like Peter’s a frightened animal, and his brain both shies from and reaches towards how this could make him the hunter, more so than the awed observer. Though he is definitely both.
The way the kid’s chest heaves slightly on a sharp inhale, the way his lips part just barely when Tony lowers to his knees in front of him, are just more gifts, more memories Tony wants to etch into his brain and play on loop. He plans on showing just how grateful he is.
Peter’s flushing a lot brighter, but he’s not pulling away; he just pulls the zipper open a little further, revealing more of the delicate pattern that overlays Peter’s pale, smooth skin.
“Can I touch you? Kiss you?” Tony asks, voice rough
Peter gives him a shaky but enthusiastic 'yes, please’.
Tony groans and reaches for him, tugs the denim waistband down a couple inches and pulls Peter gently forward by the hips so he can drag his lips along the line where that softly-defined vee of muscle disappears under the thin lace. Peter’s hand slides into his hair, and Tony hums in approval as he presses drawn out kisses into the skin of Peter’s stomach.
When Tony grabs two generous handfuls of Peter’s ass and squeezes, those tentative, sweet fingers tighten reflexively.
“This is–you look edible, Pete. I’m so lucky you’re letting me see you like this.”
“Yeah?” Peter asks, breathless and wide-eyed when Tony looks up.
“Yes, sweetheart. Beautiful. Gorgeous…” He punctuates each word with another brush of lips to the border of lace and skin.
He smells lightly musky and male through the delicate fabric, his cock hard and hot underneath.
Shutting his eyes, Tony gets lost in nuzzling at Peter, murmuring sweet nonsense, nipping and kissing and dipping lower, reveling in lightly musky male scent through the delicate fabric. Peter’s cock is hard and hot, and Tony can’t help but lave his tongue over the swollen head, humming when Peter shivers against him.
He pulls back to both attempt to calm down and check on how Peter’s doing; he hadn’t meant to get so worshippy–
When he looks up, he feels like his chest is caving in. Peter’s on the verge of tears, eyes red-rimmed and wet, and Tony pushes to stand.
“God, Pete, I’m sorry–”
He’s cut off with a muffled 'mmph’ when Peter grabs his shirt and yanks him down for a kiss. It’s short and hard and desperate, and when it’s over, Peter pulls away enough that Tony can see the almost-panic on his face.
“I–Mr. Stark, thank you, please don’t apologize, please don’t say it was a mistake, it felt so good, you felt so good, I don’t want to stop, I’ll stop crying, I promise–”
For a second, Tony’s furious with whoever made Peter believe he has to apologize for his tears (wonders if it’s the same dipshit who said no to Peter Parker in fucking panties), but Tony’s anger won’t help anything right now. He reels in his questions, and instead reaches up with one hand to swipe the fresh-fallen tears from Peter’s cheeks, a move that stops the flow of anxious word-vomit.
“If you want more, I want to give you more,” Tony says, using his free arm to wrap Peter’s waist and tug him gently forward. “I want you to have the world, kid.”
It’s too honest–Tony’s being way too honest right now; months of feelings and want trying to break free–but he’s not about to stop. Not when Peter’s staring up at him with heartbreaking, careful hope.
Lowering his head, Tony presses a kiss to the corner of Peter’s jaw, murmurs his next words into his ear.
“You’re amazing, Peter. So brilliant. So sweet.” He drops both hands to slide down Peter’s hips and around to the small of his back, slips his fingers just under the lace, drags them back and forth along the soft skin just above the curve of his ass as Peter arches against him with a shaky gasp.“That you look like a wet dream right now is really just a bonus.”
“Mr. Stark…” Peter breathes, surprised, his flush deepening.
Tony’s going to have to tell Peter to use his first name at some point, but he’s a little too selfish to do it right now, when the moniker sends a bolt of liquid heat swooping low in his stomach.
“And you’re going to make a mess in these for me,” he continues, tugging at the panties, “because I want you to feel good. Because you deserve to feel good.”
Peter’s staring up at him with a sweeter version of the supernova Tony loves, tentative hope and anticipation and want.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Tony says, tilting his head down to brush a kiss across Peter’s lips, “let me make you feel good. Let me make it better.”
***
@the-amazing-spidertwink, @starkercrossedlovers
#starker#tony stark x peter parker#ironspider#panty kink#starker fic#tony x peter#peter parker#tony stark#nff#kink shaming
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Red Tallies || Peter Parker x Reader
Summary: This AU is based on an idea from an old prompt in which people have tally marks to represent how many times they have fallen in love. Peter has fallen in love a couple times, but never been loved back. Peter is college age, would say around 21-23, and so is reader and company.
Author’s Note: This has honestly been something that I’ve been wanting to write for a while, and finally found the time to sit down and write it. Though still testing the waters, so please let me know. Would most likely try to be a slow burn, like definitely be more than four parts.
Word Count: 2K
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“Ned, I told you, she isn’t in love with me,” Peter repeated for the eighth time in this same phone conversation, but that didn’t mean that it hurt any less.
“Are you sure? I mean it could just take a while for hers to show up soon?”
“Ned, I really don’t want to say this but she did have a red mark, but it wasn’t for me,” he finally caved and explained the one fact he has kept thus far, “I didn’t think she would pull something like this, that’s why she can’t love me…because she loves someone else,” he sighed almost feeling the tally mark was burning his skin.
“Oh, I’m sorry dude,” he said after a long pause.
“I know but it’s not something you should apologize for,” he sighed, trying not to remember the events that occurred that morning.
“You can always come with me and Betty to the movies tonight, we can invite a few more people so you don’t feel like third wheel,” wanting to switch topics to hopefully cheer his friend up.
Peter knew that his friend was really trying to help but he really couldn’t think of leaving his apartment. He really needed to process the whole situation rather than distract himself from it, because he knew when he was alone, he would feel this low again. He looked down at his wrist seeing nothing but black tallies on his wrist, and let out a long sigh.
“Pete, you still there?” pulling him out from his thoughts.
“Yea just thinking about the offer,” even though he already knew that he had the answer.
“How about you think about it and let me know. I don’t want you to feel pressured,” always the supportive friend. “I would cancel on Betty but…“
“Thanks Ned, don’t think Betty deserves that,” smiling knowing that Ned will always be his ride or die. “Think I’m a sit this one out,” his eyes still focused on his wrist.
“Offer will stands till seven, but if not, I’ll stop by tomorrow with food and can talk about it,” wanting Peter to know that he’ll be there through thick and thin.
“Yea tomorrow would be nice, I’ll text you if anything happens,” affirming that he wasn’t going out tonight, “have a great date Ned.”
“Thanks Pete. Hope to see you soon then,” he said.
Both said their goodbyes, leaving Peter to let out a long groan of frustration. The palms of his hands pressed against his eyes hoping to keep the tears in that he kept in the whole day. Another black tally mark etched on his skin, great another failed attempted at love.
It was at times like these that wished he never learned about the tally marks, but it’s something unavoidable. He remembers days in which his Aunt May would sit down and talk to him about the tally marks that would one day appear across his wrist and tried to do her best to explain it.
“Alright Peter, so one when you find someone you really love, you’ll one day see a black tally appear right here,” pointing out her own single red tally on her wrist.
“But yours is red,” child Peter pointing out the obvious.
“I know, but if the person you love, loves you back, then it will turn red. Just like mine, yours can start off black, only depending who falls for who first. I can tell you first hand that mine showed up a month before your Aunt May’s did,” puling Peter’s attention from his aunt to his see his uncle setting down his stuff. Ben walked over to the two ruffling Peter’s hair to distract him from giving May a quick kiss.
“Hey it’s not my fault that you fell in love sooner than I did,” she joked.
“Uh, yea it is, you didn’t make it easy for me,” he smiled, “So what is this tally mark talk about?”
“Just curious,” Peter responded, “besides our teacher was going to go over it soon and wanted a head start.”
Peter smiled his tears gaining a bittersweet taste to them but figured that he may as well let out any tears at this moment. He looked at his wrist, nothing but black tallies and he would be lying to himself if he said that it didn’t hurt him. He really didn’t get the idea of what was so difficult about loving him, but then again, it’s not like he can force someone to love him. But still he just felt like a below the belt when he saw his now ex-girlfriend, if she even considered herself that, sport a red tally that clearly wasn’t his. Peter let out a loud sigh, thinking it was just to just scour his social media and start to unfollow her but couldn’t force himself to delete old pictures of themselves.
Just a few moments later and Peter heard a large crash outside his door. Peter quickly got up and walked over to the door hearing already someone cussing from the other end.
-----------------------
You didn’t know whether to be mad at the carpet lining the floor or yourself for thinking it was a good idea to carry more than you actually could because you really took a dive just now. You were glad that the boxes you decided to carry were filled with things that wouldn’t break, but you couldn’t help the burn on your cheeks from embarrassment and hope that no one saw your fall.
You started to stack a few things to try to somewhat organize things, and decided now was a good time as any to open your door. You decided to take a few things with you hoping to prevent anyone from seeing your mishap. By the time you went back to your stuff, someone was already organizing your fallen mess.
“Hey, sorry about the mess in front of your door, just give me a couple minutes and it’ll be totally clear,” walking over to said mess.
“it’s no worry at all,” seeing the stranger get up and face you.
Your heart jumped to your chest seeing the face that although you have forgotten about over time, you could never truly forget. “Peter?” knowing full well that there was no doubt about it.
