♡⃕ ∿ genres && warnings: fluff && suggestive at the end but nothing in detail !! also, the reader doesn’t know that peter is spiderman
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…can kinda be like a small puppy and keeps himself lying on your lap. your lap is like his haven, and he feels himself let go of everything when he lies on top of you; clinging onto your thighs and sighing against them
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…let’s you try out different makeup looks and products on him, and ofc he would be the best boyfriend on earth to let you know about a new product that your fav brand just dropped. juvia’s place has a new blush palette? getting it! fenty beauty has a sale? already ordered your fav products and sent you the confirmation email
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…gives you new ways to experiment on how you express yourself. even if it’s him being the experiment for your creativity, he doesn’t mind it. he’ll even assist if you're still stuck, even though he knows nothing about what you’re doing
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…who uses emoticons heavily and is not ashamed!!! “ :D :(( ^3^ ” are his favs to use when texting; he uses them even more than emojis tbh. don’t introduce him to kamojis, you might unlock a new addiction for him
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…if not deep into his studies, always the best person to shop with !! especially if you’re one to get tempted easily, he knows how to steer you away and spend more money than you need to. but also great at remembering what you needed from each store you go to :)
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…after a shopping spree, asks for a haul of what you got and finds different ways to say how much the pieces suit you. even if it’s basic stuff, he’ll still mention how much he loves it on you
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…who created a pinterest account just to send you inspo for hair, nails, makeup looks, etc. personally, he enjoys looking through nail sets on there and imagining you scratching his head with said sets
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…who loves loves lovessss a good head scratch. some days he’ll just show up unannounced at your apartment and lie down on your couch, gently taking your hand and placing it on top of his head. if you reach a certain spot on his scalp, you may hear a certain sound coming from peter
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…please do hot oil treatments on him. listen, explaining to him might sound a lil crazy to him, and dangerous, but after hearing that you’ll be massaging his scalp, he was quick to agree. during the treatment, he loosened his tense body and let himself feel heaven as you massaged the oil into his scalp
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…who isn’t big on pda but doesn’t mind leaving lil pecks to get you flustered or just to catch you off guard. preferably, he likes longer kisses, longer moments of intimacy instead of something that’s rushed (unless horny). who said that ???
⋆˙⟡ boyfie!peter parker…will never stop wanting a makeout session, no matter how long or late in the day it is. he savors the tingling feeling that he gets when you’re on his lap and lightly scratching the back of his neck and letting his lips chase after yours. he adores the little noises that you let out when he presses his hands more intensely on certain parts of your body than others. please don’t let it be a night where he has been feeling a bit more needy than usual cause he’ll be clinging on and kissing you like it’s the last day on earth
𐔌 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘪 💭⭑.ᐟ ꒱
♡⃕ see i was gonna keep going and add nsfw but i wanted to tread lightly with peter
♡⃕ this can be interpreted with any peter !! I did have tom’s peter in mind but any you find fit is okay as well
♡⃕ if you guys want more boyfie!peter, lemme know 😋
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Summary → It all started with a HYDRA gas grenade and ended with you telling the Avengers about your sex life.
It all started with a HYDRA gas grenade and ended with you telling the Avengers that Peter Parker has a praise kink.
You should’ve just stayed in bed.
---
The serum was supposed to be used on enemies for interrogation. HYDRA apparently thought they were clever, trying out a new airborne version. You and Peter were just trying to help evacuate civilians when the damn thing went off.
Bruce said it was “a temporary serum that disrupts the brain’s verbal filter.”
Translation? Every thought you had? Now it came out of your mouth. Immediately. Loudly. In public. In front of Peter.
And your dad.
And the entire. Freaking. Avengers team.
---
“Okay,” Bruce said as he looked at his tablet, already sweating. “I’m working on an antidote. Just… stay calm. Don’t try to resist the serum. That’ll only make it worse.”
You nodded. “Right. Don’t think about anything stupid. Just breathe. Don’t panic. Don’t think about how good Peter looked shirtless last night when he- OH MY GOD!”
Your hands clapped over your mouth like they were trying to choke the words back in. Peter, sitting beside you, froze like someone had unplugged his soul.
Tony nearly dropped his coffee.
“…Is there a mute button on this thing?” He asked Bruce, mildly horrified.
“No,” Bruce muttered. “And she’s at the peak dosage. Anything she thinks, she says.”
“Great,” you whined. “Perfect. Someone please shut me up. Kill me. Actually kill me.”
“Uh,” Peter tried, his voice three octaves higher than normal. “I-It’s okay! You’ll be okay. J-Just try not to think too hard.”
You whipped your head toward him, eyes wide. “Try not to think too hard? You try not to think too hard. You’re the one who moaned my name last night like a fucking porn star- oh my GOD NO NO NO WHY AM I STILL TALKING.”
“NOPE.” Tony spun around and pointed at Bruce. “You better cook up an antidote right the hell now, Banner. I am not emotionally equipped to hear my daughter talk about anything involving moaning.”
Bruce was already frantically typing.
Peter was bright red and looked like he wanted to throw himself into another universe.
Clint was grinning. “This is better than Netflix.”
Natasha smirked. “Honestly, I always suspected this two had some kind of kinky thing going.”
“Oh no no no,” you groaned, slumping into your hands. “Please. No one listen to me. Don’t believe anything I say. I’m a pathological liar.”
“Too late,” Steve muttered. “It’s seared into my brain now.”
You gasped. “Oh my god. I can’t stop! That means I’m going to say everything. EVERYTHING. Including the thing Peter wanted to do to me in front of the mirror and- fucking hell someone knock me out. Hit me with a frying pan or a truck or something!”
Peter squeaked.
Tony looked physically ill. “I need bleach. For my ears. And probably my soul.”
Thor, meanwhile, clapped Peter on the back hard enough to nearly send him flying. “You are bold, young one! No shame in pleasure shared.”
Peter made a noise like a dying mouse.
You tried to stand, panic rising, but your mouth kept going. “You know, the first time he used his web-shooters in bed, I thought it’d be gross but it was actually so hot, and then-”
“STOP.” Peter covered your mouth with both hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry.”
You licked his palm.
He screamed and yanked his hands back like you were made of lava.
“I didn’t mean to!” You cried. “But I thought about it, and now it happened! I hate this!”
Bruce groaned. “I need more time. Maybe an hour if I can synthesize from the residue.”
“We don’t have an hour,” Tony snapped. “At this rate she’s gonna start describing everything!”
“Oh god,” you whimpered. “Should I mention the toy? Should I talk about the vibrating toy I bought- OH GOD WHY DID I SAY THAT- ”
Peter made a noise again. A short, strangled one. You risked a glance and caught him clenching his fists like he was trying not to implode.
You looked at him, wild-eyed. “I’m so sorry! But also you liked it! You said my moaning turned you on more than you seeing me naked!”
“Okay—THAT’S ENOUGH,” Peter snapped, suddenly standing. “I’m taking her out of here.”
Tony squinted. “Where exactly are you taking her, Parker!?”
“Away!” Peter yelled, voice cracking as he scooped you up bridal-style. “Somewhere far away from all of you and your smug faces!”
“You’re all invited to the wedding!” You shouted over his shoulder. “We’re gonna have a sex swing!”
Tony collapsed into a chair. “I need a therapist.”
---
Peter's Room : 15 Minutes Later
He’d thrown the door shut and dropped you onto the bed like you were ticking dynamite. You flopped back and groaned into a pillow.
“Peter,” you whined. “It won’t stop. Every time I try to think not sexy, I just think of you, and then I think of that sound you made when I sat on your face, and- GODDAMMIT!”
“Okay,” he wheezed. “I’m gonna explode.”
“No exploding!” You gasped. “That’ll just make me say more things! I’ll tell them you cried after I came the first time and it was really sweet but also kind of hot because-”
Peter pounced.
Your back hit the mattress. His hand slapped over your mouth again- but this time, his hips were between your thighs, his breath hot against your cheek.
“You. Are. Driving. Me. Crazy,” he growled.
You moaned into his palm.
He removed it. “Sorry, I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t touch you like this when you’re not in control of your mouth- ”
“I’m not drunk,” you panted. “Just cursed with truth. So you absolutely can rail me if you want to. You have full consent.”
He made the decision.
Mouths crashed. Hands tangled. Your hips lifted and met his. The serum was still working- and now it was making you narrate.
“Fuck, you’re so hard. I love how desperate you get. Like the time you asked me to ride your thigh and I called you good boy and you came in your pants- ”
“OH MY GOD- ”
“Peter,” you moaned, grinding up. “I wanna come on your fingers while you whisper in my ear.”
He choked on his own breath.
You kept going. “I want you to edge me for hours until I’m crying. I want you to tie me up with your webs and then tell me how good I am while you-”
His mouth found your throat. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“And I want to die like this,” you gasped. “Full of you. Wrecked. Broken. Absolutely ruined.”
Peter groaned. “You’re getting it.”
He didn’t stop until your brain short-circuited into stutters and moans.
Your mouth finally stopped running- but only because it was too busy moaning his name over and over.
---
Avengers Tower : 1 Hour Later
Bruce held up a syringe like it was the Holy Grail. “Antidote’s ready!”
Peter walked into the lab looking freshly wrecked- shirt all wrinkly, lips red and swollen, curls messy. You were latched onto his hoodie like it was bulletproof armor against the shame.
Bruce approached you gently, like someone might approach a bomb with a very short fuse. “This will take effect in about… 90 seconds. Just hold still.”
You nodded. “Okay. Just ninety seconds. I can do that. I won’t say anything. I won’t. I’ll think of algebra. Equations. Taxes. Daddy. NO! Not daddy in that context- ”
Peter groaned and buried his face in your shoulder.
“Okay, injecting now…” Bruce muttered.
The serum slid into your bloodstream.
You stared straight ahead. “Be cool. Be normal. Don’t think of Peter’s tongue. Or his hands. Or the way he said ‘Good girl’ and it made you wetter than a swimming pool and- ”
Everyone flinched.
“Bruce,” Tony barked. “Speed that up.”
“It needs to metabolize naturally!”
You kept going.
“Oh god. Are people gonna smell sex on me? I feel like people can smell things. Thor has god-nose, right? Oh god, Thor’s gonna smell that Peter went down on me for twenty minutes- ”
Thor gave you a slow nod of approval.
“BRUCE.”
“I CAN’T RUSH SCIENCE, TONY.”
Peter whimpered. “Why is she so detailed?”
“I’m a Stark, we overshare!” You yelled. “It’s genetic!”
Clint coughed into his hand. “Honestly, I’ve learned more about their sex life in ten minutes than I know about my own.”
You turned to Peter with wide, panicked eyes. “Is your back okay? I kind of scratched it a lot. You were making that face- you know, the one you make right before you- ”
“OKAY,” Bruce interrupted, scanning you. “Cognitive patterns are stabilizing. She should be back to normal… now.”
You blinked.
Then suddenly stopped talking.
Then screamed.
Peter clutched you like a lifeline.
You groaned into his chest. “Oh god. I said all that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Every. Damn. Word,” Tony muttered, handing you a glass of water like a weary nurse. “Please never speak again.”
“Seconded,” Steve said.
“Thirded,” Natasha added. “Also- kind of impressed.”
Bruce looked exhausted. “You’re cured. Now please go be horny somewhere else.”
You whimpered. “I want to die. Peter, let’s move to another dimension.”
Peter, red as a tomato, kissed your forehead. “Only if I get to pick the safeword.”
synopsis: peter want alone time with you, every time yall are alone, your father, tony, gets in the way.
warning: none I hope
a/n: in honor of the movie coming out soon!
you and Peter had just started dating not too long ago. maybe around 3 weeks ago. it’s still a little awkward but they knew it’ll get better in time.
Peter thinks the awkwardness would slowly fade away if they had just gotten at least a day to each other. just you and him.
when he got to your room, he noticed how big it was.
“Woahhhh your room is so big, (Name).” he said, looking around. he’s never been in your room before.
you laugh a little, “well that’s what happens when you’re the daughter of Tony Stark.”
he smiled at you before hopping into your bed. you hop in there with him just chatting it up.
“Well, what do you usually do when you’re alone in here?” he asked you.
“Homework, or just bothering the others. Mainly my dad, I always irritate him.” you tell him. he laughed a little bit.
“What about you?” you looked into his eyes.
he almost folded, he didn’t say anything and just looked at you. he looked at your lips and then looked at you again.
you cupped his cheek and you could’ve sworn you heard a small whimper come from him. you leaned in, and your lips almost touched until you heard the door slam open.
Tony walked in, he had a bag of chips, the party size bag, chewing loudly as hell while looking at them.
you both jumped away from each other acting like nothing happened.
“So, what’s going on in here?” he asked, knowing damn well what was going on in there.
“Um— Mr. Stark I-“ Peter tried to get it out but it wasn’t coming out.
Tony looked at you, then looked back at Peter. “Use protection.” he said, before walking out the room, leaving the door open.
you both sighed, you knew that you weren’t going to get any alone time any time soon.
Dirty Little Secret | Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader
Summary: Tony Starks daughter, Wanda’s powers (but purple), dating the new intern in secret. What could possibly go wrong when Clint falls through the vents right after you sneak in your secret boyfriend?
Peter Parker one shot inspired by the song, Dirty Little Secret by The All-American Rejects!
Warnings: None
WC: 1.9K
Masterlist!