“uh do I know you?” his face really confused because he really couldn’t place your face to a name.
“It’s been a while, but remember me from middle school,” trying not to act like you weren’t even more embarrassed then just a moment before.
You could visually see his mind thinking back to middle school, and finally put the pieces together, “(Y/N)! Oh god, I’m sorry I didn’t remember, trust me have a few things on my mind,” and although you haven’t seen peter in years, you figured he still was the same bashful boy you hadn’t seen in years.
“no worries, I mean what are the odds, that your old middle school friend moves down the hall much less spill most of her stuff in front of your door,” trying not to make anything more uncomfortable.
“yea guess so,” already sensing things slowly ease, “So you took over the empty loft, I think I heard about someone filling that room,” quickly picking up a few boxes, “ how about I help you out.”
Judging by him carrying boxes you knew that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, “sure guess we can catch up, plus definitely need the extra set of hands,” you said.
You didn’t know what it was about Peter but he really had a way to become instant friends with just about anyone that he met. You really were glad that he still was the same as the Peter you left behind at the end of middle school. It was almost easy being with Peter that it almost made it seem like you guys hadn’t seen each other in years but can already tell that moving in here was a great choice. You found out that he was still friends with Ned and kept in touch with Michelle, which he was already mentioning that he couldn’t wait to tell the others. you really were glad that he already wanted to plan things out with you.
You would be lying to yourself if you couldn’t deny that although you could recognize Peter, he really had matured into someone very attractive, especially by your standards. The once round cheeks chiseled out into strong edges, small chucky arms and hands became defined and strong by the easiness that he carried large boxes. however, some traits didn’t change at all, his doe brown eyes still had the same glee and his smile still captured the room, at least it did in your opinion. But now with this stance and physique, he really could capture the room.
“So, you moving in all by yourself?” Peter asked bringing in heavier objects. You
“ Yea, just me though if its gets too pricey may ask one of my friends to move in with me,” you replied already seeing that more than half of your stuff was already moved in thanks to Peter’s help, “pretty sure she will like the space as well.”
You looked over at Peter seeing that he was staring at his phone, his default cheery attitude replaced by a saddened look.
“Peter, you alright buddy?”.
“Uh yea, just some,” not knowing the right words to say, or better yet not know the right words that didn’t make him want to cry again.
“Girl trouble,” you finished, doubting someone like him couldn’t be with anyone or have someone he’s interest in.
“Um, something like that,” figured that he didn’t know how to phrase it.
“You don’t have to talk about it, I mean we technically just met,” not wanting to push his limits, because you figured that he would tell you just to be nice.
“It’s not that, I just don’t want one of our few first conversations to be about how my girlfriend got a red tally,” the words sounding so sour, “my bad I think I don’t think she was my girlfriend to begin with.”
“Red tally, then isn’t that a good thing?” not really understanding the problem.
“Yeah her and whoever she’s interested in, but definitely not for me,” lifting the side of his wrist and showing his black tallies., “just figured she’d be the first you know,” he said melancholy as he shrugged his shoulders.
“Hey her loss and their loss too, because I can already tell you that you have already been one of my better random male encounters in a while,” trying to cheer him up, though you figured you were failing at it.
Peter let out a small chuckle, “very funny but think I’m going to head out. Ned's meeting me tomorrow for food, you’re more than welcomed to come,” he said trying to switch to lighter topics, “I’ll knock, see if you’re free ok”
“yea, sounds like a plan and really thanks for the help couldn’t do it without you.”
Peter said a small goodbye and walked out leaving you to finally press your hand against your chest. Your heart was racing, you knew that of course spending time with someone attractive like Peter was going to make you react but it was more. You knew that although you were glad to have met up with peter, but you weren’t sure if it was such a good idea in the long run. You finally decided to look down on your wrist, your eyes locking on your first tally mark. Your fingers traced over the black tally, knowing full well that the person who this tally represents is none other than your new neighbor, Peter Parker.
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End Author’s Note: So that was part 1, please let me know how it is. Still in debate if i should include peter being Spiderman, that is the other main opinion I would want, since I am really on the fence. Once again this is planned out to be a somewhat slowburn.
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker imagine#peter x reader#peter parker imagines#spiderman x reader#marvel x reader#marvel imagines#peter parker x y/n#spiderman#spiderman x y/n#peter parker fluff#peter parker fanfiction#marvel fanficiton
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Lost in the Lights Ch.9|Brittana
A/N - So we're potentially nearing the end to this one. I've been considering writing the entire school year, but I may finally be getting back to work soon so I won't have much free time to continue this. Who knows though, a miracle might happen! Don't worry, I'll get this to a good stopping point so no one's left hanging. Thanks for sticking around!
Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut
When Monday morning rolls around, Brittany has no trouble waking up to start her day. In fact, she barely grumbles as she does a stretch before getting ready for her usual morning run. Most of the time, Mondays are the hardest for her since it means getting back into her busy routine for the week but today feels different.
Actually, the whole weekend has felt different.
Brittany feels weirdly well-rested although she didn’t really get much sleep last night because she spent most of it texting Santana. They weren’t even talking about anything important, but Brittany couldn’t get enough of her even after the day they spent together.
Like they agreed upon, Santana tagged along with her and Pete to the park where they both watched Pete swing. Neither of them could help glancing over by the pond though and Brittany definitely couldn’t help but to remember all that happened there. She bets Santana was thinking the same judging by the coy smirk Brittany caught her wearing when their eyes finally met. The look made Brittany blush, but they were soon interrupted by Pete begging one of them to push him on the swings.
It was a great afternoon at the park followed by lunch back at the Pierce residence where Brittany made everyone sandwiches. Pete talked animatedly about this show he watched at their grandparents’ house in between bites of his ham and cheese. Santana followed along just as enthusiastically which made Brittany’s heart just about burst. She found herself wondering if anyone else knew of Santana’s softer side or if this was just for them.
Either way, it was nice and easy and even if Brittany was dealing with a hangover from hell it was okay, because once Pete fell into a food coma Santana kissed away all her worries.
And it was different, kissing Santana completely sober. There was nothing in her system that could blur the way she felt in that moment, nothing else to pin those dizzy feelings on.
Everything she felt was purely because of Santana.
It was something Brittany wondered about before Santana came over that day. What would happen once the alcohol wore off? Would Santana regret everything? Would Brittany? Would things become awkward and uncomfortable to the point where they’d have to stop being friends?
Santana put a rest to most of Brittany’s burning questions just by showing up after everything that happened that night, then she assured Brittany by pushing her up against the kitchen counter and kissing her hard after Pete fell asleep on the couch.
Of course, that’s just how Brittany’s interpreting it all so that she can make sense of how quickly their friendship has changed. If Santana regretted anything they did, it definitely didn’t show so it must mean that they’re okay.
But again, Brittany’s just guessing because they haven’t actually had a conversation. Right now, it’s like she’s in limbo and she’s not sure how she feels about that yet.
\\
When Brittany arrives at McKinley High an hour or so later, Santana’s just pulling into the Senior parking lot. The quarterback lingers by her car as she watches Santana get out of hers. It’s crazy how much she’s drawn to her but it has always been like that. The only difference now is that she knows what Santana’s lips feel like on her skin and how much she loves kissing her.
There’s also Santana’s habit of looking super hot while doing the most ordinary things – for example, putting on her bookbag. She’s just gorgeous, simple as that, and Brittany can’t help but to be easily distracted by her.
“Mornin’,” Santana says casually as she walks past Brittany before taking sip of her coffee.
Leave it to Santana to make a pit stop at the Lima Bean before class, but she’s as pretty as ever in her Cheerios uniform. Even her voice has a little bit of a rasp to it and it just reminds Brittany of how long they stayed up the night before talking to each other.
Brittany kind of wants to kiss her again.
Santana’s steps slow when Brittany only stares blankly, “Earth to Pierce?”
“Sorry! Good morning,” Brittany finally answers as she blinks back into reality.
“You still waking up or something?” Santana jokes as she takes another sip.
“I guess,” Brittany answers shyly, “I was up late.”
Santana just smirks before continuing to walk towards the building. Brittany quickly closes her car door and rushes to catch up to her.
When Brittany joins her again, Santana gives the blonde a once over and quirks a brow, “You not bringing your bookbag today?”
“Huh?” Brittany looks around and blushes again before going back to her car for her bag. She started off the morning doing so well, but maybe she’s going to pay for the lack of sleep after all?
\\
By lunch, Brittany’s a lot more coherent. She sits at her usual table with Kurt, Mercedes and Tina and she can hear them going on about some Glee Club drama which would usually interest her since she’s not involved in any way but she finds herself getting lost in her thoughts.
There’s a ton going through her head: an upcoming history test, Santana, finishing her English paper, Santana, getting ready for the last two games of the regular season, Santana.
With it being so late in the football season, she really should be focused on the playoffs but this past weekend has really thrown her for a loop. She has dated before – twice and none of them lasted more than a few months – but none of her past partners ever consumed her attention like this.
“How was your weekend, Britt?” Kurt asks with a nudge to Brittany’s shoulder, “Did you end up going to Puck’s party?”
“Yeah, you’ve got to tell us how that happened,” Tina says with a gesture to Brittany’s nose.
“I can cover that up by the way,” Kurt adds.
Brittany smiles, “It’s cool, I accidentally got…headbutted. It’s not the worst that’s happened.”
“It looks like it hurts like hell,” Mercedes says with a chuckle.
Brittany only shrugs, “I don’t even notice it. But yeah, I did go to the party. It was a lot of fun. Missed seeing you there though, Kurt.”
Kurt shakes his head, “Yeah, I think I would’ve rather gone to Puck’s than Rachel Berry’s Halloween House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Brittany comments as she picks at her lunch, “Not a good time?”
“Endless drama,” Mercedes answers, “Even I was a little annoyed by it.”
“That sucks,” Brittany frowns just as Santana and Quinn enter the cafeteria.
It’s like her whole world stops.
Brittany glances their way as they walk by just in time to see Santana eye her up and down. The blonde just barely catches the wink she sends before she and Quinn continue on towards their table.
Surprisingly, the rest of the table was totally oblivious to their exchange. Seems like Quinn was too. Brittany has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling too widely, she doesn’t need Kurt and Mercedes prying again.
Instead, she goes back to listening to the breakdown of whatever drama took place at Rachel’s. She nods and responds whenever necessary, but she isn’t too invested in the story. She’s too busy glancing Santana’s way every so often just to check if she was looking too.
Santana always was.
\\
By the final class of the day, Brittany swears she can feel the tension between them. She can’t quite put her finger on the kind of tension it is, but it makes her feel hyper aware whenever Santana is around. Anytime the Co-Captain glances her way or their hands accidentally touch, it’s like a thousand alarms go off in Brittany’s head.
What they’re alerting her of, she has no idea.
They look at each other like they have this shared secret and they’re both just dying to blurt it out. Brittany guesses that’s sort of true. She of course hasn’t told anyone about what happened when she and Santana left Puck’s party, but that’s because she isn’t really close to anyone. Kurt and Mercedes’ reaction to her friendship with Santana really put her off of telling them anything so she keeps most things to herself now.
But Santana?
Brittany wonders if she told Quinn anything or if she’s keeping this under wraps too. With the way news travels at this school, she doubts Santana would be the first to say anything to anyone. She can understand Santana wanting privacy after everything she has been through though.
So Brittany continues to listen to Ms. Holliday’s lesson and tries her hardest to focus on notetaking and not Santana, no matter how close her pinky is to Brittany’s. If she wanted to, she could link them together and it would kind of be like holding hands.
“You going to practice early today?” Santana asks in a hushed voice. She doesn’t even look up as she continues to write.
Brittany wasn’t planning on it but the question makes her curious so she lies, “Yeah, why?”
Santana just lifts her shoulder casually, “Just wondering.”
Brittany can see a hint of smirk and that makes her even more curious.
\\
It’s just after the final bell of the day and Santana and Brittany have gone their separate ways.
Brittany’s heading to her locker while Santana goes off in the opposite direction. It confuses her because they usually walk together to their lockers and Santana didn’t say she had to be somewhere else after class, but Brittany doesn’t think too much about. She just heads down the hall to her locker to put the last of her books away before making her way towards the gym
Santana’s secrecy all makes sense when Brittany finds her waiting in the empty locker room. She barely gets a word out before Santana’s pushing her gently against the wall of lockers and kissing her silly.
It takes Brittany completely by surprise but it also feels like a sigh of relief. She didn’t realize she had been waiting for this to happen all day and now that it has, it’s like she’s back on Cloud 9.
“God, I’ve been waiting so long to do that again,” Santana mumbles against Brittany’s lips just as she starts to pull back.
Brittany’s still a little dazed and it doesn’t help when Santana licks her lips, but she drops her bookbag on the bench behind Santana and pulls her back in. She hears the surprised whimper Santana lets out and it only makes her smirk as she deepens the kiss.
How she managed to go this long without knowing what it’s like to kiss Santana is beyond her. It’s probably one of the best feelings in the world and Brittany’s so happy that she’s able to do this now.
“What’s the time?” Santana breathes out as her hands tug at the sides of Brittany’s sweater.
Brittany shrugs, “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Santana chuckles as Brittany grabs her ass, “The squad will be in here soon.”
“Not if we lock the door.”
“Quinn has a key,” Santana says and Brittany can just barely hear the urgency start to come through in her tone, even if her hands are diving beneath Brittany’s top.
“Then we should probably stop,” Brittany mumbles but doesn’t make a move to do so. Santana’s hands feel too good on her skin and really…she does need help getting undressed. After all, she’s here to get ready for football practice.
“We probably should.”
They’re quick to realize that neither of them are moving away.
If anything, they’re pulling each other closer. Santana’s nearly got Brittany’s top off and Brittany’s fingers are hooked into the waistband of Santana’s Cheerio skirt. Where this is all going is a mystery to Brittany, but it’s a dangerous game they’re playing. Someone could walk in at any moment and catch them in this compromising position.
When she feels Santana’s fingers play at the clasp of Brittany’s bra, Brittany feels her senses heighten. It makes her think, what are they doing? It’s like their lust for each other has gone on a joyride and they’re just acting completely on that rather than using their heads.
What’s worse though is that Brittany isn’t all that against it. They’re living in the moment and who is she to stop that, right?
Suddenly the locker room door starts to creak open and voices can be heard on the other side.
Brittany doesn’t miss the way Santana stiffens before she’s putting as much distance as she can between them. There’s a blush covering her face and she looks a little wide-eyed as she glances from the group of girls entering the room before looking back at Brittany.
The group doesn’t notice them as they head to the Cheerios’ side of the room and Brittany watches as Santana slumps against the opposite wall of lockers in relief. In this area, they’re hidden from their sight so Brittany climbs over the bench separating them.
“That was a close one,” She says jokingly.
The worry in Santana’s brow fades, “Just as it was getting good too.”
Brittany laughs at that, glad to see Santana’s sense of humor is still intact. She was a little worried for a moment there.
“Go get ready,” Brittany tells her. If Santana lingers this close any longer, she might just make her miss practice.
Santana nods though and Brittany takes a seat on the bench to get to work untying her shoelaces. Just before Santana goes though, she bends down to press a quick kiss to Brittany’s cheek. Again, it’s unexpected and sweet.
“Have a good practice,” She says.
Brittany can only smile as she watches Santana turn, her hips swaying hypnotically.
Yeah, Brittany can totally get used to this.
\\
Brittany and Santana keep up their secret meetings for two whole weeks.
It doesn’t only take place in the locker room before practice and after games won though. Sometimes it happens in the backseat of Santana’s car in the parking lot at Elliott’s, sometimes it’s in the backseat of Brittany’s. Sometimes it happens on the park bench by the pond around dusk when all the kids have gone home for the night. Sometimes it happens on Brittany’s couch when her mom is at work and Pete’s with her grandparents.
They have been making out behind – and up against – all of these closed doors and sometimes it gets heated. There have been more times than not lately that Brittany’s found Santana tugging on her waistband and even Brittany’s guilty of trying to take of Santana’s bra.
It’s an exhilarating feeling – to have these moments with Santana with this underlying fear of getting caught. It’s almost like a game to see how far they can get before they have to stop, but as much as Brittany loves a challenge she’s also starting to want more.
Not more as in wanting to take things to the next level – although she really wouldn’t mind that either – but more as in wanting to do things without having to hide. It doesn’t always have to be a steamy make out session, sometimes Brittany just wants to do simple things too.
Just the other day at school, Brittany tried holding Santana’s hand in the hall but Santana was so smooth in evading her. Brittany figured it might’ve been a coincidence; maybe Santana needed both hands to carry her books but a little piece of her didn’t think that was so true.
It wasn’t until a few days later that Brittany tried it again and noticed Santana do the same exact thing. It wasn’t a coincidence, Santana was purposely avoiding holding Brittany’s hand.
But Brittany wanted to be sure. After all, it was a pretty big accusation because why wouldn’t Santana want to hold her hand in public? It’s not the riskiest thing they’ve ever done.
\\
Brittany starts to get creative in trying to lure Santana away from being so secretive, but it doesn’t work too well in her favor. In fact, it does nothing but confuse Brittany even more.
Santana doesn’t want to hold her hand, fine. But apparently, linking pinkies is okay?
They can make out all over the locker room and sometimes behind the bleachers, but Brittany can’t kiss her in the hallway?
At first, it was an innocent mystery that Brittany wanted to solve but the longer it went on the less fun she started to have. Santana was afraid and Brittany could understand why she would be after every thing that has happened to her, but it was becoming the giant gay elephant in the room. Brittany found herself coming up with more and more questions, but only one stood out the most.
What were they doing?
Later that week, Brittany tried her luck in getting an answer.
\\
It was Thursday so that meant the last football practice of the week. It also meant Brittany coming into the locker room earlier so that she could put in extra work on the field, but lately Santana occupied most of that time.
Brittany had on her padded girdle and dry-fit tights already by the time Santana wandered into the locker room.
“Look at you already dressed,” Santana husks as she moves closer to Brittany’s side of the locker room.
“Almost,” Brittany nods before turning to get her shoulder pads on.
She figures the more gear she has on, the less of a chance she’ll be distracted by Santana’s sweet lady kisses. Her shoulder pads are kind of her last line of defense so she’s quick to get them on – so quick in fact that she forgets to put her practice jersey on them first.
Santana takes a seat on the bench and watches Brittany work. There’s that familiar glimmer in her eye as she watches Brittany’s fingers move to get the clasps in place. The look makes Brittany feel hot all over. She keeps her eyes focused on the task at hand though, certain that if she were to glance Santana’s way they might get wrapped up in each other yet again.