“I’ll keep you my dirty little secret”
You dating the new intern was your biggest secret.
Your father was the one and only, infamous, genius, billionaire, Tony Stark, aka Iron Man.
Of course, you somehow managed to be kidnapped by Hydra and experimented on, giving you powers that, oddly enough, were just like Wanda’s, but purple.
Due to this, your father was the most over protective person in your life.
You went to Midtown High, and tried to live a semi normal lifestyle. Everyone knew you were Tony Stark’s daughter. Who didn’t?
What they didn’t know was that you had super powers.
That was just one of your secrets.
Your biggest secret was that you were dating the new intern at the tower.
You were shocked to see the boy in your chem class at the tower one morning. Your father introduced you two and made it clear to the Parker boy that you were ‘off limits’.
But, oh boy, could Peter not resist you.
It didn’t take long for him to find any excuse to be around you.
He was officially an Avenger now. Of course he had to check your room for any potential threats.
He was totally failing science. Of course he needed to study with you.
It didn’t take long for you to take a liking to the boy. But, you couldn’t date him. Your father would kill you. The rest of the team wouldn’t live it down. Your first boyfriend and it was the intern?
What you could do, was date him in secret.
You were perched on the edge of your bed, in your pajamas, rock music playing from one of your speakers.
You were busily tinkering with one of Peter’s web shooters. He accidentally broke it and totally couldn’t fix it on his own.
He’d have to come by your room that night to pick it up from you.
You jumped and gasped at the sound of something hitting your window.
You rose to your feet and drew back the curtain to reveal your boyfriend in his spider suit.
“Hi!” he beamed from outside, clinging to the window.
You chuckled and opened the window, shushing him. “Someone might hear!” you whisper shouted.
Your heart beat in excitement. There was something exhilarating about doing something you knew you’d be crucified for.
Peter climbed into your room with ease, shutting the window behind him. “No one ever hears,” he replied, taking his mask off.
His hair was an absolute mess. His eyes were bright and full of love. He placed a kiss to your check and smiled down at you. “Did you finish fixing the web shooter?” he asked curiously.
“No,” you sighed dramatically. “This is sooo hard to fix,” you said sarcastically.
Peter hummed and his hands found your waist. “Guess I’ll have to stay then.”
You looked up at him with loving eyes. “I guess so.”
Peter giggled as he pulled you in close for a kiss.
His lips were warm and soft against yours.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.
You pushed him back gently, he stumbled back, legs hitting the edge of your bed. He sat on your bed, pulling you on top of him.
His hands roamed your hips and back as your lips moved in perfect harmony.
He pulled away briefly to admire your face. “Gosh, I love you,” he breathed out.
You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair. “I love you too.”
He smiled and pulled you in for another kiss.
Your hands found his chest and you pushed him back, so that you were both now lying down, you on top of him.
One of his gloved hands held your waist while the other roamed through your hair.
Suddenly, you swore you heard the sound of something in your ceiling.
You pulled away and Peter gave you a confused look. “Did you hear that?” you asked.
Peter blinked. “No. Just the music,” he replied.
“Edith, turn the music off, please,” you asked the artificial intelligence.
“Turning the music off Stark Jr.”
The music turned off and the room fell silent.
“Maybe it was the song,” Peter suggested, pulling you back in for another kiss.
You hummed against his lips, ignoring whatever it was you thought you heard.
Thud
You gasped at the loud thud in your room. You pulled away and looked to your bedroom floor.
None other than Clint was on the floor looking at you with a petrified expression.
“Clint?!” you shouted, nearly flying off of Peter. “I told you to stay out of the vents!”
Clint had a bad habit of hanging out in the vents, and of course he had to just fall out of the vent in your room.
Where you were making out with your super secret boyfriend.
Peter jumped out of your bed and stood beside you, looking guilty as hell.
Clint looked between you and Peter with his jaw dropped. “You’ve been kissing on the new intern?!” he exclaimed. “Ooo, I’m telling your daddy!”
Your eyes, as well as Peter’s, widened in horror. “No!” you both shouted.
Clint looked at you, amused. “Give me one good reason to not.”
“He’s gonna kill me!” you exclaimed. “Please, Clint! Be the cool uncle you are!”
Your father was the last person you needed to know about Peter.
Clint, sure.
Tony Stark? No way.
Clint shrugged. “That’s not a good reason. I don’t really care.”
Your jaw dropped, but before you could say anything, there was a knock at the door.
“Everything okay in there?” Natasha asked from outside.
Your eyes widened as Clint raced to the door to open it and show Natasha the scene that was unfolding. “No!” you exclaimed, sticking your hand out to throw Clint back, a purple mist covering him.
“Hey! Don’t use your powers on me you little witch!” he shouted, sliding across the floor.
Natasha furrowed her brows from outside. “Clint? What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing!” you told her.
“I’m coming in there,” she said, barging through the door.
The door flew open and she looked to see you, face flushed with embarrassment, and Clint lying on the floor.
No Peter in her eyesight.
“What is happening?” she asked, confused. “Why are you yelling?”
“Because he won’t stay out of the vents!” you said, pointing a finger at him.
Clint rose to his feet with a laugh. “Tell her what really happened.”
“It’s true!”
Clint shook his head. “No, she was making out with some boy,” he told Natasha dramatically.
You swallowed, hard, eyes darting to Natasha who blinked. “What boy? There’s no one in here.”
Clint furrowed his brows and looked around your room.
Peter was gone.
“What?!” Clint exclaimed. “He was just here!”
Clint ducked to look under your bed, marched to your closet and opened the door, even checked your bathroom.
No Peter.
You looked up at your ceiling slowly.
There, Peter clung to it, putting a finger to his lips.
Your eyes widened, praying no one would look up.
“He was here!” Clint defended himself. “I swear!”
Natasha looked at you with raised brows. You pulled your lips into a tight line. “Right…” she trailed off.
You screamed and jumped back, as Vision phased through the wall. “Vision! Use the door!” you ridiculed.
“My apologies Tiny Stark,” he said sheepishly. “I heard yelling. I was concerned.”
Clint marched over to Vision. “Hey, check this place out. She just had a boy in here.”
“Clint!”
Vision blinked in shock. “A boy? Who?”
“No one!”
“It was that-”
Clint couldn’t finish his sentence before Loki walked in with a loud, dramatic, groan. “Can you mortals stop bickering? It’s awfully annoying.”
“You!” Clint beamed, pointing a finger at Loki. “You use magic. Find the boy!”
Loki furrowed his brows. “What boy?”
“The one she snuck in here,” Clint replied.
Loki looked at you, knowing exactly where Peter was. Your eyes were full of worry as your shook your head at him, a silent plead to not expose you.
Loki smirked at you.
“You mean the intern on the ceiling?”
“Loki!!!” you shouted at him.
Everyone in the room looked up at the ceiling to see Peter clung to the wall, eyes wide in horror.
“Ha!” Clint exclaimed. “Told you!”
Vision tilted his head slightly. “Peter?”
“You’re dating the intern?!” Natasha asked excitedly.
“Did someone say that Parker kid’s name?”Footsteps in the hallway approached your room.
Sam and Bucky.
Just your luck.
“Aye!” Sam exclaimed. “Get your ass down!” he yelled at Peter.
Peter flipped off of the ceiling, landing on his feet. His face was red with embarrassment. This was not the way he wanted your family to find out you were dating him.
Bucky sucked his teeth, giving you a disappointed look. “The spider guy? Really?”
Sam shook his head and crossed his arms. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he lectured Peter. “Sneaking in here at night. I always knew he was a bad influence,” he muttered under his breath.
You groaned and threw your head back. “Sam, please leave him alone.”
Louder footsteps boomed down the hallway, Thor appeared in the doorway with a box of Poptarts. “Hey, why didn’t anyone invite me to this party?”
His eyes scanned the room and he hummed in thought. “Why’s he here?” he asked, looking dead at Peter.
“He snuck in,” Bucky explained. “I say we kill him for it.”
“What?!” Peter exclaimed. “Kill me?” he repeated in horror.
Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah! Kill you!”
“No!” you shouted. “No killing people! No nothing! How about,” you proposed, voice leveled. “How about, we all leave my room and pretend none of this ever happened?”
“Or,” Loki proposed. “We tell your father. I’m sure he’d love to hear you snuck in the intern he forbade you from dating.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Or,” you began. “We kill you instead!”
“What happened to no killing?” Sam asked with a laugh.
Seconds later, Bruce and Wanda wandered in. “What the…” Bruce trailed off.
“Oh, hi, Peter,” Wanda waved at the boy.
Peter awkwardly put his hand up, keeping his head low sheepishly.
This was too awkward.
It was only a matter of time before your father found out.
“So…” Clint trailed off. “Who’s gonna tell Tony?”
“No one! Please!” you begged. “I’ll do extra chores for a month! A year! I’ll never move out for college! I’ll never play my music loud again! I’ll do anything, just don’t tell him!”
Clint raised his brows up in shock that you were willing to do such things. “Okay,” he agreed. “Extra chores for a month.”
“And you won’t tell my dad?”
Clint nodded. “I won’t. I pinky promise.”
“I’ll tell him,” Sam spoke up.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”
“I just don’t like him,” he said, pointing a finger at Peter.
“What did I do?” Peter asked, genuinely confused as to the one sided beef between him, Sam, and Bucky.
“Because,” Bucky replied.
“That’s not even a reason!”
“Look,” Natasha spoke up. “No one is telling Tony anything. This stays between us. She’s old enough to kiss boys, who cares. If anyone says anything to Tony, you’re dead.”
You let out a sigh of relief.
Everyone feared Natasha.
Your father wouldn’t know.
“Too late, I already know.”
You all turned to your window, the curtains wide open.
Your father was in his suit, floating right in front of your window.
“Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaimed. “I can explain!”
“No,” Stark interrupted. “No need,” he said calmly.
Peter swallowed hard. “Does this mean I’m fired?”
“No,” Tony chuckled. Peter let out a sigh of relief. “It means you’re dead!”
He lifted his hand and aimed it at the window. He fired his repulsor right at the widow, Peter dodging it just in time.
You were going to need a new window, and maybe, a new boyfriend, by the end of this.
a/n: y/n stark and peter in a secret relationship get caught kissing in 4k ?!!??? #throwback #nostalgia,, just something short and silly heh
“you think your dad would approve of this?” peter asks, grinning ear to ear as you tug him away from the lab, giggling when you spin on your heel and begin to walk backwards.
“do i think the Tony stark would approve of me sneaking around avengers compound making out with his little protege?” you tease, pretending to think for a moment before grabbing the strings of his hoodie and pulling him to you. “you’re smart, what do you think?”
peter smiles down at you, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips as he fights the urge to close the distance. “well when you put it that way, i don’t think he would,” he mumbles.
“mm, sad really,” you whisper, leaning in slightly before pulling back and patting his chest with your hand. “if the old man doesn’t approve then who am i to go against his wishes?” you let out an exaggerated sigh, turning around and walking away.
peter smiles, shooting a web and immediately pulling you into him, his arm sliding around your waist and and crashing his lips onto yours. there’s no stopping the smile on your face as you kiss him back, lips moving against his instinctively. your fingers go to the nape of his hair, tugging slightly at the brown curls as the two of you blindly stumble backwards.
a familiar voice outside the lab causes the two of you to jump apart, chests heaving and faces flushed as you try and fix your appearance.
your dad quirks a brow, eyes darting between you and peter.
“did i just interrupt something? don’t tell me i just walked in on something,” the look on his face is enough to have Peter’s heart rate spiking, stomach in knots as he tries to defend himself.
“course not! peter was just showing me his new suit upgrades!” you grin innocently, turning to look at Peter, he flounders for a moment before nodding.
“yes- yes! that’s what- yeah I was just showing her the upgrades! it’s just- it was a lot of minor stuff nothing crazy that you’d be interested in,” he replies, scrunching his face and waving his hand half heartedly.
“really?” Tony asks, narrowing his eyes.
“really!” the two of you reply in unison.
“okay,” he mumbles, turning around and heading towards the exit. you and Peter let out a sigh of relief, smiling at each other. “FRIDAY pull up the footage from before i entered,” his words makes you and peter freeze in place, eyes widening as the two of you yell over each other to cancel the action.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
BASED OFF THIS HEADCANON: stark!reader who has never been scared of getting in trouble. not until she came home wearing peters hoodie. that night had been awkward.
WARNINGS: FLUFF, READER BEING SLIGHTLY SPOILED, TONY LOWK BEING AN ASSHOLE
A/N: this isn’t exactly peter x reader, like it is, but peter isn’t actually in the fic. it’s more reader and her father, tony stark. i didnt know how to title it lmao. this is short cuz i wrote it at midnight and idk its probably not too good??? i just wanted to write this out while i was in the mood.
y/n stark had never feared getting in much trouble. not at school, not online, and especially not at home. after all, she was her fathers daughter, and fear for stupid things like forgetting to do the dishes or saying a disrespectful remark rarely crossed her nervous system.
even on nights she’d snuck out to party or go for runs around the city at 2am, she had never come home nervous. that was the first indication that something was up.
tony was, as usual, still awake when y/n arrived back at 1:47am. early for her, honestly. friday had informed tony when she had left the building almost 3 hours ago, and he’d kept a very close eye on her location, waiting for her return. he’d filled his time with mindlessly tinkering to his favorite mixtape, while friday kept him updated every few minutes, letting him know every time she moved locations more than 20 feet. the AI said she was in no immediate danger, so he waited for her to come home, where he could properly berate her without being hung up on.