Brittany gives the pads a hard tug once everything’s secure and it isn’t until then that she realizes she forgot about the jersey. She can get it on herself, but it’s probably the hardest thing in the world to do once your pads are already on because it kind of becomes a two-person job.
She’s going to need help and lucky for her, Santana is probably all too willing.
Brittany bites her lip as she holds the jersey in her hand, contemplating whether or not she should struggle in silence or just risk the wonderful consequences of asking for help. She’s in the middle of weighing out the pros and cons when she sees Santana stand from the corner of her eye.
“You need a hand with that?”
The pads hide how Brittany’s shoulders ease at the question. She’s nodding before fully thinking it through.
“I just need help getting it over the shoulders,” Brittany says as she pulls the jersey over her head, “I can do the rest.”
“Okay,” Santana gestures to the bench, “Sit.”
Brittany does as she’s told and tries to keep her breathing even as Santana stands in the space between her legs. She’s not sure what it was about the way Santana commanded her, but memories of the night at Puck’s come rushing back. They clog up her brain while Santana wears a coy smile, doing her best to work the jersey over the pads one by one.
It’s a little overwhelming for Brittany to have her standing so close, that she almost forgets what she was meant to be asking her today. There are things, important things that need clearing up and it doesn’t seem like Santana is in a rush to address them which means Brittany has to.
But it’s kind of hard to think straight with Santana’s boobs practically in her face.
“You know, these uniforms never really did it for me. Just reminds me of dumb, sweaty boys,” Santana mumbles as she gets the jersey over the final pad, “But on you? God, you look really hot.”
Brittany bites her lip and she can already feel herself wavering under Santana’s heated gaze as she eyes her up and down. Maybe she should quickly put on her helmet? That would definitely keep her from getting swept up in Santana. You can’t make out with anyone through a face mask.
Brittany’s too slow to move before Santana’s bending down to plant a wet kiss on Brittany’s lips. It’s always the same feeling – a sigh of relief – and Brittany just breathes her in. She revels in how the kiss makes her feel like she’s soaring through clouds of cotton candy. She can’t imagine doing this with anyone else anymore and that thought surprises her.
If she doesn’t want this with anyone else, Santana has to know that because maybe she feels the same way too? Maybe the way Brittany feels about her is enough to show Santana that they can be more than just this…if she wants.
That’s the big question though, isn’t it? Maybe that’s why Brittany’s been dragging her feet a little? What if Santana’s perfectly fine with how things are right now? What if she doesn’t want to be anymore than this?
Brittany just has to know. For just a little longer, Brittany continues the kiss before she starts to pull away.
“We should probably talk…”
Santana’s kissing along her jaw now instead, “About?”
Brittany swallows roughly, momentarily distracted by the feel of Santana’s lips, “That feels so good.”
“Mhmm.”
Brittany tries valiantly to focus although her hands slide up Santana’s thighs and settle on her hips. Santana shed her track pants at some point so all Brittany feels is her soft skin and that feels so good too.
“We should talk about this,” Brittany says.
“About me kissing you?” Santana smirks against Brittany’s pulse point before pressing a kiss there. Brittany has to bite back a moan as Santana’s lips brushing against a sensitive spot.
The blonde shakes her head though, “What are we doing?”
“I’m getting my mack on.”
Brittany wants to laugh at that because who says getting my mack on anymore, but Santana’s kissing just near Brittany’s ear and concentrating starts to become a losing battle. Santana’s whispering sweet nothings about how sexy she looks in tights and how badly she wants to make her feel good and Brittany feels like she’s wrapped around her finger now.
“Santana,” Brittany tries to pull herself from the daze but the way the name falls from her lips sounds more like a whimper and it eggs the Co-Captain on even more.
“I love when you say my name like that,” Santana husks before nipping at Brittany’s earlobe.
Brittany’s heart is racing a mile a minute. She grips at Santana’s Cheerios jacket like it’s going to keep her from ripping it off of the brunette. She’s slipping, but she has to try once more.
“Santana…”
“Mhmm?”
“Seriously,” Brittany says. She tries to sound a little firmer but her voice wavers, “We should talk.”
“Why do we need to do that?” Santana rasps as she lifts one leg to straddle Brittany’s thigh, “Kissing you is so much better.”
Brittany gulps at the way Santana presses into her. She kind of has a point.
It’s the biggest mistake when Brittany’s hands fall to rest on Santana’s thighs, “I know but…talking.”
Santana leans in again to continue kissing along Brittany’s jaw, “What about it?”
“It’s good,” Brittany feels herself shiver and she doesn’t quite know if she’s talking about talking or Santana.
“This is good too, right?” Santana says in that sultry, sexy tone of hers.
It’s all it takes before Brittany’s abandoning her efforts and pulling Santana to straddle her completely. She’ll just have another go at this some other day, because clearly neither of them are in the right state of mind for a serious conversation.
Maybe next time she’ll put her helmet and mouthguard on first?
\\
“Tomorrow’s a big day Titans,” Coach Beiste says as everyone takes a knee in front of her, “It’s the first game of the Playoffs.”
The team cheers loudly at that, rowdier than ever although everyone is exhausted from such an intense practice. It’s a different kind of energy than usual and the players soak it up.
Brittany watches her teammates with this proud grin on her face. The past two weeks have breezed by but she’s happy with how they’ve ended the regular season. It’s been one of the toughest ones she has ever played with so many obstacles to overcome but the fact that the Titans are ending the regular season 11-1 is something no one saw coming.
Brittany feels such a sense of pride knowing she had a hand in getting them there, even if it took a little longer than she’d like to get everyone on board with her. She hasn’t had an incident with Karofsky and Azimio in awhile, but that doesn’t mean she’s out of the woods just yet.
Coach Beiste smiles before getting the team to settle down.
“I know. It’s exciting stuff and everyone has worked their asses off this season. I’m proud of how far we’ve come as a team,” Coach continues as she looks around at the squad, “But we aren’t done yet. There are two Playoff games this year and if we can manage it, we’ll be meeting Carmel High in the Championships.”
“That hasn’t happened in years!” Finn gasps.
“Man, I can’t wait to kick their asses,” Puck follows, “They’ve had it coming for so long.”
Brittany smirks at the two, “We’re totally going to win this thing.”
“I want everyone to stay focused. Put in the work and we’ll get there,” Coach tells everyone, “We need to be a well-oiled machine from now on. It’s football and school, nothing else. No partying, no girls, no boys, no outside interferences.”
Brittany knows Coach is talking to everyone in general, but her words resonate with her the most considering how her personal life has been lately.
“She’s talking to you, Stud,” Puck jokes with a nudge to Brittany’s arm.
He wags his eyebrows at her but Brittany isn’t sure what he’s hinting at. What could he possibly know? He’s either just being funny or he really does know something, Brittany isn’t sure. She just shakes her head at him before turning back to the Coach.
“We’re getting to the Championships and we’re going to win this school that trophy,” Coach goes on, “Understood?”
There’s a sea of Yes Coach! but Brittany stares blankly at the turf. She needs to figure out this thing with Santana before it’s too late.
\\
By Monday, Brittany’s nearly hit her breaking point.
With Thanksgiving in just a few days, it’s a shorter school week. Wednesday is a half-day for the students, but for the Titans, it’s Game Day and the buzz around it is unimaginable. A win could put them in position to go up against their long time rival, Carmel High, and the Titans are as motivated as ever to make that happen.
It’s a ton of pressure on Brittany which she usually works well with if it were the only thing on her mind. But it’s not, it hasn’t been for weeks now and she knows that isn’t fair to her team. She needs to give them everything she’s got, but she can’t do that when Santana’s the one that is unknowingly wielding most of her.
With winning their first Playoff game last Friday – successfully ending the McKinley High Playoff drought – the next game is even more important. This game might determine the futures for a lot of Seniors on the team, maybe even her own and she needs to focus on that like Coach Beiste said.
If only it were that easy.
She was never good at keeping secrets and what she and Santana have been doing since Puck’s party felt like the biggest secret she ever had. At first it was fine, maybe even kind of fun, but now? She feels so conflicted; loving her time spent with Santana in private but wanting more for them.
She likes Santana, that’s obvious to her now but it’s not very useful when it comes to breaching the topic about what they’re doing. Especially when it seems that every time Brittany has tried to bring it up, Santana either deflects or distracts her with sweet lady kisses.
\\
Brittany decides she’s going to bring it up today. No more dragging this out any longer, for both of their sakes she just has to get this off of her chest already.
And she’s not going to let Santana wiggle her way out of it this time, Brittany’s finally going to get some answers. All she needs to do is get through the remainder of her school day before she can try to figure out what’s going on between them.
\\
Brittany’s on her way to Ms. Holliday’s class when she spots Santana and Puck talking heatedly across the hall. She’s not sure what they’re saying, but Santana looks annoyed and Puck looks how he always does – cocky and a little mischievous. It makes Brittany feel uneasy but as she approaches, they go their separate without even noticing her.
Once she gets to class, she finds Santana getting out her materials. They share a simple greeting like always before sitting down to get started on the class warm up. Brittany can’t help but glance to her side when Santana doesn’t automatically offer to do the work together.
There’s this crease between her brows like she’s in deep thought. Brittany knows it can’t be the warm-up because Santana never fails to breeze right through it. This is bigger and it worries Brittany the longer she watches.
“Is everything okay?” Brittany asks timidly.
Santana doesn’t bothering looking her way as she answers.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Brittany looks from Santana’s profile to her left hand and frowns.
“You’re doing the work with an eyeliner pencil.”
Santana snaps out of it and glances down at her work, “Shit. I just bought this too.”
Brittany continues to watch Santana rummage through her pencil case for an actual writing utensil. She seems off and Brittany wonders why she won’t just tell her what’s going on.
“You sure you’re alright?” Brittany tries once more, “You looked kind of…upset when I saw you talking with Puck.”
Santana shakes her head and continues to avoid Brittany’s gaze, “It’s fine. He was just being an annoying asshole. Nothing new there.”
“Oh,” Brittany gnaws on her bottom lip and looks to her work, “What were you guys talking about?”
“Just something JBI said on his stupid show,” Santana shrugs, “It was nothing. Like I said, Puck was just being a pain.”
Brittany stiffens, “What did JBI say?”
Her imagination goes into overdrive and she starts come up with her own answers. Have they been caught somewhere? They’ve been super careful but things still happen. Now Puck’s comment at practice starts to make a little sense, but she hasn’t heard anything, so maybe it’s only about Santana? She has no idea.
“It doesn’t matter,” Santana sighs, “It wasn’t true anyway. Puck just wanted to confirm or deny.”
The way Santana’s being so dismissive about this doesn’t sit well with Brittany. She knows that Santana harbors things, she’s still yet to tell her how the fight started those weeks ago too. And Brittany can’t force her into talking, she can only make her comfortable enough to say it on her own.
“You’d let me know if he was bothering you, right? Especially Puck,” Brittany asks, “If someone on my team isn’t being cool, I can deal with them. It’s part of my Team Captain duties.”
Finally, Santana looks her way.
There’s this smitten little smile on her face as she softens. Brittany’s never seen her look at her quite like that before, that might be her favorite kind of Santana-smile yet.
“You’re sweet.”
Brittany continues to look warily at her though and it has Santana sighing before she reaches over to cover the top of Brittany’s hand with hers.
“It’s okay,” Santana tells her earnestly, “I promise you.”
Brittany glances down at their hands then back up at warm brown eyes. The touch is soft and sure; Brittany hopes Santana keeps her hand there forever. She can do nothing but relent.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Santana smiles once more before nodding to the warm-up, “Do you want to work on this together?”
Brittany beams at her, “Yeah!”
They fall into their usual routine of working together; Santana lets Brittany take the lead and only coaxes her in the right direction if she’s heading the wrong way just like she does during their tutoring sessions. Santana never makes Brittany feel less than for her mistakes and that’s one of the best things about how well they work together.
“So, are…you going to practice early again today?” Santana asks awhile later.
Brittany knows what that’s code for and smirks, “Yeah.”
“Do you…need help warming up?”
She knows what she should say to Santana but something has her hesitating on an answer. Maybe if she plays her cards right, she can do both? Talk and – as Santana would say – get her mack on?
“Always,” Brittany finally says.
\\
When the final bell of the day rings out, it feels like she’s off to the races. With Titans’ practice starting at 4 and Cheerios’ practice starting at 3:30, there’s only about 20 minutes of alone time with Santana.
It’s not really a conversation she wanted to rush through, but she rather at least get it started before practice than to continue dragging it out. So Brittany gets to the locker room early and heads over to get changed like always.
And like always, Santana wanders in a few minutes later.
“Need help with your jersey?” She flirts but Brittany remembers this time to put them on her pads first.
“It’s okay,” Brittany says instead as she works to get the jersey on her pads, “I was wondering if we could maybe talk instead?”
Santana’s smile falters as she rests against the far side of the lockers, “Again with the talking…”
Brittany’s taken aback by Santana’s annoyed tone, “Sorry if I want to know what we are.”
“We’re friends. Friends who talk with their tongues super close.”
Brittany rolls her eyes, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make this into a friends with benefits situation,” Brittany replies, “What you said at Puck’s would suggest differently.”
Santana crosses her arms, “What did I say?”
“That there’s more to this,” Brittany answers, “There’s more to us that just friends who talk with their tongues super close or whatever you’re wanting to call it.”
Santana shrinks in on herself. She looks like she’ll run if Brittany pushes any further, but they have to do this now. No more avoiding the obvious.
Brittany softens at her silence, “I know you had a hard time last year and this is new to you but we can’t keep skirting around this. Ignoring the problem isn’t going to make it go away. You and I, we deserve more than sneaking around. We could be a – ”
“Look,” Santana replies, “I’m not here for anything serious.”
Brittany feels like she’s just been punched in the gut, “What?”
“I thought you knew that?”
Brittany feels blindsided, “How could I possibly know that, Santana? You haven’t said anything. You refuse to talk about this, about your feelings.”
Santana just shrugs and looks away, “Maybe because I don’t have them?”
Brittany’s never been more confused in her life.
Santana is blatantly lying to her face but Brittany can’t understand why. What’s the point of pretending she feels nothing? If anything, it makes Brittany’s heart clench in the most uncomfortable way. She’s patient and she’s kind, but she can’t put her heart on the line for someone who won’t do the same.
What’s crazy is that she knows Santana would do the same. She’s seen her do it before, so what’s with the sudden change of heart? Brittany’s been nothing but understanding thus far, but this? She can’t comprehend Santana’s motive or reasoning other than her being an idiot – and she doesn’t throw that word around too often.
“I don’t do the whole feelings thing,” Santana adds.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore then if that’s the case,” Brittany says and it surprises them both. She watches Santana’s eyes widen and the quick flash of what looks like regret or guilt. Brittany’s reading her like a book, but just when she thinks she has Santana figured out she goes and says the complete opposite.
“Why do we have to label this?” Santana replies. There’s just a hint of desperation in her voice, “Why do we have to be anything other than us? I thought we were having fun? Why ruin that by complicating it with feelings?”
“Because with feelings it’s better,” Brittany says simply, “I can’t do this any other way, Santana. That’s just not me and I didn’t think that was you either.”
Santana looks like her world just came crashing down and Brittany feels the exact same. She remembers one of her dad’s old sayings after laughter comes tears and she never really understood that until right now. All their good times over the past couple of weeks was just building them up for this reality check.
Santana isn’t ready and Brittany’s not sure when she will be.
A piece of the quarterback wishes she would’ve held out a little longer – had more time to enjoy things while they were still simple – before it came to this. She knows deep down it was the right decision though. There’s no point in continuing if there’s nothing more for her here.
Santana continues to stand there silently with this anguished look on her face.
It takes everything in Brittany to resist the urge to reach out and comfort her, but what good would that do? Apparently Santana doesn’t have any feelings so really it would be a waste of her time.
“I need to finish getting ready for practice,” Brittany says. She clears her throat when her voice cracks, “I need to focus on football. I have a team counting on me and I can’t be distracted by all of this if there’s nothing for me here.”
Santana looks up at her through her lashes and Brittany’s surprised to see her eyes tinging red. It has her reaching out before she can stop herself.
“I’m sorry,” Brittany tries but Santana dodges her hand.
It stings but she gets it.
Santana only lifts her chin before walking to her side of the locker room to get ready for practice too. Brittany only swallows back the lump in her throat and continues to get dressed.
It’s hard for her to see the good in all of this, but she knows it’s there – somewhere.
\\
The following day, practices ends a little earlier than usual but Brittany invites Mike and Sam to the park near her house to practice running plays. Every extra bit of practice helps but more importantly, it acts as a little bit of a distraction from Santana.
Her final class of the day dragged on and the tension she felt between them was unbearable. Santana didn’t even look at her once, but Brittany couldn’t find the nerve to glance her way either. She knows Santana’s hurting, she is too, but she can’t go back on her word.
Pete tags along with Brittan to the park too, always excited to watch the Titans play.
Once they get to the park, Sam tosses the ball in Pete’s direction. He makes the catch and spikes the ball on the ground before doing his own version of a celebration dance.
Brittany giggles along with Mike while Sam cheers him on.
“Nice catch, Pete!”
“Skill must run in the family,” Mike jokes.
“It’s a Pierce thing,” Brittany chuckles, “Isn’t that right, Petey?”
Pete rushes up to give her a high five before throwing the ball back to Sam. He calls out to him to throw it again and Sam obliges. Brittany and Mike watch the two from side and cheer for Pete when he makes the catch again.
“He’s really good,” Mike notes.
“Like I said, it’s a Pierce thing.”
“I see,” Mike chuckles before suddenly looking a little nervous, “So uh…how’s things going with Santana?”
The question surprises Brittany as she raises a brow at him, “Random.”
“What?” Mike tries to look casual, “I’m just asking. You know, a little receiver/QB chit-chat?”
That makes Brittany laugh, “Right. This has nothing to do with Quinn putting you up to ask?”
“What?” Mike sputters, “No way…”
Brittany shakes her head, “Why doesn’t she go talk to Santana herself? Aren’t they best friends?”
“She isn’t getting much out of her,” Mike shrugs.
Brittany finds that really interesting.
She would’ve figured Quinn of all people would know what’s going on. It must be frustrating for her if she’s making Mike do her dirty work, but it isn’t Brittany’s place. Whatever Santana has or hasn’t said to Quinn isn’t any of her business and she isn’t going to add to the rumor mill.