“someone was having a fun night.” the light wasnt yet turned on, and tony’s head was covered with a suit helmet prototype that was yet to be seen out of. “care to explain where you were?” his head lifted, helmet still on.
y/n stood, rolling her eyes. “got chinese food with a friend. brought you back spring rolls.” she tossed the bag onto the desk. she wasnt at all worried, until he removed the helmet from his head. her arms immediately crossed her chest.
“we live in new york city, you couldnt have ordered?” he asked sarcastically. he hadn’t detected anything suspicious, until her arms hurriedly covered the design on her chest and her face hardened. “who’s hoodie is that? its not yours, but it looks familiar.”
faded navy fabric stretched over her, draping loosely to showcase the nike swoosh embroidered in white. “its a nike hoodie, most people own one similar.” she stated matter of factly. while she normally wouldn’t be wrong, this one was different. the left cuff had some weird stitching on it, a small design over where a rip had been. and right below the n on nike was a tiny smiley face written in sharpie that had bled to splotchy black smudges.
his eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing at his 17 year old daughter. “thats a guys hoodie.” he said matter of factly.
“as are most the hoodies i own.” the reply was snarky, her nose scrunched up at his inference of her wearing a boys hoodie (even though she was).
tony hummed, opening the bag she’d tossed his way. “yeah, but thats not your hoodie. and most your friends wear jackets, especially when you go out. so that belongs to a boy.” he took a bite of the spring roll he was given. he stared at the hoodie a second longer, and y/n could swear she could see the second he realized. “is that parker’s hoodie?” he asked with a smug smirk.
y/n rolled her eyes once again. “what’s your obsession with that kid? its kinda creepy, dad.” trying to deflect only made her more suspicious, but at this point, her palms were sweaty, clutching onto her arms. without meaning to, her eyes were slightly wider than normal, a dead give away to tony that it was peters hoodie she was wearing at almost 2am.
“thats so his hoodie. are you guys dating now, or what?” tony’s grin only grew. while he didnt love the idea of his teenage daughter dating, peter parker was definitely the best out of any options she’d picked so far in her 17 years of living. peter was a good kid, so he couldnt be too mad.
y/n walked over, hitting the spring role out of his hand and onto the floor. “im taking these. goodnight.” she huffed, grabbing the plastic bag off the desk and stomping away with warm cheeks.
tony glared, finishing the bite of spring roll in his mouth. he slumped back into his chair, shaking his head. “friday?”
“i have founds texts on ms. y/ns phone that indicate more than platonic interacts between her and peter parker, sir.” the AI spoke out knowingly.
tony watched as y/n groaned from the doorway she was passing through, hitting the elevator button with a little too much pressure. she was clearly pissed.
“tough crowd, huh?” tony said to no one in particular, grabbing his screw driver to continue his late night tinkering. after a few minutes, he slowly looked up. “friday, lock y/ns window and let me know if a certain spider boy ever starts clinging to the side of the building.” y/ns room was specifically been moved up high enough so she could never sneak someone in, but if that someone was spider-man..? height wouldn’t be much help.
frank castle and his sweet girl ( SPOILERS FOR BND !!!! )
The hospital room was too quiet.
That was the first thing Frank noticed when he pushed through the door, shoulders still tense from the fight, from the chaos, from watching that kid take a bullet meant for Jean. The second thing he noticed was you.
You were standing by Peter's bed, one hand hovering near his, like you were afraid to touch him, afraid he might shatter. Your back was to Frank, shoulders curved in on themselves, and even from across the room he could see the tremor running through your frame. The quietest little shake, like a leaf in a storm.
Frank closed the door behind him with a soft click. His boots were heavy against the linoleum, and he watched you flinch at the sound. Still didn't turn around. That wasn't like you. Usually, you met his eyes as soon as he walked into a room.
"Hey." Frank said quietly, crossing the room until he was close enough to see your face. And that was when his chest tightened, a familiar ache that had nothing to do with the bruises he'd collected tonight.
You were crying.
Not the way most people cried, not with heaving sobs or wailing. You were crying the way someone who'd learned early that noise meant danger. All silent, hitched little breaths. Tears streaming down your cheeks in steady rivers, your jaw clenched so tight he could see the muscle jumping. Your lower lip was trembling, bitten raw, like you were trying to hold it all in and failing miserably.
"Hey," Frank said again, softer this time. His voice dropped an octave, that particular tone he only ever used with you. The one that still surprised him sometimes, how easily it came out. "C'mere, sweetheart."
You shook your head, a tiny, jerky motion. Your eyes were fixed on Peter's sleeping face, at the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the hospital blankets. Jean had done her work, kept him stable, kept his heart beating. The doctors said he was going to be fine. But you were still looking at him like he might disappear at any moment.
Frank understood. God, did he understand.
"Sweet girl.." he murmured, warningly, and the endearment slipped out before he could stop it. He'd started calling you that a few weeks ago, when he'd found you sleeping on a park bench in the rain, drenched to the bone and shivering. He'd scooped you up like you weighed nothing, carried you back to his place, tucked you into bed. Called you "sweet girl" without thinking, and you'd looked at him with those big, watery eyes and something in his chest had cracked wide open.
You'd never asked him to stop.
"You're gonna get tired, standing there like that," Frank said gently. He reached out, not to grab you, just to let his fingers brush against your elbow. "C'mon. Sit with me."
You finally looked at him then, and Frank's heart lurched at the sight of you. Your face was blotchy and tear-streaked, your eyes rimmed red, your nose running. You looked like a mess. You looked like a kid. You looked like his kid.
You looked at him for a long moment, and then you folded. You walked right into him, and Frank caught you automatically, his arms coming up to wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. You buried your face in his jacket, and he felt the wetness of your tears soak through the fabric as your shoulders started shaking again.
"Shh, shh, I got you," Frank rumbled, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, cradling you the way he might cradle a small, frightened animal. "I got you, sweetheart. You're okay."
He guided you over to the armchair in the corner, sitting down heavily, and then he pulled you with him, settling you between his spread legs, standing in the V of them. This was the only way he could really meet your eyes at eye level, and right now, he needed to see you.
But you weren't letting him, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor, lips parting to let out those wet, sad sounds.
"C'mon," he murmured, shifting in the armchair, his hands coming up to cup your face. "Look at me, sweetheart. C'mon, now."
"You're alright," Frank said again, looking up at you, his thumbs immediately moving to wipe away the tears tracking down your cheeks. His palms were so big against your face, so warm, and you leaned into the touch like a flower turning toward the sun. "I got ya. Just breathe f'me, baby. Nice and slow."
You shook your head, a soft, broken little sound escaping your throat. It wasn't a word, just a whimper, high and wounded. Your hands came up to grip his wrists, not to push him away, just to hold on.
"Hey, hey," Frank cooed, his voice dropping even lower, going syrupy sweet. He leaned forward slightly, bringing his face closer to yours. "Look at me, sweet girl. There you go."
Your eyes met his, and he watched fresh tears spill over, watched your lashes cling together in wet spikes. Your nose was running, and you sniffled miserably, a tiny, pathetic sound.
Frank's thumbs kept moving, wiping away the tears as fast as they fell. He was relentless about it, gentle but persistent, wanting you to know he was here, he wasn't going anywhere.
"Awh, sweet girl," he cooed, and the sound was so soft, so tender, it was almost unrecognizable as his voice. "Nah, don't cry. Don't cry, baby, c'mon. Look'a him, he's okay. He's a hell of a tough nut to crack."
You made another sound, wet and incomprehensible, and Frank's heart broke a little more. He'd watched you face down armed men without flinching. He'd watched you take a beating and give it right back. He'd watched you be so angry, so bitter, so full of that burning hatred for a world that had failed you so completely.
But this? Seeing you fall apart over Peter, someone you barely knew, a someone who'd taken a bullet for someone else? This was something else entirely. This was the softness you tried so hard to hide, the gentleness that snuck out when you thought no one was looking.
"He's young, sweetheart, jus' like you." Frank reassured you. "He's gonna bounce back. You know how kids are. You've got that rubber band thing goin' on. Bounce back from anything."
You let out a watery laugh, just a huff of air, and Frank felt something loosen in his chest.
"You're alright. You gonna be okay."
You shook your head, a frantic little motion, and Frank felt your breath hitch against his palms.
"It is gonna be okay," he insisted, and he was surprised by how steady his voice sounded. By how gentle. By how much he sounded like the father he'd never gotten to be, the father he'd thought he'd buried along with his family. "He's gonna be fine, sweetheart. Jean said so, didn't she? Said he's gonna wake up. Said he's gonna be okay."
Your hands tightened on his wrists, and you made another sound, trying to speak, but it came out garbled and wet. Frank shushed you gently, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone, wiping away another tear.
"I know." he murmured, and he did know. He knew what it was like to watch someone go down. He knew the terror of it, the way it hollowed you out and left you nothing but a shell of adrenaline and panic. He knew what it was like to look at a person you cared about and see blood, see damage, see everything you couldn't fix. "I know, baby. I know it's scary."
Your breath hitched again, and Frank felt tears, warm and wet, slide down his hand.
"Hey," he said, tilting your face up further, making you meet his eyes. "Hey, look at me. Spidey's tough, yeah? And you and me.. we're right here. We're not goin' anywhere."
Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously, and Frank felt his heart crack along a fault line he'd thought was sealed shut.
"Can y'use y'words f'me?" he asked, his voice dropping even softer. "Can y'tell me what's goin' on in that head of yours?"
You blinked, and more tears spilled over, tracking down over his thumbs. He caught them both, his hands so gentle on your face, so careful.
"He- he saved her-" you managed, your voice thick and wet. "He jumped in front f'her, Frank. He didn' even—he didn' think- and- and-"
"It should've been-" You choked on the leters, swallowed, tried again. "It should've been me. I was- I was closer, I could've-"
"Don't." Frank said, and his voice was sharper than he'd intended, but he couldn't—he wouldn't—let you go down that road. "Don't you dare, sweetheart. Don't you dare think that."
Your eyes widened, and Frank softened immediately, his thumbs moving to stroke the apples of your cheeks.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice rough but gentle. "Listen to me, okay? That kid, he made a choice. A stupid choice, a reckless choice, but it was his choice. You don't get to take that from him, 'kay? You don't get to wish it was you instead, because then where would I be? Huh? What would I do with myself if you were the one in that bed?"
Your breath stuttered, and Frank felt the tears start up again, fresh and hot against his palms.
"I can't-" You broke off, swallowed hard. "I can't lose anyone else, Frank. I can't."
And there it was.
The real reason you were crying like a little girl lost in a mall.
"C'mon baby, look at that," Frank murmured, tilting his head to look at Peter. "He's got good color. Healthy kid. Probably eats like a horse. You see that? You see how steady he's breathin'?"
You turned your head slightly, just enough to look at Peter, and Frank felt you relax a fraction. Just a tiny bit of tension leaving your shoulders.
"That's it," Frank encouraged, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. "That's my girl. Just breathe for me, nice and slow. In… and out. That's it."
You sniffled, and Frank reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled handkerchief. He pressed it into your palm, and you clutched it like a lifeline.
"He almost died," you finally got out, your voice wrecked, as you tried to wipe at the mess that was your face. "Frank, he almost-"
"Shh, shh, I know," Frank soothed, cutting you off gently. "I know, sweetheart. But he didn't. He's right there, see? He's okay. Jean made sure he was okay. And he's got you and me watchin' over him. He's in good hands."
You hiccuped, a soft, wet sound, and Frank's heart clenched.
"Such a good heart you got, baby," he murmured, almost to himself. "So good. You try so hard to hide it, but I see it. I see every bit of it."
You made a sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and you shook your head.
"Don't you shake your head at me, you little brat." he said, his voice still impossibly soft. "I know what I see. I see a girl who's been through hell and back and still worries about people she barely knows. I see someone so strong she doesn't even know it. I see my sweet girl."
Your lower lip trembled, and Frank caught it with his thumb, smoothing over the abused skin.
"You're alright," he said again, like a promise. "We're both alright. And that kid is gonna be fine, and then he's gonna drive us both crazy with all that chatter, and you're gonna be annoyed, and I'm gonna be annoyed, and it's gonna be great. You hear me?"
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and Frank felt like he'd won a war.
"There she is," he breathed. "There's my girl."
You leaned forward, your forehead dropping to rest against his, and Frank closed his eyes. He let himself have this moment, this quiet, soft, precious thing. Your breath fanning across his face, your tears still wet against his thumbs, your small hands still clutching his wrists.
"I got you," he murmured one more time, a vow, a promise, everything he was. "I got you, sweet girl. I'll always got you."
frank castle and his sweet girl ( SPOILERS FOR BND !!!! )
The hospital room was too quiet.
That was the first thing Frank noticed when he pushed through the door, shoulders still tense from the fight, from the chaos, from watching that kid take a bullet meant for Jean. The second thing he noticed was you.
You were standing by Peter's bed, one hand hovering near his, like you were afraid to touch him, afraid he might shatter. Your back was to Frank, shoulders curved in on themselves, and even from across the room he could see the tremor running through your frame. The quietest little shake, like a leaf in a storm.
Frank closed the door behind him with a soft click. His boots were heavy against the linoleum, and he watched you flinch at the sound. Still didn't turn around. That wasn't like you. Usually, you met his eyes as soon as he walked into a room.