Even if they’ve hurt each other, Brittany still cares about Santana and she would never do anything to jeopardize her trust.
“Well, her guess is as good as mine,” Brittany answers before jogging over to Sam and Pete.
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My Whole Heart "Hates" You. chapter two!
Yay! It's here.
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31072760/chapters/76820876#workskin
tw: swearing, that's about it
word count: 2,069
summary: Violet and Bill get into quite the childish argument, and Violet can't seem to stop blushing around him. But it's probably the room temperature or something, right?
Chapter 2: Room Temperature
Thankfully, I make it through the rest of the pitch meeting without getting any further flustered and/or distracted by Bill staring at me (what is his problem with that? He’s clearly trying to get under my skin and it is definitely not working at all, not even a little bit). However he did snicker when I stumbled over a word at one point, which was a bit petty and reminded me of why I dislike him so much.
But the meeting eventually came to an end which leads me to where I am now, sitting in front of my computer screen staring at a blank document, trying to think of how to start one of the sketches I pitched (I didn’t intend to write it when I pitched it, but I think Bill saw this and decided that he was going to be oh so very enthusiastic about it and now I have to).
As I watch the cursor blink on and off the screen, I hear a knock at the door for the second time today. It was much slower and reluctant to how Aidy knocked earlier, so I knew it wasn’t her. Thinking that it was maybe Kyle or Pete, I shout my permission for them to enter, almost cheerfully (the fact that I can’t think of how to start this stupid sketch idea, which will probably be cut, is making me quite reasonably stressed).
The door glides open to a reveal a 6 foot tall man stepping into my office; a man that I really did not want to see again today, let alone speak to.
“Well if it isn’t Violet Fay!” He exclaims while shutting the door behind him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen and tolerated you.”
He adds the last bit with a smile and crosses his arms, I’m assuming he was trying to be playful and funny but it just irritated me. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“You act surprised to see me? My name is on the door you just walked through, Bill.” My comment probably also irritated him in return, as he rolled his eyes at this.
He sat down on the couch in the corner of my office, without asking, by the way.
“Oh yes, have a seat why don’t you, make yourself at home.” I say whilst trying to act like I’m highly concentrated on an old script I opened so that he maybe doesn’t bother me as much.
He ignores my comment and instead says, “Lorne says we should work on that sketch together since I was so ‘enthusiastic’ about it in the meeting. Didn’t think that would come ‘round to bite me in the ass.” He says the word ‘enthusiastic’ whilst making air-quotations with his hands.
“Well seeing as you acted that way just to spite me and put me through hell with a shit sketch idea, I think this is adequate punishment for you.” I type a few random keys on my keyboard just to make it look like I’m doing something and add, “Although I would have preferred it if it didn’t include me, tolerating you isn’t my ideal Monday morning.”
He laughs at this. I was being genuine. “Why do you talk like that?” he giggles. The sound of him giggling I swear-
“Talk like what?” I reply as I’m honestly confused with what this man is hinting at.
“All posh with all these fancy words, like ‘adequate’ and ‘preferred’” He adds those last words in a British accent, which really pisses me off.
I glare at him as I turn away from my computer, “I don’t speak ‘posh’ at all. We’re not all from Oklahoma, Hader.” My anger towards him begins to flourish and my skin gets hot.
He scoffs at this, “Whatever Fay.” I think he ran out of things to say because he starts to restlessly fiddle with his shoelaces.
For a moment I watch his hands, carefully playing with loose green threads of his laces, but I pull my eyes away and look back at my screen.
“Look, if you’re not going to help me write this sketch, I suggest you piss off.” I comment, opening up the blank document I close earlier.
He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets, “Fine then, I’ll go see what Kate’s writing. Not like I wanted to sit with here and write your shitty sketch idea anyways.”
He exits through the door and slams it, and for some reason, my blood boils at this. Why is he so childish? He’s 40 for fucks sake, grow up, Bill! I know the idea wasn’t that great, but why put it so harshly?
I yell, “Oh, fuck off, Bill!” after him, quite loud so he could hear me through the door. Not the cleverest comeback but I’m so worked up that I just needed to let it out as soon as possible. I don’t normally shout in the office either, except on the rare occasion where there's an incident with a spilled cup of hot coffee. But I feel like it’s excusable because of Bill.
He opens the door again to show me his middle finger and exclaim, “Fuck you too, Violet!” before he slams the door shut again.
In the limited number of seconds that the door was open, I caught a glimpse of Pete standing behind Bill, looking severely confused and honestly a little scared. Seeing his face kind of made me realise how childish and petty we were being, but my anger still persisted nonetheless. All over one comment I made about Oklahoma, jeez.
I return back to my screen, and surprisingly the frustration inside of me managed to conjure up an idea for the sketch. At least two good things came out of that argument: 1. I finally figured out how to start this damn sketch, and 2. it feels really fucking good to shout at Bill.
******
I finally finish the sketch, and after checking the time I decide that it’s probably a good time to get lunch before I fall down a writing loophole again (next thing you know it’s been 6 hours and people are starting to head home).
As I’m walking into the breakroom, I see everyone crowding around a couple pizza boxes. Great timing on my behalf. Kate’s standing in the corner of the room holding a paper plate with a slice of greasy cheese pizza.
“You’re an angel, Kate.” I say before taking the plate from her hands and indulging.
“No problem, Bill bought some for the whole office.” She says this with a wink, suggesting that she’s hinting towards something.
“Ugh, why’d you give me tainted pizza?”
Before Kate could reply with anything, Bill shouts from across the room, “You’re welcome, Violet!”
Arrogant twat. I say this to myself as to not cause another screaming match, but flip him off with my middle finger and a roll of my eyes, just so he knows where I stand.
Unfortunately for me, he winks at my actions and I feel a wicked blush creep up on my cheeks. He thinks I’m joking.
Worse, Kate catches the redness growing across my face, and decides to delightfully point it out.
“Are you blushing? Oh my god, Vi, do you like him?”
I look around the room to see if anyone heard her, god forbid, quickly seeking out Bill’s face in the small crowd as him having heard her would have been the worst case scenario. I thank the heavens that no one did, seeing them continue their conversations without batting an eyelid.
“I absolutely do not like him, Kate.” I say with a heavy load of disgust laced in my voice. “I can barely stand him, and he feels the same.”
“Then why are you blushing?” She pokes my cheek with her finger to emphasise her point before I swat her hand away.
“I’m blushing from…annoyance, or something. I don’t know maybe it’s the room temperature. It’s definitely not Hader.”
Neither of us are completely convinced at my statement, but thankfully she drops the subject and continues to eat her pizza.
I obviously don’t like him. Clearly. He is loud and obnoxious and irritating and I think the thing he does with his hands when he’s nervous is utterly stupid.
For the rest of the day, I’m in a bit of a stale mood but I manage to get quite a lot of scripts done by 7 o’clock, which makes me pleased. But before I get the chance to switch off my computer, I hear a knock at my door. And, of course, enters Bill.
I mutter a Dear God as I distract myself from his face by looking at the pen lid that was dropped and never picked up.
“Hey, Violet.”
“Bill.” I continue to stare at the ground, reluctant to look up.
“So, Lorne mentioned that he wanted us to at least write one sketch together.” He sees my annoyance at this and says, “I know, I know, I’m unbearable, but boss’ orders.” He ends with a shrug and a raise of his palms as if to say ‘hey, don’t shoot the messenger’. He goes on, “I was thinking we could stay behind for a bit, try and write something without ripping each other’s heads off.”
I sigh and raise my head to finally meet his eyes, getting lost in them for a moment. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
“Um, yeah sure, okay. If Lorne says so I guess we have to.” I want nothing more than to go home, put on my comfy pyjamas, and snuggle with my sweet little ginger cat, but I figured it’s best to just agree seeing as it was ‘boss’ orders’.
“Rad,” Rad, radical, fuckin’ surf’s up dude “okay so I have to go do something real quick but I’ll be back in like…” He pauses to look at his watch, “45-ish minutes?”
“Yeah, sure.” I say with a nod of my head, not really interested in having a lasting conversation with him, and a little bit distracted by his eyes, that are still staring at mine, to do so.
He leaves, muttering something that resembles an ‘okay’ or a ‘goodbye’, I wasn’t paying too close attention. He shuts the door behind him, quietly this time.
Re-opening my word document on my laptop, I begin to make brief lists of new sketch ideas that could probably work at some point. I figured I might as well get some extra work in if I’m going to have ’45-ish minutes’ to spare in the studio.
I type and type and type and type, until suddenly its 8pm. Hm, he should’ve been back about 15 minutes ago now. I brush it off though, he probably just got caught up with whatever he was doing. As much as he is an annoying twat, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to stand someone up. Especially if it’s work related. Especially, especially if it’s Lorne related.
******
Well, I guess he is the kind of guy to stand someone up, even if it is work or Lorne related, as the clock just turned 10pm (three hours since he left). Either he has a terribly bad concept of time, or he’s just a dickhead. I’m going with the latter, regardless of what the actual reason is.
I decide I’m not going to stay a minute longer, not when I could be watching true crime with my cat at home, and so I switch off my computer and pack up my things to head back to my apartment.
I leave the office feeling a little foolish as I thought that he actually wanted to work on some scripts with me. When in reality he probably only wanted to play with my head and piss me off further.