"Hey." Frank said quietly, crossing the room until he was close enough to see your face. And that was when his chest tightened, a familiar ache that had nothing to do with the bruises he'd collected tonight.
You were crying.
Not the way most people cried, not with heaving sobs or wailing. You were crying the way someone who'd learned early that noise meant danger. All silent, hitched little breaths. Tears streaming down your cheeks in steady rivers, your jaw clenched so tight he could see the muscle jumping. Your lower lip was trembling, bitten raw, like you were trying to hold it all in and failing miserably.
"Hey," Frank said again, softer this time. His voice dropped an octave, that particular tone he only ever used with you. The one that still surprised him sometimes, how easily it came out. "C'mere, sweetheart."
You shook your head, a tiny, jerky motion. Your eyes were fixed on Peter's sleeping face, at the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the hospital blankets. Jean had done her work, kept him stable, kept his heart beating. The doctors said he was going to be fine. But you were still looking at him like he might disappear at any moment.
Frank understood. God, did he understand.
"Sweet girl.." he murmured, warningly, and the endearment slipped out before he could stop it. He'd started calling you that a few weeks ago, when he'd found you sleeping on a park bench in the rain, drenched to the bone and shivering. He'd scooped you up like you weighed nothing, carried you back to his place, tucked you into bed. Called you "sweet girl" without thinking, and you'd looked at him with those big, watery eyes and something in his chest had cracked wide open.
You'd never asked him to stop.
"You're gonna get tired, standing there like that," Frank said gently. He reached out, not to grab you, just to let his fingers brush against your elbow. "C'mon. Sit with me."
You finally looked at him then, and Frank's heart lurched at the sight of you. Your face was blotchy and tear-streaked, your eyes rimmed red, your nose running. You looked like a mess. You looked like a kid. You looked like his kid.
You looked at him for a long moment, and then you folded. You walked right into him, and Frank caught you automatically, his arms coming up to wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. You buried your face in his jacket, and he felt the wetness of your tears soak through the fabric as your shoulders started shaking again.
"Shh, shh, I got you," Frank rumbled, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, cradling you the way he might cradle a small, frightened animal. "I got you, sweetheart. You're okay."
He guided you over to the armchair in the corner, sitting down heavily, and then he pulled you with him, settling you between his spread legs, standing in the V of them. This was the only way he could really meet your eyes at eye level, and right now, he needed to see you.
But you weren't letting him, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor, lips parting to let out those wet, sad sounds.
"C'mon," he murmured, shifting in the armchair, his hands coming up to cup your face. "Look at me, sweetheart. C'mon, now."
"You're alright," Frank said again, looking up at you, his thumbs immediately moving to wipe away the tears tracking down your cheeks. His palms were so big against your face, so warm, and you leaned into the touch like a flower turning toward the sun. "I got ya. Just breathe f'me, baby. Nice and slow."
You shook your head, a soft, broken little sound escaping your throat. It wasn't a word, just a whimper, high and wounded. Your hands came up to grip his wrists, not to push him away, just to hold on.
"Hey, hey," Frank cooed, his voice dropping even lower, going syrupy sweet. He leaned forward slightly, bringing his face closer to yours. "Look at me, sweet girl. There you go."
Your eyes met his, and he watched fresh tears spill over, watched your lashes cling together in wet spikes. Your nose was running, and you sniffled miserably, a tiny, pathetic sound.
Frank's thumbs kept moving, wiping away the tears as fast as they fell. He was relentless about it, gentle but persistent, wanting you to know he was here, he wasn't going anywhere.
"Awh, sweet girl," he cooed, and the sound was so soft, so tender, it was almost unrecognizable as his voice. "Nah, don't cry. Don't cry, baby, c'mon. Look'a him, he's okay. He's a hell of a tough nut to crack."
You made another sound, wet and incomprehensible, and Frank's heart broke a little more. He'd watched you face down armed men without flinching. He'd watched you take a beating and give it right back. He'd watched you be so angry, so bitter, so full of that burning hatred for a world that had failed you so completely.
But this? Seeing you fall apart over Peter, someone you barely knew, a someone who'd taken a bullet for someone else? This was something else entirely. This was the softness you tried so hard to hide, the gentleness that snuck out when you thought no one was looking.
"He's young, sweetheart, jus' like you." Frank reassured you. "He's gonna bounce back. You know how kids are. You've got that rubber band thing goin' on. Bounce back from anything."
You let out a watery laugh, just a huff of air, and Frank felt something loosen in his chest.
"You're alright. You gonna be okay."
You shook your head, a frantic little motion, and Frank felt your breath hitch against his palms.
"It is gonna be okay," he insisted, and he was surprised by how steady his voice sounded. By how gentle. By how much he sounded like the father he'd never gotten to be, the father he'd thought he'd buried along with his family. "He's gonna be fine, sweetheart. Jean said so, didn't she? Said he's gonna wake up. Said he's gonna be okay."
Your hands tightened on his wrists, and you made another sound, trying to speak, but it came out garbled and wet. Frank shushed you gently, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone, wiping away another tear.
"I know." he murmured, and he did know. He knew what it was like to watch someone go down. He knew the terror of it, the way it hollowed you out and left you nothing but a shell of adrenaline and panic. He knew what it was like to look at a person you cared about and see blood, see damage, see everything you couldn't fix. "I know, baby. I know it's scary."
Your breath hitched again, and Frank felt tears, warm and wet, slide down his hand.
"Hey," he said, tilting your face up further, making you meet his eyes. "Hey, look at me. Spidey's tough, yeah? And you and me.. we're right here. We're not goin' anywhere."
Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously, and Frank felt his heart crack along a fault line he'd thought was sealed shut.
"Can y'use y'words f'me?" he asked, his voice dropping even softer. "Can y'tell me what's goin' on in that head of yours?"
You blinked, and more tears spilled over, tracking down over his thumbs. He caught them both, his hands so gentle on your face, so careful.
"He- he saved her-" you managed, your voice thick and wet. "He jumped in front f'her, Frank. He didn' even—he didn' think- and- and-"
"It should've been-" You choked on the leters, swallowed, tried again. "It should've been me. I was- I was closer, I could've-"
"Don't." Frank said, and his voice was sharper than he'd intended, but he couldn't—he wouldn't—let you go down that road. "Don't you dare, sweetheart. Don't you dare think that."
Your eyes widened, and Frank softened immediately, his thumbs moving to stroke the apples of your cheeks.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice rough but gentle. "Listen to me, okay? That kid, he made a choice. A stupid choice, a reckless choice, but it was his choice. You don't get to take that from him, 'kay? You don't get to wish it was you instead, because then where would I be? Huh? What would I do with myself if you were the one in that bed?"
Your breath stuttered, and Frank felt the tears start up again, fresh and hot against his palms.
"I can't-" You broke off, swallowed hard. "I can't lose anyone else, Frank. I can't."
And there it was.
The real reason you were crying like a little girl lost in a mall.
"C'mon baby, look at that," Frank murmured, tilting his head to look at Peter. "He's got good color. Healthy kid. Probably eats like a horse. You see that? You see how steady he's breathin'?"
You turned your head slightly, just enough to look at Peter, and Frank felt you relax a fraction. Just a tiny bit of tension leaving your shoulders.
"That's it," Frank encouraged, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. "That's my girl. Just breathe for me, nice and slow. In… and out. That's it."
You sniffled, and Frank reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled handkerchief. He pressed it into your palm, and you clutched it like a lifeline.
"He almost died," you finally got out, your voice wrecked, as you tried to wipe at the mess that was your face. "Frank, he almost-"
"Shh, shh, I know," Frank soothed, cutting you off gently. "I know, sweetheart. But he didn't. He's right there, see? He's okay. Jean made sure he was okay. And he's got you and me watchin' over him. He's in good hands."
You hiccuped, a soft, wet sound, and Frank's heart clenched.
"Such a good heart you got, baby," he murmured, almost to himself. "So good. You try so hard to hide it, but I see it. I see every bit of it."
You made a sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and you shook your head.
"Don't you shake your head at me, you little brat." he said, his voice still impossibly soft. "I know what I see. I see a girl who's been through hell and back and still worries about people she barely knows. I see someone so strong she doesn't even know it. I see my sweet girl."
Your lower lip trembled, and Frank caught it with his thumb, smoothing over the abused skin.
"You're alright," he said again, like a promise. "We're both alright. And that kid is gonna be fine, and then he's gonna drive us both crazy with all that chatter, and you're gonna be annoyed, and I'm gonna be annoyed, and it's gonna be great. You hear me?"
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and Frank felt like he'd won a war.
"There she is," he breathed. "There's my girl."
You leaned forward, your forehead dropping to rest against his, and Frank closed his eyes. He let himself have this moment, this quiet, soft, precious thing. Your breath fanning across his face, your tears still wet against his thumbs, your small hands still clutching his wrists.
"I got you," he murmured one more time, a vow, a promise, everything he was. "I got you, sweet girl. I'll always got you."
thinking about frank castle with a girl who’s just so shy…
One of Franks favorite things in the whole world is your giggle. When you get all shy and embarrassed and giddy and bashful and he calls you out on it, every single time, you’ll hide your face and giggle your sweet little giggle.
You’d do it now, if he were to wake you up, but that’s the last thing he’d ever think of doing. Your eyes blink open anyways, though, and he watches you rub them with a sleepy little groan. Your breath hitches and your head turns when his big fingers push your messy hair off your forehead.
“Mornin’ pretty girl,”
You smile, bashful and still half asleep, while you wrap around his bare chest. He’s always so warm, and his heartbeat pumping in your ear has you lulling back to sleep.
“Tired?” His voice murmurs, while he drags a paw over your cheek. You nod against him, snuggling closer. “Yeah, baby? I tire you out, huh?”
There it is.
You whine his name, covered by giggles, while stuffing your face into the crevice between his arm and stomach, embarrassed like he hasn’t had you worn out and out of breath, laying in bed with legs you didn’t know could shake that much.
“Oh,” He laughs, grinning down at you. “Ain’t gotta be embarrassed. Just me, just your man.”
His hands cup your head and pry you out of hiding.
“Just your Frankie.” Then, just to see you flush again, while his fingers hold your jaw and sweep over your face, he adds, quiet and soft, “Look so pretty all flushed, no reason to hide fr’m me. Think I had you lookin’ a lot worse for wear last night, this ain’t nothin’ to be blushin’ ‘bout.”
“Frank!” You repeat, rolling over to the other side of the bed while your hands cover your face and the smile that you can’t force away.
“Baby,” He chases after you, chastising you with puppy-dog eyes and an ear-to-ear grin. “C’mon,”
“You’re dirty, Frank,” You let him push you back against his side anyways.
“Oh, am I? Am I, my dirty girl?” He’s murmuring down at you, holding you close and tight enough that there’s no where else to hide. “Gets so shy, like she ain’t just as nasty, my sweet, dirty baby.”
“Frank,” You whine once more, quieter, and maybe just a little bit needy. It’s his fault; he can’t talk like that and expect nothing! He grins again, delivering a swift and forceful kiss to your lips.
“There she is,” He pulls back, holding you against his chest. “My girl already wantin’ some more from me?”
“Frank!” His laughter bellows through the small bedroom. God, there isn’t anything that he loves more than this.
Good morning, I’m thinking about how Frank Castle would react when you ragebait him.
Imagine it’s late at night. You’re having one of those playful debates while curled up with each other, your cheek against his chest, his arm wrapped around you, absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your back.
You don’t even remember how it started, that’s how unserious the conversation is. So why is he still talking, proving his point or whatever? Your man is supposed to let you win!
“No, baby. You ain’t listenin. Lemme ask you–”
To Frank’s bewilderment, you hold a hand in front of his face, stopping him from whatever he’s gonna say. Truth be told, you’d already turned your ears off after the tenth “lemme tell you sumthin.”
“Talk to the hand,” you say.
Dumbfounded, Frank stares at your palm for a good five seconds, then tilts his head to catch your eyes. It’s where his gaze always ends up anyway.
His fingers, oh, they’re still running along your back as he wonders where the hell you got the audacity from. He can’t help it. You’re so soft beneath his touch, grounding him even when you’re being the biggest hardhead in the world.
“What’d you say?” he asks.
You stubbornly move your hand to his face again, lips twitching as you fight the smile threatening to break through. He doesn’t need to know you’ve exhausted your points, and there’s no way out but through.
“I said,” your voice goes up a pitch. “Talk to the hand.”
“Wanna try that again, pretty girl?”
“Talk. To. The–”
He cuts you off by grabbing your wrist, and suddenly you’re half-sprawled out on him. You try to wiggle away, but your laughter bubbles out, completely ruining your best effort to commit to the bit. “Frank!”
His lips curve into a small smirk that you absolutely love any other day, but not right now because it’s saying Gotcha.
Then, he presses a kiss to the center of the very palm that’s been shoved in his face, never breaking eye contact. Oh, he’s playing dirty, like eleven-olives-in-a-martini dirty, and the worst part is that it’s working.
You chew the inside of your cheek, heat creeping up your face as you instinctively scoot closer to him. The annoying act is already gone with the wind, along with your reasons and excuses.
Frank turns your hand over and rests it against his chest so you can feel the steady beat of his heart through the cotton. His voice drops into that familiar gravel, coaxing you so sweetly that you almost surrender.
Or so you think, because he opens his mouth again.