As much as he annoys me, (and I mean he truly, truly annoys me) I was hoping that tonight would be a good opportunity to find out if he had any nice qualities about him, something that we could agree on. But instead, he successfully manages to do the opposite and make a fool out of me. And tomorrow, himself too, as I’m seriously going to lay into him with my pent up anger the next time I see him. (Within reason of course, I don’t want to lose my job any time soon).
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Tallies (1) || Peter Parker x Reader
Summary: This AU is based on an idea from an old prompt in which people have tally marks to represent how many times they have fallen in love.
Peter has fallen in love a couple times, but never been loved back, and thats where you come in. Peter is in college, would say around 21-23, and so is reader and company.
Author’s Note: This has honestly been something that I’ve been wanting to write for a while, and finally found the time to sit down and write it. Though still testing the waters, so please let me know. Would most likely try to be a slow burn, like definitely be more than four parts.
Word Count: 2K
---------------------------
“Ned, I told you, she isn’t in love with me,” Peter repeated for the eighth time in this same phone conversation, but that didn’t mean that it hurt any less.
“Are you sure? I mean it could just take a while for hers to show up soon?”
“Ned, I really don’t want to say this but she did have a red mark, but it wasn’t for me,” he finally caved and explained the one fact he has kept thus far, “I didn’t think she would pull something like this, that’s why she can’t love me…because she loves someone else,” he sighed almost feeling the tally mark was burning his skin.
“Oh, I’m sorry dude,” he said after a long pause.
“I know but it’s not something you should apologize for,” he sighed, trying not to remember the events that occurred that morning.
“You can always come with me and Betty to the movies tonight, we can invite a few more people so you don’t feel like third wheel,” wanting to switch topics to hopefully cheer his friend up.
Peter knew that his friend was really trying to help but he really couldn’t think of leaving his apartment. He really needed to process the whole situation rather than distract himself from it, because he knew when he was alone, he would feel this low again. He looked down at his wrist seeing nothing but black tallies on his wrist, and let out a long sigh.
“Pete, you still there?” pulling him out from his thoughts.
“Yea just thinking about the offer,” even though he already knew that he had the answer.
“How about you think about it and let me know. I don’t want you to feel pressured,” always the supportive friend. “I would cancel on Betty but…“
“Thanks Ned, don’t think Betty deserves that,” smiling knowing that Ned will always be his ride or die. “Think I’m a sit this one out,” his eyes still focused on his wrist.
“Offer will stands till seven, but if not, I’ll stop by tomorrow with food and can talk about it,” wanting Peter to know that he’ll be there through thick and thin.
“Yea tomorrow would be nice, I’ll text you if anything happens,” affirming that he wasn’t going out tonight, “have a great date Ned.”
“Thanks Pete. Hope to see you soon then,” he said.
Both said their goodbyes, leaving Peter to let out a long groan of frustration. The palms of his hands pressed against his eyes hoping to keep the tears in that he kept in the whole day. Another black tally mark etched on his skin, great another failed attempted at love.
It was at times like these that wished he never learned about the tally marks, but it’s something unavoidable. He remembers days in which his Aunt May would sit down and talk to him about the tally marks that would one day appear across his wrist and tried to do her best to explain it.
“Alright Peter, so one when you find someone you really love, you’ll one day see a black tally appear right here,” pointing out her own single red tally on her wrist.
“But yours is red,” child Peter pointing out the obvious.
“I know, but if the person you love, loves you back, then it will turn red. Just like mine, yours can start off black, only depending who falls for who first. I can tell you first hand that mine showed up a month before your Aunt May’s did,” puling Peter’s attention from his aunt to his see his uncle setting down his stuff. Ben walked over to the two ruffling Peter’s hair to distract him from giving May a quick kiss.
“Hey it’s not my fault that you fell in love sooner than I did,” she joked.
“Uh, yea it is, you didn’t make it easy for me,” he smiled, “So what is this tally mark talk about?”
“Just curious,” Peter responded, “besides our teacher was going to go over it soon and wanted a head start.”
Peter smiled his tears gaining a bittersweet taste to them but figured that he may as well let out any tears at this moment. He looked at his wrist, nothing but black tallies and he would be lying to himself if he said that it didn’t hurt him. He really didn’t get the idea of what was so difficult about loving him, but then again, it’s not like he can force someone to love him. But still he just felt like a below the belt when he saw his now ex-girlfriend, if she even considered herself that, sport a red tally that clearly wasn’t his. Peter let out a loud sigh, thinking it was just to just scour his social media and start to unfollow her but couldn’t force himself to delete old pictures of themselves.
Just a few moments later and Peter heard a large crash outside his door. Peter quickly got up and walked over to the door hearing already someone cussing from the other end.
-----------------------
You didn’t know whether to be mad at the carpet lining the floor or yourself for thinking it was a good idea to carry more than you actually could because you really took a dive just now. You were glad that the boxes you decided to carry were filled with things that wouldn’t break, but you couldn’t help the burn on your cheeks from embarrassment and hope that no one saw your fall.
You started to stack a few things to try to somewhat organize things, and decided now was a good time as any to open your door. You decided to take a few things with you hoping to prevent anyone from seeing your mishap. By the time you went back to your stuff, someone was already organizing your fallen mess.
“Hey, sorry about the mess in front of your door, just give me a couple minutes and it’ll be totally clear,” walking over to said mess.
“it’s no worry at all,” seeing the stranger get up and face you.
Your heart jumped to your chest seeing the face that although you have forgotten about over time, you could never truly forget. “Peter?” knowing full well that there was no doubt about it.
“uh do I know you?” his face really confused because he really couldn’t place your face to a name.
“It’s been a while, but remember me from middle school,” trying not to act like you weren’t even more embarrassed then just a moment before.
You could visually see his mind thinking back to middle school, and finally put the pieces together, “(Y/N)! Oh god, I’m sorry I didn’t remember, trust me have a few things on my mind,” and although you haven’t seen peter in years, you figured he still was the same bashful boy you hadn’t seen in years.
“no worries, I mean what are the odds, that your old middle school friend moves down the hall much less spill most of her stuff in front of your door,” trying not to make anything more uncomfortable.
“yea guess so,” already sensing things slowly ease, “So you took over the empty loft, I think I heard about someone filling that room,” quickly picking up a few boxes, “ how about I help you out.”
Judging by him carrying boxes you knew that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, “sure guess we can catch up, plus definitely need the extra set of hands,” you said.
You didn’t know what it was about Peter but he really had a way to become instant friends with just about anyone that he met. You really were glad that he still was the same as the Peter you left behind at the end of middle school. It was almost easy being with Peter that it almost made it seem like you guys hadn’t seen each other in years but can already tell that moving in here was a great choice. You found out that he was still friends with Ned and kept in touch with Michelle, which he was already mentioning that he couldn’t wait to tell the others. you really were glad that he already wanted to plan things out with you.
You would be lying to yourself if you couldn’t deny that although you could recognize Peter, he really had matured into someone very attractive, especially by your standards. The once round cheeks chiseled out into strong edges, small chucky arms and hands became defined and strong by the easiness that he carried large boxes. however, some traits didn’t change at all, his doe brown eyes still had the same glee and his smile still captured the room, at least it did in your opinion. But now with this stance and physique, he really could capture the room.
“So, you moving in all by yourself?” Peter asked bringing in heavier objects. You
“ Yea, just me though if its gets too pricey may ask one of my friends to move in with me,” you replied already seeing that more than half of your stuff was already moved in thanks to Peter’s help, “pretty sure she will like the space as well.”
You looked over at Peter seeing that he was staring at his phone, his default cheery attitude replaced by a saddened look.
“Peter, you alright buddy?”.
“Uh yea, just some,” not knowing the right words to say, or better yet not know the right words that didn’t make him want to cry again.
“Girl trouble,” you finished, doubting someone like him couldn’t be with anyone or have someone he’s interest in.
“Um, something like that,” figured that he didn’t know how to phrase it.
“You don’t have to talk about it, I mean we technically just met,” not wanting to push his limits, because you figured that he would tell you just to be nice.
“It’s not that, I just don’t want one of our few first conversations to be about how my girlfriend got a red tally,” the words sounding so sour, “my bad I think I don’t think she was my girlfriend to begin with.”
“Red tally, then isn’t that a good thing?” not really understanding the problem.
“Yeah her and whoever she’s interested in, but definitely not for me,” lifting the side of his wrist and showing his black tallies., “just figured she’d be the first you know,” he said melancholy as he shrugged his shoulders.
“Hey her loss and their loss too, because I can already tell you that you have already been one of my better random male encounters in a while,” trying to cheer him up, though you figured you were failing at it.
Peter let out a small chuckle, “very funny but think I’m going to head out. Ned's meeting me tomorrow for food, you’re more than welcomed to come,” he said trying to switch to lighter topics, “I’ll knock, see if you’re free ok”
“yea, sounds like a plan and really thanks for the help couldn’t do it without you.”
Peter said a small goodbye and walked out leaving you to finally press your hand against your chest. Your heart was racing, you knew that of course spending time with someone attractive like Peter was going to make you react but it was more. You knew that although you were glad to have met up with peter, but you weren’t sure if it was such a good idea in the long run. You finally decided to look down on your wrist, your eyes locking on your first tally mark. Your fingers traced over the black tally, knowing full well that the person who this tally represents is none other than your new neighbor, Peter Parker.