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Hi! I love your Marvel fanfics, and I wanted to make a request. Could you possibly write a Peter Parker x Stark! Reader or a Johnny Storm x Reader story inspired by 'When Did You Get Hot' by Sabrina Carpenter? Thanks so much!
When Did You Get Hot? | Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader
Summary: It’s been a while since you’ve seen the shy, dorky, awkward, Peter Parker. Now in college, you can’t deny his clear glow up.
A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much, I’m glad you enjoy my writing, it truly means a lot! I hope you enjoy!! (I also apologize for the long wait)
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, a bit suggestive (it’s Sabrina Carpenter, duh!)
WC: 2.2K
Masterlist!
Music blared, lights flashed, and the smell of alcohol and weed was nearly insufferable.
It was your first semester at college and what better way to authentically dive into the college experience than a frat party?
Obviously, there were better ways, but one person in particular insisted.
Your roommate, Yelena, dragged you out of your dorm late one Friday night to ‘celebrate’ you acing your engineering exam.
Naturally, given your Stark last name, you majored in engineering and were passing all of your classes with flying colors.
You stood beside Yelena in the kitchen where she filled up two red solo cups with some sort of mystery substance.
“Here,” she said, handing you the cup.
You gave her an uncertain glance and smelled whatever was in the cup. It burned your nose and you gagged. “Ew, what is this?”
You weren’t necessarily one to drink. Especially after the incident at the Tower a while back where Thor gave you some Asgardian liquor.
That hangover was no joke.
Yelena downed her cup of the alcohol. “Just try it. You need to pregame before getting out there,” she explained.
Yelena encouraged you to talk to at least one boy that night. It had been so long since you’d experienced even a minor romantic interaction with a guy.
Most people knew you for being Stark’s daughter, not for being you, which made it hard to come across a genuine relationship.
“I’ll pass,” you laughed, scrunching your nose, the horrible scent still lingering.
Yelena shrugged and downed the second cup too.
Your roommate was insane.
More people filed into the kitchen, right as you and Yelena left.
You stood in the living room as she looked around the room, humming, looking for the right guy for you.
“How about that one?” she asked, pointing at some jock in the corner who smashed an empty beer bottle to the floor.
You side eyed her and she laughed, shaking her head. “I was joking. Hmm…” she trailed off., looking around the room, no one catching her eye. “Okay, maybe a frat party isn’t the place to find you a boyfriend.”
“I could’ve told you that,” you laughed.
Yelena looked around the room once more, eyes landing on MJ and her two friends. “Oh! There’s MJ,” she beamed. “Let’s go say hi.”
The two of you walked across the room, joining MJ and her small group of friends. “Hey, Yelena,” MJ smiled. “Didn’t think you’d come to this lame party.”
Yelena raised her brow. “Lame?” she repeated. “Aren’t you here too?”
MJ narrowed her eyes. “Am I?” Her eyes landed on you. You both had never actually met before. You didn’t go to Midtown High like she did. You were homeschooled by your father and Bruce.
One boy beside her, you had actually met before through an old acquaintance.
Ned.
Ned greeted you with a bright smile and a wave. “Long time so see,” he said. “This is MJ,” he introduced her. “Kinda creepy, I know,” he joked, earning a glare from the girl. “And this is…” he trailed off, looking beside him.
“Say…” he began, drawing out the word, looking between you and his best friend. “Don’t you know Peter?”
Your eyes landed on the boy.
Peter.
Peter Parker.
You hadn’t seen him in about a year.
He worked as an Avenger and you used to go on missions together every now and then. He was the biggest dork you had ever come across.
And, honestly…you didn’t think much else of him.
But, now…
His glow up was undeniable.
His chestnut curls shaped his face nicely, his jawline was sharp and the way he carried himself no long reeked of dork. It conveyed full confidence.
You did a double take, triple take.
No way was that Peter Parker.
Huh…
When did he get so hot?
“Hey,” Peter said to you with a smile. “How have you been?” he asked out of sheer curiosity. “I didn’t know you also went to MIT.”
You looked him up and down, shamelessly. “Yeah,” you replied, not necessarily listening to what he was saying.
His face was insanely distracting.
Perhaps you’d need some of that alcohol Yelena was trying to give you.
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
You took a few shots of whatever you could find in the kitchen, probably not the smartest decision you’d ever made, but it gave you the confidence to sit outside with Peter and hold a conversation.
You both sat on the porch steps, side by side.
“How does Mr. Stark feel about you being away for college?” Peter asked, carrying on the conversation.
You smiled. “He hates that I’m not within arms reach, but I love the freedom.”
Your dad had been overprotective your whole life, and college was new territory for you. It gave you the opportunity to do things you couldn’t when you were home.
It was hard to get away with anything when you lived with so many spies, assassins, gods, and heroes.
Peter laughed, familiar with Stark’s parenting style. “Yeah, he could be harsh huh? You couldn’t even go to high school!”
You rolled your eyes and groaned. “Tell me about it.”
Your conversation drifted from the most mundane of subjects to something more…
Flirtatious.
Peter eyed you up and down slowly, making your heart skip a beat or two. “I like your top,” he complimented. “Fits you nice.”
Your lips curved into a smile. “Thanks. You look really good,” you complimented, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips.
Peter’s face heated up, lips also curving into a smile. “Oh really?” he tested.
You nodded and hummed.
“I think you look even better,” he said flirtatiously, subconsciously leaning closer to you.
“I know,” you replied, deadpanned.
Peter laughed, making you laugh too as he admired your face. “You’ve got a cute laugh,” he said with the biggest smile you’d ever seen.
You smile grew and you looked away out into the dark street. “When did you get so confident?” you asked.
When you knew Peter, he was awkward, hard to talk to as he stumbled over his words, and rambled on and on about nonsense.
Now, he was being bold.
Peter shifted slightly to get a better look at your face. “Confident how?” he challenged.
Your eyes landed on him as you shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you said. “You’re saying things you wouldn’t typically say. It’s more confident. More bold.”
Peter smirked, leaning closer to you. “My word choice isn’t the only thing that’s more bold.”
You swallowed hard, eyes flashing to his lips. “Is that so?”
Peter nodded. “They do say actions speak louder than words.”
One of his hands grabbed your jaw gently as he leaned in.
His lips pressed to yours, warm and soft.
You wouldn’t have taken the Peter you knew in high school to be a good kisser, but now…
That was the best kiss you ever had.
He deepened the kiss, his other hand pulling you closer by the back of your neck.
You sighed as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
You were both so lost in the feeling, forgetting that you were outside in a public place.
“Oh…” a voice trailed off from behind you.
You and Peter pulled apart, slightly out of breath. You turned around and found Yelena, MJ, and Ned.
“Bro,” you groaned, rolling your eyes.
Peter exhaled sharply and stared down the three people in front of you.
“Damn,” Ned muttered. “When did you get game, Peter?” he beamed enthusiastically, excited that his friend actually had something going for him.
Peter narrowed his eyes at Ned.
Yelena nodded her head slowly with a smirk. “Okay, so you didn’t even need my help!”
You and Peter shared an annoyed glance.
Going back to his place didn’t sound too bad…
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
You both stumbled into Peter’s dorm.
No way was his roommate, Ned, coming back now.
Your lips were locked onto his. Your hands roamed all over his body. His hair, neck, back, chest.
His hands held your waist, guiding you back towards his bed.
He sat on the edge of his bed as you straddled his lap.
Seconds later, his shirt was tossed to the floor, followed by your own.
Your skin was on fire as your hands ran up and down his toned chest. Peter had always been this toned, but, you never necessarily noticed.
But now…
Now you did.
You sighed into his mouth as his fingers gently ran up and down your back, giving you goosebumps.
His fingers stopped at the clasp of your bra as he pulled away, face hot, cheeks a bright shade of pink.
“Are you sure?” he breathed out, wanting to know that you were all in.
You had a few shots earlier, but not enough to not know what was going on.
You wanted this more than anything.
You nodded. “Positive.”
You both smiled and leaned back in for another kiss when the sound of a phone ringing caused you both to jump.
Peter looked up at you, knowing it wasn’t his phone.
You furrowed your brows, wondering who was calling. It couldn’t have been Yelena, she knew exactly where you were going.
You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone.
Of course.
It was your father.
You rolled your eyes and declined it, the room now falling silent. You tossed the phone aside on the bed.
“Who was that?” Peter asked out of sheer curiosity.
“No one,” you said, shrugging it off and leaning back in.
As soon as your lips touched, the phone rang again.
You groaned and pulled away, reaching over and silencing your phone, letting it ring, quietly this time.
Peter glanced over to see who was calling you. “You’re just gonna ignore your dad?” he laughed.
“Yes,” you nodded. “He’s ruining the moment.”
You leaned back in, kissing Peter once more, your phone no longer a distraction.
Your fingers ran through his hair as his hands squeezed your hips.
Moments later, you pulled away and placed a few kisses along his jawline. His head fell back as he sighed. “Shit…” he breathed out as you readjusted yourself in his lap. “You’re so…”
“Uh…what did I tell you about declining my calls?”
You nearly flew off of Peter, hearing your father’s voice fill the room. You stood up, staring at your phone. “Dad?!” you exclaimed, looking down at the phone that was now in an active FaceTime call with him.
Lucky for you, while the camera was on, the phone was facing the ceiling.
He couldn’t see anything that would get you and Peter killed.
You could see his screen, though. He appeared to be down in his lab, tinkering with some new additions to his suit.
Peter’s eyes widened as he looked at you.
“What are you doing, anyways?” Tony asked from over the phone. “I swear, kid goes to college and is suddenly too busy to have a conversation with her own father,” he scoffed.
You swallowed hard, staring at Peter with the same fearful expression.
Tony leaned in towards the camera with narrowed eyes. “Hello?”
You chucked awkwardly. “Yeah, right. Too busy,” you laughed, the nerves apparent in your tone.
Your dad looked to the side briefly, then back at the camera. “I can’t see you.”
“I know.”
Tony leaned in again, analyzing the ceiling. “Hey…that’s not your room…”
“Yes it is!” you blurted out.
Your dad shook his head. “Bullshit. There’s a big ass crack in the ceiling.”
You looked up, seeing the crack in the ceiling.
Shit.
“Where are you?”
Peter shook his head vigorously, silently begging you not to tell the truth. Mr. Stark would totally kill him. He told him a long time ago that you were off limits.
“My friend’s dorm,” you lied, trying to sound as casual as possible.
Your father made a face that told you he knew you were full of shit. His chair rolled against the hard floor, sliding over to a large monitor.
He hit a few keys on the keyboard and gasped loudly. “Are you in Parker’s dorm?!”
Your eyes widened at your picked up your phone, turning off your camera. You stared at him as he had your location pulled up on the screen. “Are you seriously tracking me?!”
“Why are you in there?! Are you two-”
You hung up and threw your phone across the room.
Peter watched in horror. “He’s gonna kill me…” he trailed off.
You bit your lower lip, slowly nodding. “Me too…” you agreed. “Might as well enjoy the time we have left alive,” you said sarcastically with a shrug.
“You’re right,” he said with a smirk, grabbing your wrist gently, guiding you in between his legs.
He looked up at you with the brightest eyes you’d ever seen. “How much time do you think we have before he flies down here in his suit and murders us?” he asked.
It wasn’t a joke.
Your father would do it.
You hummed in through. “Fifteen minutes, give or take.”
“That’s more than enough time,” Peter said, pulling you on top of him as he laid down, your lips connecting once more.
Seconds later, he rolled you both over, so that he was now on top.
SUMMARY: You’ve been seeing some mystery guy as of late so when he shows up to your apartment for a party, Ned and MJ are excited to meet him. To get away from the noise, he takes you back to his apartment where you make a horrific discovery. Not only is he Spider-Man, but you were allegedly in love with him.
WARNINGS: Mentions of Peter lightweight stalking the reader, suggestive dialogue, make out scene :) , angst, angst, more angst, happy ending!
WC: 4.7K
Main Masterlist!
He didn’t mean to make it weird, but he had made it so painfully weird.
While out, Peter found Ned and may or may not have followed him onto the subway and to his extremely crowded apartment. The bouquet of flowers crinkled in his hands as he pushed through the sea of bodies, music bumping so loud he felt the rhythm in his chest.
A red solo cup made its way from the kitchen to the crowd, all the way to his hand, being filled with the most putrid alcohol his tongue had ever tasted. He gagged, discarding the cup and searching for the guy who used to be his best friend.
Somehow, he ended up in a bedroom. The door was cracked open and his curiosity got the better of him. He opened it slowly and carefully made his way inside.
He glanced around the room and almost immediately realized whose room he was in.
It was yours.
You had met Peter a few months back after he ‘coincidentally’ bumped into you on the busy streets of Queens. Truth be told he was following you like a total creep because he had saved you just a few weeks ago from the Scorpion who didn’t care who got in his way. After that, he was on high alert for your safety, because clearly stalking you through Ned’s Instagram wasn’t enough.
But that wasn’t actually the first time you met.
The first time you met was way back in high school in your chemistry class. You were reeled into his dorky personality. He was the only guy whose intelligence was on par with that of your own and was the only one who made you laugh at the stupidest of jokes.
Peter glanced around your bedroom, intrigued by the layout that heavily resembled the one you had in high school, but something about it felt more mature, like your own furniture had grown with you.