------------------------------
End Author’s Note: So that was part 1, please let me know how it is. Still in debate if i should include peter being Spiderman, that is the other main opinion I would want, since I am really on the fence. Once again this is planned out to be a somewhat slowburn.
Suggestions? Taglists
Currently posted this on another blog, in the process of moving URLs
#peter parker x reader#peter x reader#peter parker imagine#peter parker#spiderman x reader#spiderman imagine#marvel x reader#marvel imagines#peter parker x y/n#spiderman#peter parker fluff#peter parker smut#reader insert
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How about "my family was never the touchy-feely type" and "I just want to be held for a while." Seems fitting for Tony to say considering his history but go with whatever you like best. 😊
I Just Have To Remember
Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Rating: General (G)
Word Count: ~2k
Notes: You always pick the ones that leave a lot of wiggle room. I hope you were looking for tooth rotting fluff, because that’s what I settled on. Thanks for the prompt, friend <3
Warnings: There is a lot of fluff. That’s it.
Summary:
Peter is a constant source of touch and for a while, it throws Tony off. The realization that affection is the fuel throws him off even more.
touch starved starters
It took a while, for Tony to be comfortable with all of the open affection that Peter seemed more than willing to give him. When Spider-Man, the friendly neighborhood do-gooder came to fight with them against Loki and the power of the tesseract, Tony didn’t think he’d be earning another important person in his life.
Peter Parker forced his way into Tony’s heart, however – he wanted to be a part of everything the world of being an Avenger could afford him and as the time past, everything Tony had to offer, too.
It started subtly, Peter’s crusade to open Tony up a bit. Tony was quick to understand Peter’s affinity for learning and put him on tasks that needed a little extra care in how they were researched. It was half the fun, watching Peter light up when he found the answer, or get one step closer to being right where they needed him to be. Their time together went from every now and again to most hours of the day – Peter was diligent and could get lost just as easily as Tony could.
Having Peter in the lab came with the added perk of warm coffee every couple of hours. Tony didn’t notice it at first, how often Peter refreshed their cups. It hit him one afternoon when his head was pounding – his fingers a little more hyperactive than he was comfortable with. Picking his head up from the work for the first time in hours, Tony noticed the four empty cups of coffee spread out around the table. “I’m surprised I didn’t have a heart attack,” Tony mumbled, his fingers fusing with the pencil in his hand in an attempt to stop the shake of them.
After that, Tony started to take notice of Peter and the gentle way he plied him with coffee. It happened every couple of hours, Peter left for a few minutes and came back with two cups. He placed his own down by his mess on one side of the table, then came around and placed Tony’s in front of him. The most curious thing about it was the hand that Peter placed on his shoulder. The touch was light – he was obviously trying to keep it on the downlow. Grinning, Tony made sure to say thank you every time Peter did it from that point on.
The squeeze he felt against his shoulder each instance it happened was well worth it.
Every day, Tony lost the needless fight against the chemistry that surrounded him and Peter. Despite what he told himself, Peter was disgustingly perfect for him in all the important ways. Though they were both workaholics, Tony noticed that Peter went out of his way to take care of him – the coffee had only been the start. Where Peter lacked in experience, Tony made up for it in practical knowledge and the ability to provide an easy explanation. It seemed easier to press back against the bond that was inevitably forming; Tony never experienced anything like what he was slowly creating with Peter.
It scared the absolute shit out of him.
As if he could sense that, Peter kept his toe right on the line – Tony wanted to see him as some young kid, but he couldn’t; not when he kept such a tight rein on himself and the situations he navigated so flawlessly. The hand on his arm slowly turned into an arm around his shoulders and Peter’s breath against his ear as they continued to speak about whatever was on the lab table before them.
Tony held his breath every time it happened, his body afraid to move too fast – the thought of losing the new and devastatingly interesting sensation enough to make him seize up. Peter took to rubbing his fingers against Tony’s shoulder until he relaxed.
Tony could tell that Peter was waiting for him to make the final move – the patience the younger man exhibited was astounding. A huge part of him wanted to say fuck it all and pull him close, Peter made him feel all kinds of safe and sound. Yet, there was still a piece of him that wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of letting go – being vulnerable never got him anything other than sore feelings and sharp pains of disappointment.
He wondered if maybe talking to Peter about it might help ease some of the anxiety – Tony felt a bit pathetic, trying to formulate the best way to tell the man he was slowly falling for that he didn’t know what affection was and couldn’t decipher the way it made him feel. Shaking his head at the consuming thought, Tony buckled down and forced himself to push Peter from his mind; the execution of that much harder than it should have been.
Later in the lab, Tony waited until Peter brought him his first coffee of the evening and pulled him close, his own arm wrapping around the slim waist and dragging a soft sigh from pink lips. “That’s nice,” Peter mumbled, the hand on Tony’s shoulder gripping him a little tighter. “I know touch is weird for you, but – I like it, the way you feel against me.” Peter didn’t relent, the clench of his hand intensifying as he spoke.
Leaning further into Peter’s side, Tony let himself suck in a deep breath, the smell of Peter’s Lucky Brand cologne and Old Spice body wash making him feel calm. He let silence settle over them before even thinking to speak. “It’s not weird, per say. I’m just not used to it. My family was never the touchy-feely type. Affection is foreign.” He turned his head, his breath hitching a little when he noticed how close they really were.
“I like it from you. You make me feel safe. I’m just – still not used to it. It’s hard to think that you’re just doing it because you want to. I know you are, though – you just want to touch me because you can. Tony let his other arm wrap around Peter, his body turning so they were chest to chest. “I’ll take this, too – if you’re offering,” Tony leaned forward, his nose sliding against Peter’s in a silent question.
There wasn’t any hesitation from Peter, he tilted his head and pressed the softest kiss to Tony’s lips. His arms were solid around his shoulders, the tips of Peter’s fingers digging ever so slightly into the long strands of hair on the back of his neck. Tony lost all semblance of shyness the second Peter’s tongue traced along the seam of his lips, the taste of him dizzying, more than enough to help him forget about the worries bogging him down.
Tony clung to Peter when they eventually pulled away, his eyes closed under the heaviness that was reciprocated feelings. The stability of the man holding him up kept the ever present need to spook and run at bay. Peter was nothing like Howard – the genuine nature in which Peter gave was the total opposite of the only other person Tony sought the approval of.
Sighing, Tony searched for Peter’s lips a second time, the kiss soft and chaste – the slightest bit of reassurance to keep anxieties at bay. “How do you feel about ditching the lab tonight? My heads not really in it,” Tony posed the question and stepped out of Peter’s arms, the distraction of them too much in that moment.
“I could use a break. Any chance I can convince you to order Chinese and watch Sugar Rush on Netflix?” Peter’s bottom lip poked out a little, the look making Tony laugh, his breath catching after a few minutes of blissed out joy. He pulled Peter into a hug before he could lose his nerve, his lips pressing against the side of Peter’s head.
“Sounds perfect, Pete.”
----
Later, after too much processed chicken and rice, Tony found himself laid out against Peter’s chest – now that he’d given in to it, his body wanted to soak up all it could. Peter didn’t disappoint, either – his fingers danced over the side of Tony’s arm and his leg pressed up against his thigh as tightly as he could. If he weren’t so over the moon about what it all meant, Tony would probably be rabid with want. Instead, he felt content to be surrounded by all things Peter.
He felt himself start to drift after the fifth time he watched Adriano Zumbo try a cupcake. Tony pressed his forehead against Peter’s chest before forcing himself to pull away. “Come on. The big bed I have in my room will be much better for sleeping.” Tony didn’t give the sleep groggy Peter any choice, he grabbed his hands and hefted him from the couch, the two of them leaning on each other as they stumbled down the hall.
Tony got Peter set up with a toothbrush and went about getting his face washed and moisturized (because he needed to continue to look young, after all.) Catching Peter’s eye in the mirror, Tony grinned – the domesticity of the little scene making his heart beat double time. He dragged his eyes away and left the bathroom – Tony could only handle so much.
Stripping down to his boxer briefs, Tony slipped under the covers and turned his back to the bathroom door. The coolness of the sheets had him sinking into the comfort of the ridiculously expensive mattress, his brain starting to shut down after 36-hours of constant thinking and stress. It felt nice to finally not have to worry about how he’d handle Peter – how he’d force himself to let the obvious tenderness roll right off his back.
The mattress shifted a few minutes later, cool air slipping under the blankets as Peter climbed in behind him. He was in a similar state of underdress, his bare chest delightfully warm against Tony’s back. A heavy arm wrapped around his middle and tugged, Tony moving back willingly. “Is this okay?” Peter whispered, his lips pressing against the shell of Tony’s ear.
It took Tony a second to remember how to speak, his body just a few minutes away from succumbing to a well-earned slumber. Reaching back, Tony gripped Peter’s arm and pulled him closer. “Yeah. I just want to be held for a while. Glad you’re here to do that for me, Pete.” Tony’s semi-cognizant mutterings revealing more than he probably would have any other time.
Peter tightened his arms around Tony and settled further into the mattress, his limbs becoming heavier by the second. Soft lips pressed against the downey hairs on the back of Tony’s neck, both men sharing a shiver.
“I’m glad, too. Get some rest, baby,” Peter gave him another soft kiss on the neck, Tony’s little moan of happiness settling deep in his chest.
Just before drifting off Tony heard Peter mumble “Love you,” his hand subconsciously tightening around him.
Smiling, Tony groggily said it back – his eyes shutting for the night.
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