While you had been seeing him for a while, grabbing coffee, heading to the movie theater, or even spending hours in the record store, you had yet to bring him to your own place and he had yet to bring you to his.
Your old place wasn’t the best given you lived on your own, but now with two roommates, you had truly stepped it up.
Peter’s eyes scanned around your room. Your desk was full of postgrad documents, monitor left on where you had a tab open looking to transfer to Empire State.
Above that, little polaroids clung to the wall.
Pictures of you, Ned, and MJ on your high school trip, the three of you at high school graduation, you and MJ in your freshman dorm, college graduation, and most importantly the newest edition.
The polaroid Peter took of you just a few weeks ago.
Peter’s expression softened with a soft smile. Even though he had been practically erased from your life, he still managed to make his way back into your heart again.
He was growing extremely conflicted.
Many years ago, he promised you that he’d come back and remind you of your relationship with him. When that fell through because of Aunt May’s death, he promised to leave you alone because he couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason he lost another person he held so close to his heart.
But then when Spider-Man swooped in to save you, things changed.
He told himself that he needed to look after you even closer. So, he started following you. Just to class to make sure you got there safely. Then it was to work. Then it was to hangout with friends. Then it was practically every time you left the house.
On one particular day, you were rushing for an internship interview. You tried to get some coffee, but it was taking forever. When you finally got it, you rushed out, walking as fast as you could.
That’s when Peter accidentally ended up in your way, bumping into you, spilling the drink all over your clothes.
He expected you to be angry, but you weren’t.
He recognized the look in your eyes.
You clearly thought he was attractive and that small gleam in your eyes boosted his ego.
He couldn’t restrain himself from staying uninvolved in your life anymore. Not when you flashed him a crooked smile. Not when you asked for his name. And definitely not when you told him he was lucky he was cute.
Naturally, you both exchanged numbers. The poor boy was apologizing profusely and somehow you still managed to be on time and land the internship.
Thank goodness your coat wasn’t soaked.
And thank goodness after Peter turned the corner, Spider-Man showed up and swung you to your interview.
Now, after having been seeing you for a few months, he didn’t know what to do. You were clearly falling back in love with him, and he was just falling even deeper to the point that it felt like drowning.
He didn’t know if he should tell you, or just act like none of it ever happened.
When would even be the right time to tell you? How would he tell you when he was supposed to years ago?
He didn’t want to ruin what you two were already building again.
Peter turned around and saw the stuffed animals you had scattered on your bed. Even in your early twenties, you couldn’t seem to get rid of them.
He smiled to himself and walked over, grabbing the one of your favorite animal he had given you back in high school. He wondered now if it had any sort of meaning to you because it definitely did years ago.
Suddenly, Peter was pulled from his thoughts when the bathroom door creaked open.
He jumped, eyes wide like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
You walked out of the bathroom, eyes glancing up at him in horror, until you realized it was only him.
“Peter?” you asked, caught off guard, completely unaware that he would be attending your house warming party.
Peter nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to intrude or anything, sorry,” he apologized.
You gave him a warm smile as you walked over to him, eyeing the flowers. “It’s no big deal,” you reassured him, catching his gaze. “Nice flowers.”
Peter shifted awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. They’re for you, actually,” he said, holding them out to you.
Your face flushed a shade of pink as you took them. “Thank you,” you said softly. “They’re beautiful.”
Peter smiled, eyeing you up and down briefly, which didn’t go unnoticed by you.
You looked gorgeous.
“You look really pretty,” he complimented you nervously, his own cheeks burning pink.
You tried to conceal your smile, but failed miserably. “Thank you. You clean up quite nicely, Parker.”
It was suddenly quiet between the two of you, the only sound being the music infiltrating your room.
Peter wondered if he should make a move, or better yet, maybe now he should tell you about the spell.
Wait, no! Now would be a terrible time!
Maybe he could make plans with you for another date and tell you then, or he could-
“I see you found my stuffed animals,” you said, trying to break the tension.
Peter snapped out of his thoughts and glanced down at the stuffed animal that he was still holding. “Oh, yeah, it’s cute,” he laughed to himself. “Where’d you get this one?” he asked, praying that a part of you would remember.
You scratched the back of your neck with your brows pressed together. “I don’t know, actually…” you trailed off, your mind filling with an intense fog. “It’s really weird,” you laughed awkwardly. “Sometimes I try to remember certain things and it’s like someone jumbled up my brain and I just can’t. My mom says it’s because of my phone, but I don’t know.”
Peter snorted at your last sentence, but then his heart started to ache because now due to him, you felt like you were losing your mind.
“Dude, there are so many people in our apartment right now,” a voice spoke, growing louder as it got closer and closer until the person speaking was in your room.
Ned halted at the center of your room, glancing between you and Peter. Then his eyes landed on the flowers and his lips parted, brows raising. “Oh my gosh, is this coffee guy?!”
You didn’t even get to respond because he turned on his heel and rushed out, yelling for MJ. “MJ! Coffee guy is here!”
You sighed and dropped your head into the palm of your hand.
Peter smirked at your embarrassment.
A few seconds later, MJ and Ned came rushing in, shocked expressions on their faces.
“Coffee guy?” MJ asked, staring at Peter.
“It’s actually Peter,” he corrected with a laugh.
“So coffee guy,” she said, turning to you.
You nodded. “Coffee guy.”
Ned walked up to Peter and stuck his hand out. “Well, nice to meet you coffee guy, aka Pater, I’m Ned and that’s our friend MJ.”
MJ saluted Peter as Ned shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you guys,” Peter said, as if he hadn’t known who they were. “She talks a lot about you,” he said, motioning to you.
“Good,” MJ said. “Because she won’t stop talking about you.”
Your face went hot. “MJ-”
“Yeah, it’s really bad,” Ned added. “It’s always ‘coffee guy this’ and ‘coffee guy that’,” he said, mocking you.
“With how often you claim I talk about him, you’d think you would know that his name is Peter by now and not coffee guy,” you said.
“I honestly stopped listening a long time ago,” MJ teased, making your lips part in shock.
“Okay fine, I’ll just never speak again.”
“We all know that’s not true,” MJ said.
Ned chuckled. “We all know you can’t stop talking about Peter even if your life depended on it.” You shifted awkwardly, avoiding Peter’s cocky gaze that was glued to you. Ned waved at Peter. “Well, it was nice meeting you coffee guy, I gotta check in on the party.”
Peter waved at Ned and MJ walked over to you. “Want me to put your flowers in a vase?” she offered.
You nodded and thanked her, handing them off. She waved at Peter as she walked backwards. “Nice meeting you coffee guy- or, what was it? Peter? Peter! Yeah.”
Both of your friends left, and Ned had the courtesy of closing the door, only after flashing Peter a wink.
You let out an embarrassed sigh, to which Peter took advantage of.
“So,” he said, drawing out the word. “You talk a lot about me?” he asked, taking slow, deliberate, steps towards you.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “No. That’s why they only know you as coffee guy.”
Peter hummed with an amused smirk on his face. His hands carefully made their way to your hips, which made your heart flutter. “Is that why you’re so nervous?”
You laughed awkwardly, arms snaking around his neck. “I’m not nervous.”
Peter glanced down at your lips, then back up at your eyes and you thought you’d pass out right there. His amplified senses were going haywire and he could feel how fast your heart was racing in anticipation. “No?”
“No.”
“Then why’s your heart beating so fast?”
You rolled your eyes. “Wanna stop talking and just kiss me already?”
Peter’s smile grew. “If you insist.”
Peter tilted his head slightly, dipping his head to kiss you.
His lips met yours in a soft kiss, almost to test the waters.
You sighed against his lips, kissing him back immediately. You thought you’d have to spend some time learning how he made out, but your lips moved together in perfect harmony, as if it was second nature to do so.
As if you had done it before.
Peter felt like his skin was on fire because for years, he dreamed about that moment.
The moment he’d finally get back with you. The moment he could kiss you again. The moment he could love you again.
“Okay, I- Oh, my God!”
You and Peter pulled apart, faces flushed, lips wet, and now at least six feet away from one another.
“MJ!” you yelled at her.
In one hand she was holding the vase of flowers, the other was covering her eyes.
“I didn’t see anything! I swear!” Her arm shot out, sticking the vase towards you. “Sorry! Here!”
You snatched the vase and put it on your desk and MJ used her other hand to cover her eyes some more.
“Sorry!” she apologized again. “I totally just cock blocked you!”
“What?!” you exclaimed. “Don’t say that!”
“It’s true!” she replied, already walking backwards to get out. “Remember to be safe! And update me tonight!”
“MJ!”
“I lied, I’m totally into your stories,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to be an aunt anytime soon so-”
“Get out!”
MJ flashed you a thumbs up before scrambling out and slamming the door shut.
You groaned and turned to Peter. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Peter was smiling like an idiot completely amused by the entire interaction. “We could go back to my place,” he suggested with a shrug.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
The night streets of New York were cool as you and Peter made your way to his apartment. When you left your own place, MJ apologized again and Ned simply winked at Peter once again.
You were never going to hear the end of it when you came back home…
But none of that mattered once you got to his apartment building.
As soon as the doors shut in the elevator, his hands were on you again and his lips followed.
You laughed against his lips as he pulled you in close, the intoxicating scent of his cologne clouding your senses.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened onto his floor. You almost tripped as he walked you backwards, lips never leaving your own.
Your arms wrapped around his for support as he led you down the empty hallway.
Normally, you would’ve been paranoid about someone walking out and seeing you two down one another’s throats, but you didn’t care.
Not when he was kissing you like a man starved for none other than your taste.
You both made it to his door, mouths still connected like your lives depended on it. Your back gently brushed against the door as his free hand unlocked the door with such ease.
As soon as it was unlocked, he pushed you inside, making you stagger back, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. He kicked the door shut behind him, hands finding your hips and moving your body, your back slamming against the door as a gasp escaped you.
Peter pulled away and buried his nose into your neck, kissing you just as passionately in the spot he knew drove you crazy.
“Peter,” you breathed out, your hand raking through his hair and pulling on it gently.
He groaned against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he said softly.
Your brows pressed together slightly, not knowing exactly why he’d miss you when he just saw you a couple of days ago.
You didn’t have much time to dwell on the matter because he nipped your skin, a soft moan escaping you.
Peter picked you up with such insane ease as if you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around him.
His lips found yours again and he walked you over to his bed, laying you down gently and climbing on top of you, one hand holding his weight up beside your head and the other grabbing your phone that slipped out of your pocket onto the sheets. He set your phone down on the nightstand beside an empty cup of coffee, lips never leaving yours, and moved his hand to cup your face.
You hummed against him, only spurring him on even more.
One of your hands found their way to the hem of his shirt. Your fingers snaked their way up, trailing along the prominent outline of his abs. He sighed in content, melting in your touch.
Peter shifted his weight and you moaned into his mouth feeling him against you.
Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
Peter wasn’t sure what it was, maybe it was the way your tongue entered his mouth, maybe it was the way you kept pulling his hair, maybe it was the way your nails started to dig into his back. Whatever it was, something snapped inside of him.
A wave of immense guilt washed over him.
The kiss grew sloppy, less needy on his side and replaced by regret.
The moment of his lips slowed, he took his hand away from your skin, and now you felt completely empty.
You whined, kissing him deeper, arching your back. “Peter, please.”
His senses were going crazy again, feeling just how much you wanted him and he wanted nothing more but to give it to you.
However, his heart suddenly sank.
What the hell was he doing?
How could he bring you back to his place and make out with you without having told you the truth?
He felt so incredibly guilty. His chest tightened as he pulled away, nerves coursing through his veins.
“I- I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly, climbing off of you.
You immediately sat up, a pit forming in your stomach. “Did I do something?” you asked, already panicking.
“No,” Peter reassured you as soon as the words left your lips. “I just-” he said, cutting himself off, scrambling to get off of the bed, almost tripping over his feet. “Sorry, just- just give me a sec. I’m sorry, one second, okay?”
Peter rushed off into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and leaving you on his bed extremely confused and feeling sick to your stomach.
You kicked your legs off of the bed, sitting on the edge and biting your lower lip. Your eyes darted around the room as your mind started to worry, convincing yourself that you had just ruined everything.
Everything from that night replayed in your mind and you tried to figure out where your actions could’ve made everything go wrong.
You sighed and reached for your phone on the nightstand, accidentally knocking the empty coffee cup onto the ground. It landed with a soft thud and a piece of folded paper fell out.
“Oops,” you mumbled to yourself, sitting on the edge of the bed and picking up the cup and paper.
You went to put the paper back into the cup when something caught your eye.
Your own name.
Your brows furrowed as you unfolded it completely, seeing a letter directly addressed to you.
Scrappy writing in black pen filled the lined paper. It was handwritten from none other than Peter.
The further you read, the more tears began to fill your eyes to the point that you couldn’t even read it, your vision going completely blurry.
At first, you read the part where he admitted to being Spider-Man, and suddenly certain things started to click, like his strength, his seemingly sixth sense, and the way he’d disappear and the masked hero would show up.
But then he admitted to loving you, because at some point you had loved him too.
Not recently.
A long time ago.
He voiced all the things you experienced together. All your firsts and all your lasts. The lasts you didn’t know were the final ones.
Peter poured his heart out to you in nothing but writing. Writing on a crumbled, folded, sheet of lined paper cast away in a plastic, empty coffee cup.
The bathroom door creaked open and when Peter returned to the room that now carried such intensity, his heart sank.
You were sitting on the edge of the bed, the coffee cup on the floor, lid a few inches away from it, the letter in your hand, tears in your eyes.
Peter said your name softly, taking a step towards you.
You slowly lifted your gaze onto him. His heart shattered seeing the hurt in your glossy eyes.
“So, you just weren’t ever going to tell me?” you asked, voice just barely above a whisper.
Peter shifted, swallowing hard. “No, I…” his voice trailed off, nothing else coming out.
You rose to your feet, holding up the letter and walking up to Peter. “My whole life, I’ve felt like my mind was a mess, like something was missing, and it was you,” you said.
Peter’s expression softened, thinking you were about to say something along the lines of how you loved him.
But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
You shook your head, grip tightening around the paper. “You were the reason nothing ever made sense and then you don’t even tell me,” you said, hurt and anger in your tone. “You just find me again years later and drag me back to your apartment.”
“It’s not like that,” Peter said almost immediately, hating that your words were insinuating that he was using you, because that wasn’t the case. He loved you and he’d never do anything to hurt you.
Unless of course it was shielding the truth from you because he thought it would protect you.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” you asked. “Because I think I deserved to know the truth,” you said, voice breaking with every word.
Peter’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
You scoffed, nodding your head. “You don’t know.”
Peter’s bottom lip twitched as he blinked by his tears. “I was going to tell you, that’s why I wrote the note, but…I don’t know. After I lost Aunt May because of that mask, I thought you’d be better off without me in your life. I thought everyone would be so that’s why I never told anyone else either. But then a few months ago when you were in the line of fire of Scorpion and I saw you again, I realized that I didn’t want to live the rest of my life without you in it. I couldn’t live my life without you in it.”
Your expression softened, heart aching. You were angry that he kept something like that from you, because had he told you all those years ago, maybe things would be different today. But your chest tightened at the thought of him being completely alone because of his fear of losing anyone else. “Just because you wear the mask doesn’t mean you have to be alone,” you said quietly.
Peter swallowed, looking down. He didn’t want to be alone, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be without you. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”
“It’s okay,” you said softly. “But…Peter.”
Peter glanced up at you, worry creeping up on his skin at what you’d say next. “Yeah?”
You handed him the letter, his fingers grazing yours as he took it. “All this stuff that you’re saying in here, about what we were…” you trailed off. “The spell worked. I don’t have those memories anymore.”
Peter stiffened, jaw tightening, the paper crumpling in his hands.
“I…” you began, trying to find the right words. “You’ve been in love with someone for years, someone who just now started falling for you. I don’t-” you cut yourself off, adjusting your tone to something softer to cushion the inevitable harshness of your words. “I don’t love you. I barely know you, Peter.”
Peter’s heart shattered, the paper tightly clenched in his hand.
You took a step closer to him, closing the space between you two. You cupped his face and he shut his eyes, a quiet sob escaping him as tears fell down his face.
All he ever wanted was you and now you were telling him that you didn’t love him.
It was like a knife to the chest.
You wiped away his tears with your thumbs. “Please don’t cry,” you said, voice cracking.
Your heart ached watching the boy you used to love unconditionally. You just now started to know him, just now started falling for him.
You didn’t love him.
You were interested in him, liked his smile, his curls, the sweetness of everything he did.
You didn’t love him.
It was hard to love someone you had known and saw every so often for almost three months.
“Peter, look at me please,” you said.
He let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering open as he looked at you through his tears.
“I like you,” you admitted, hands still cupping his face. “I like you a lot and I’d love more than anything to create new memories with you. You’re the sweetest boy I’ve ever known and I’m willing to try to make this work if you are.”
The situation was nothing anyone could ever relate to and it was rather unfortunate.
It wasn’t ideal, but you wanted to try.
Peter nodded, hand holding onto one of yours that were cupping his face. “I’d like that,” he whispered.
You gave him a soft smile, pecking his lips, resting your forehead on his afterwards.
You wished you could know what you and Peter were like before the spell stripped you of your love for him. You could only imagine what it was like and just the thought of it made you sick, because you wanted to know.
You wanted the memories back.
You wanted to love him again.
“I bet we were fun,” you said.
“Like, you wouldn’t believe it.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
And so, Peter spent the rest of the night, telling you stories all about you and him.
His window was cracked open, the cool breeze hitting your exposed skin.
You were lying on your stomach in his bed as he sat beside you, leaning against the headboard with his legs crossed.
Your shirt was lifted slightly, exposing the small of your back. Peter’s gentle fingers grazed against your skin, filling it with goosebumps.
“And then after that, we got ice cream,” he said, mid story. “You had this weird funfetti flavor with a bunch of rainbow sprinkles,” he laughed to himself.
“Rainbow sprinkles?” you asked, not believing him.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “But then you dropped it and that was the last five bucks you spent and I had also spent the last of my money so you shared with me.”
You hummed. “And then what?”
“I swung you to my place and when we got into my room, you screamed because Mr. Stark was sitting on my bed.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Yup. He was making fun of me for weeks for ‘sneaking some girl around’,” he said, smiling at the memory. “It was terrible. “And then when he found out we weren’t dating yet he was giving me all kinds of advice and kept trying to set us up.”
You giggled. “Must’ve worked, huh?”
“Yeah. Imagine my shock when we were coming come from school and the goddamn clouds spelled out your name, followed by, ‘will you be my girlfriend?’”
Your jaw dropped. “No freaking way! What?!”
“Yes,” Peter laughed. “I was so embarrassed, but you liked it and kissed me on the busiest street ever. Everyone was watching and the whole school wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks.”
You laughed again. “Okay, well, please don’t do that this time, that’s incredibly corny.”
“For us now, yeah, it’s extremely corny,” Peter agreed. “But your little high school freshman self liked it.”
You rolled your eyes, a small smile on your lips. It slowly fell away a few seconds later because you realized he was telling you things you had no memory of.
You had no idea what he was talking about.
You weren’t reminiscing with your boyfriend on your relationship.
He was reminding you of a love you’d never remember.
Peter glanced down at you. “What’s wrong?”
You pulled your lips into a tight line, trying to avoid his gaze. “Just kinda wish I would remember all this stuff you’re talking about.”
Peter’s lips tugged downward. “Yeah, me too…”
It was quiet for a long beat, the buzz of the city filling your ears as you zoned out.
“Maybe one day they’ll come back,” Peter said optimistically. “But for now, let’s make new ones, yeah?”
You smiled, looking up at him. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
“And…” he trailed off, leaning down and brushing his nose against yours. “Let me make you fall in love with me again,” he murmured.
You smirked, titling your head slightly. “I’d like that."
Requested by anon: Hello! Well, my request is for MJ. Reader is a mutant, like Jean Grey, her powers can be the same as hers and she's either already dating with MJ or they're in love with each other but still not dating. MJ dated with Peter before and reader is a little insecure/jealous, like she's not sure if MJ really likes her, so MJ tells reader to use her powers on her, read her mind. Happy ending/fluff 🙏
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You knew it when you saw him. His mind was filled with images of her. Smiles you hadn't seen before. Laughs you hadn't heard before. God, he was so easy to read standing across the room taking sneaky glances as if he wasn't being the most obvious thing on earth.
Your eyes shifted towards MJ who was listening to someone rant on about something she quite literally could care less about. She was oblivious to the guy gripping onto the red solo cup attempting to shield himself in the crowd. It made your ears ring the way he was taking in every little detail of her. The way her hair fell down her back in soft waves. The sheen of her lips. The squint in her eyes. The gold necklace hanging around her neck.
"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" You hummed interrupting the very one-sided conversation. MJ sighed with relief, smiling ever so slightly before nodding. She followed you to her room. Closing the door softly behind her, she watched as you set your cup down on her desk.
"Thank you," she breathed "-she was going on forever." She smiled a little approaching you. Settling her arms on your waist. Her touch featherlike but purposeful.
"Actually-" you pulled away slightly. Not meaning to come off cold, but knowing you did when you saw her brows furrow under the dim light coming from her desk lamp. "I wanted to ask you something." You looked at her tentatively. Her brows still furrowed as she crossed her arms almost defensively.
"Peter," you said. The name rolled off your tongue hesitantly. You'd promised her you'd never go digging in her mind, but god did you want to right now. You wanted to know exactly what images flashed in her mind when you uttered the name. You wanted to know if she had parallel memories. His smile. His laughs.
"Who?" she asked frowning.
"Peter Parker," you watched her. Her eyes widening just a bit in acknowledgement.
"Wow. I haven't heard that name in a while," she let out a small laugh walking past you exhaling. She sat on her bed waiting still unsure of what you were asking.
"He was here," you admitted. Your back towards her. You couldn't look at her. You were too afraid that you if you did, you'd see something you'd regret. Instead you felt her hand reaching out for yours. Fingers curling around your palm bringing you closer until you were facing her.
"I didn't invite him," she whispered. Her eyes sincere.
"That's not-" you started talking but before you could articulate your thoughts she'd pulled you down to sit next to her. She held your face. Eye to eye. Nose to nose. Her fingers gently caressing your cheek. Thumb tracing the outline of your jaw.
"Go," she whispered. "I give you permission."
She rested her forehead on yours. Fingers still caressing your face. It felt like such a violation, but the insecurities were eating away at you. You held your palm over her hand as it rested on your cheek.
It was all you and her and your smiles and her laughs and yours. Her and you and nothing else.
"I love you," the words echoed softly. You opened your eyes meeting her sweet face. Her small meaningful smile. The one she only reserved for you. She held to the back of your neck softly capturing you in a tender kiss. You smiled against her lips. The last of your doubts melting away.
Hi! Can you write somethinh with MJ confessing to fem reader? Or gender neutral, don't make difference
accident-prone . michelle jones
♡ synopsis: mj fixes you up after a mishap in gym class, and she accidentally confesses to you // gender neutral reader
♡ warnings: fluff, mentions of bruising, first aid, injury + a bit of swearing, a suggestive reference at the end
♡ a/n: oml anon I'm so sorry for posting this SO late skldwffga :((( I've been really busy w exams and studying for midterms so I didn't find the inspiration or time to even start!!! but I hope you like it <3
"you're such a dumbass," mj smirked, teaching you how to do the math problem you were stuggling in properly. Honestly, you studied barely anything. the complications of the formula were bugging you, and you really didn't want to fail in your midterms.
"tell me something I don't know!" you groaned, scribbling the wrong answer and writing the correct one.
"WATCH OUT!" mj shouted out of the blue. you looked up from your notebook, puzzled. BANG!
The sheer impact of the basketball made your head fizz, and you felt your brain bang against your head. it all went black, and the last thing you heard was a muffled yell from mj. studying in the basketball court was not a good idea.
"THE FUCK WAS THAT, BRAD?!"
mj was on extreme stress. her crush, the literal love of her life just got smacked in the head with a basketball. great, wasn't it?
she just tried warning you, but damnit your slow reaction time just ruined it all. mj had everything she wanted, you and her having some sweet alone time, finishing up some math assignments like usual.
she finally mustered the courage up to make a move, because your oblivious self didn't have a clue. or so she thought.
mj shoved the door behind her, carrying her bookbag inside the room. there you were, sprawled across the sofa, with a bruised forehead. you dozed peacefully, and she smiled at the way you slept, careless of who or what was around you.
the sudden slam of the door made you shuffle a bit. mj froze in her place, afraid of what you might do or say. yeahhhh, she did just technically kidnap you, you could say that. it wasn't that bad.
your eyes fluttered open, and the might thing that you spotted was the grey blanket laid onto you. you groaned, rubbing the previously hit area. mj smiled at your cuteness. it was absolutely heart wrenching to her.
"what the fuck happened," you groaned. mj plopped the bag on a nearby couch and leant downwards to fetch something from a fridge.
"you, my friend, just got hit in the head with a baskeball," she mumbled, clearing the fridge out to find her ice pack.
"I DID WHAT?"
"courtesy of Brad Davis, of course," she added. you smacked yourself in the forehead to emphasis the stupidity you just heard. that made the ringing in your head even worse.
"aha!" she announced, carrying the ice pack towards you. your breath hitched at the sight of her care towards you. mj caressed your head and told you to lean back.
"love, if you keep moving your head I won't be able to fix it up, and there will be a gigantic bruise," mj cooed. you stiffened, crooning your neck toward her.
"l-love?" you choked.
"DUMB, DUMB!" she cut off, looking sideways, trying to advert your eyes. "I MEANT DUMB- HAHA-" she nervously laughed, holding the ice pack against you.
did she... did she just call you love? the slip of tongue was so absent minded of her. she mentally facepalmed.
mj tried to distract you by further examined your injury, trying to soothe the pain. you looked her in the eyes and noticed the beauty of them. how could you not have noticed that before?
she looked you and sighed relentlessly. your eyes were closed now, soothed by her touch. the ice pack made the bruise go halfway away. she, on the other hand, thought you were asleep. but you felt her gaze on you, and the sheer care that she showed for you made you just melt.
"I love you so goddamn much," you breathed out unconsiously. it was a whisper, but it meant the world to her. when she heard you, she leant down and grabbed your collar.
"WHA-" you exclaimed at the sudden gesture, as she pulled you in and kissed you. it wasn't a big deal, your biggest crush just kissed you, you told yourself.
but honestly? it meant the fucking world. the tenderness of her soft lips against yours, the touch of her skin creeping up on her. an arm snaked around your waist, and you ran a hand through her hair. the feeling of electric shocks ran through you.
a ball of warmness mixed with flurries of anxious butterflies churned in your stomach.
"you're so accident-prone" she grinned, pulling away from you, the sensation still electrifying you.
and lets just say, that day ended with the both of you on top of each other, doing something you probably weren't supposed to do
˗ˏˋ While settling down for the night you received a text notification from the one and only, Peter Parker. The boy that usually only texts you about science and work. But this message was unexpected, a photo of his abs being the only thing sent to you.
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Very explicit & detailed. | Minors DNI! | A/N: I am so sorry I have been gone for months again! Work has been busy, but with me getting used to my schedule, I’m genuinely back. To keep it short, this is college Peter, 21. You are 20 in this. I love you guys, and I will continue uploading! | WC: 3,012
[btw: I had to look up all those scientific terms & etc because science is not my thing anymore and I wanted this story to be a bit nerdy.]
.✦ ݁˖
Your phone buzzed against the nightstand, a stark, white flash in the dark room. You groaned, rolling over in your tangle of blankets, one hand fumbling blindly to silence the intrusion.
The glow lit up your face as you squinted at the screen. A text. From Peter.
That wasn’t unusual. Peter Parker, your lab partner for the recent project of Organic Chemistry, texted about data sets, conflicting results, and the existential dread of Professor Banner’s grading curve. You expected a question about the Fourier-transform infrared spectroscopy assignment, maybe a panicked emoji.
What loaded on your screen wasn’t a question.
It was a photograph. Dim, intimate lighting from what looked like a desk lamp. The focus was on a slice of toned stomach, the defined lines of abs cutting down toward the low-slung waistband of grey sweatpants. A faint trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the fabric. The skin glowed warm, a few faint, silvery lines, scars from some forgotten lab mishap, scattered like tiny constellations. No caption. Just the image.
You stared. The soft cotton of your boy shorts suddenly felt too tight. Your spaghetti strap tank top felt too thin. The silk bonnet on your head felt absurdly domestic. You were in your bed, in your safe space, and Peter Parker had just bombed it with a pixelated version of his abdomen.
Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard. What did you say to that? ‘Nice abs’? ‘Wrong number’? Your heart was doing a weird, stuttering rhythm against your ribs. You typed, deleted, typed again.
You: Did you mean to send this to someone else?
The three dots appeared immediately. He’d been waiting.
Peter: No.
A beat. Then another message.
Peter: Couldn’t stop thinking about you after lab today. About the way you bite your pen when you’re concentrating.
Your breath stopped in your throat. That was… specific.
Personal. Not about science.
You: That’s a weird thing to fixate on, Parker.
Peter: Is it? I fixate on a lot of things about you.
The dots danced. Another photo loaded. This one was closer. His hand was splayed across his lower stomach, fingers dipping just below the sweatpants’ band, thumb hooking in it.
The muscles in his forearm were taut. The message that followed was simple.
Peter: I’m outside.
You shot up, the blankets pooling at your waist.
Outside? You scrambled to the window, peering through the blinds. The streetlamp painted the sidewalk in jaundiced yellow. And there he was, leaning against the brick facade of your apartment building, head tilted back, phone glow illuminating his face. He looked up, as if sensing you, and gave a small, almost nervous wave.
Your mind blanked. This was insane. It was nearly midnight.
You were in pajamas. He’d sent a photo of his stomach. Yet, a slow, heavy heat was pooling low in your belly, spreading outward. The academic, slightly awkward Peter from the lab was gone, replaced by something far more direct. Far more dangerous.
You typed, your fingers feeling clumsy.
You: It’s late.
Peter: I know. Let me in?
You stood there, torn. This was a line, once crossed, that would obliterate your carefully constructed lab-partner dynamic. You’d have to find a new partner.
You’d have to avoid him in the library. The practical part of your brain screamed a list of consequences.
The part of you that was now achingly aware of the dampening cotton between your thighs didn’t care.
You: 2nd floor. Door’s unlocked.
You didn’t wait to see his reply. You just stood in the middle of your studio apartment, listening to the frantic beat of your own heart. You heard the distant creak of the building’s main door, then footsteps on the stairs, quick, light. A soft knock.
You opened the door.
He filled the doorway, dressed down in a dark hoodie and those grey sweatpants. He smelled like cold night air and faint, clean soap. His eyes, usually hidden behind a hood or narrowed in thought, were dark and intent, scanning you from the silk bonnet down to your bare feet. A slow smile touched his lips, not his usual shy grin, but something sharper, more knowing.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Hey.” You sounded breathless. “You’re… here.”
“I am.” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door softly behind him. His gaze was a physical weight. “I like the bonnet.”
You self-consciously touched it. “It’s for my hair.”
“I know what it’s for.” He took another step, reducing the space between you to nothing. You had to tilt your head back to look at him. “You look comfortable.”
“I was trying to sleep.”
“Were you?” His hand came up, not touching you, just hovering near the strap of your tank top. “After I sent that picture?”
You had no clever retort. The truth was too obvious in the way your skin prickled under his near-touch. “No,” you admitted, the word barely a whisper.
“Good.” His fingers finally made contact, tracing the line of the strap from your shoulder down to where it met the thin fabric over your breast. The touch was feather-light, devastating.
“Because I haven’t been able to think about anything else all night. Just you. In that lab coat. Out of it.”
His other hand came up, mimicking the first on your other strap. He pushed them both down your shoulders in one slow, deliberate motion. The cool air hit your skin, pebbling your nipples instantly under the thin cotton. You didn’t move to stop him.
“Peter…” you started, but the protest died.
“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. His
His breath was warm. “Tell me this is a mistake, that we have a lab report due on Tuesday, and I should go home and review the chiral chromatography data.”
You swallowed. “Fuck the data.”
A low sound escaped him, almost a growl. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” His hands slid from the straps to cup your face, tilting it up to his. The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was hungry, deep, and claiming from the first second. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you met it with your own, a spark igniting into a wildfire. Your hands came up, clutching at his hoodie, dragging him closer. The soft fabric of his sweatpants brushed against your bare thighs.
He walked you backward, his mouth never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed.
You collapsed onto it, pulling him down on top of you. The weight of him, solid and real, was a shock after weeks of imagined glances. He braced himself on his elbows, looking down at you, his hair messy where your fingers had plowed through it.
“I have fantasies,” he said, his voice rough. “About you. Detailed, fucking specific fantasies. And tonight, I’m making them real.”
“What kind of fantasies?” you asked, your own voice unfamiliar to you, thick with want.
He didn’t answer with words. He kissed you again, harder, then his mouth left yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, to the hollow of your throat. His teeth grazed your collarbone, a gentle, testing bite that made you jerk beneath him. Gentle biting. He soothed the spot with his tongue, then bit again, a little lower, a little harder, on the swell of your breast above your tank top.
“Off,” he ordered, tugging at the hem of your shirt.
You sat up enough to pull it over your head, your bonnet getting knocked askew. You yanked it off, tossing it aside, your hair tumbling free. His eyes drank in the sight of your bare breasts, the dark nipples already tight and eager.
“Fuck,” he breathed, a reverence in the curse. He lowered his head, but didn’t take a nipple into his mouth. Instead, he nuzzled the soft underside of your breast, his nose and lips brushing the sensitive skin. He breathed in deeply. “You smell incredible. Like sleep and skin and… you.”
Then his mouth closed over your nipple, hot and wet, his tongue swirling around the peak before sucking firmly. A jolt of pure, electric pleasure arrowed straight to your cunt, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed. He hummed against you, the vibration making your toes curl.
He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attentive, devouring focus, his hand coming up to knead and tease the one he’d just left.
“Peter… oh, god…”
“Not god,” he mumbled against your skin, moving downward.
“Just me. Just your lab partner who’s about to fucking ruin you for anyone else.”
His kisses burned a path down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel. His hands hooked into the waistband of your boy shorts and dragged them down your legs, taking your panties with them in one motion. You were naked now, exposed under his dark, heated gaze. He settled between your legs, pushing your thighs apart with his shoulders.
The first cool breath of air against your wet folds made you tremble.
“Look at this,” he said, his voice full of awe. “Look how fucking wet you are for me. And I haven’t even touched you here yet.”
He leaned in, but again, he didn’t do what you expected.
“Please,” you whimpered, your hips lifting off the mattress.
“Please what?” He lifted his head, his eyes glinting. “Use your words mama. Tell me what you want my mouth to do.”
“I want you to taste me,” you begged, the vulgarity falling from your lips without shame. “Lick my pussy, Peter. Please.”
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
His mouth descended, and the first flat stroke of his tongue from your entrance to your clit was so intense, so perfectly aimed, you saw stars. He didn’t just lick- he explored. He licked into your opening, tasting your juices, humming his approval. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, lazy and teasing, before sucking the stiff bud gently between his lips. Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his curls, holding him there. He ate you with a single-minded intensity that was utterly mesmerizing, like a complex problem he was determined to solve. His nose pressed against your clit as his tongue fucked deep into your cunt, then he’d pull back to lap at your sensitive folds, over and over.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against you, the words vibrating through your very bones.
“Better than I dreamed. I’m gonna dream about this taste now. About how your cunt feels on my tongue.”
He added fingers, sliding two inside you with ease, crooking them to rub that sweet, spongy spot deep inside. The combined assault, his mouth on your clit, his fingers filling and stroking you, coiled the tension in your belly impossibly tight. You were babbling, half-words, half-moans, your thighs shaking against his head.
“I’m gonna… Peter, I’m gonna come…”
“Come,” he commanded, his voice muffled against you.
“Come in my mouth baby. Let me feel it.”
The permission shattered you. Your orgasm ripped through you, a convulsive, blinding wave that made your entire body seize. You cried out, back bowing, your cunt clamping down rhythmically on his fingers as he kept licking, gentler now, drawing out every last pulse. He didn’t stop until you were a twitching, oversensitive mess, pushing weakly at his head.
He crawled back up your body, kissing your stomach, your breasts, your neck, letting you taste yourself on his lips. He was hard, the length of his cock a thick, insistent pressure against your thigh through his sweatpants.
“My turn,” you whispered, your hands going to his waistband.
He helped you, shoving the sweatpants and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, thick and veined, the head flushed dark and already glistening with a bead of pre-cum. You wrapped your hand around him, and he hissed, his hips jerking.
“Fuck, your hand…”
You stroked him, once, twice, marveling at the silken heat of his skin over the rigid core. “I want to taste you, too.”
He didn’t argue. He shifted, kneeling over your face, one hand braced on the headboard. You didn’t need any more invitation. You leaned up and took the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the crown, lapping up the salty, bitter pre-cum. He groaned, a deep, ragged sound that fueled you. You took him deeper, relaxing your throat, your mouth stretched wide around his girth. Your hand worked the base as you sucked, using the flat of your tongue on the sensitive underside.
“Just like that… oh, fuck, just like that baby…” he chanted, his fingers threading into your hair, not forcing, just holding. His hips began a shallow, helpless thrust.
“Your mouth is so fucking perfect. I’ve wanted this. Wanted to fuck this smart mouth of yours.”
The dirty talk, the reality of him in your mouth, the weight of his cock on your tongue, it was overwhelming. You sucked him with a greed that surprised you, wanting to pull those same sounds from him, to make him lose the control he’d so carefully wielded over you.
He pulled back suddenly, breathless. “Enough. I want to be inside you. I need to be inside you.”
He rolled off, lying beside you, his chest heaving.
You turned to face him, and he captured your mouth in another searing kiss. His hand slid between your legs, fingers sliding through your slick folds, rubbing your clit in slow, firm circles. The hypersensitivity from your first orgasm was fading, replaced by a fresh, demanding ache.
“How do you want me?” you asked.
“On top,” he said. “I want to watch you. I want to see your face when I fill you up.”
You moved, straddling his hips. His hands came to your waist, holding you steady. You reached between you, guiding the blunt, wet head of his cock to your entrance. You paused, letting it just rest there, a teasing pressure against your swollen lips.
“Fucking tease,” he gritted out, his knuckles white where he gripped your hips.
You smiled, a slow, deliberate smile you’d never dared give him in the lab. You rubbed the slick tip up and down your slit, coating him in your wetness, smearing it over your clit with each pass. A soft, slick shhhick sound accompanied each movement. His pre-cum mixed with your juices, making everything glisten.
“You like that?” you breathed, rocking gently, letting the head nudge your opening but not penetrate.
“You like feeling how wet you made me?”
“Yes,” he gasped. “Now stop playing and sit on my cock.”
“Or what?” You gave a little roll of your hips, letting the head pop softly against your clit, a tiny, delicious shock.
“Or I’ll flip you over and fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name,” he said, but there was a desperate plea underneath the threat.
You decided to take mercy. You positioned him again, and slowly, so slowly, you began to sink down. The stretch was immense, breathtaking. Your eyes locked with his as his thick cockhead pushed past your tight entrance, then steadily filled you, inch by incredible inch. A low, guttural moan tore from your throat. His eyes were wide, dark pools of pure lust, watching your face contort with the feeling of being split open.
“Oh my god… Peter… you’re so big…”
“You’re taking me so fucking well,” he grunted, his hips lifting slightly to meet your descent. “Your cunt is swallowing me whole. Fuck, look at you.”
You settled fully, impaled, feeling him buried to the hilt.
You settled fully, impaled, feeling him buried to the hilt. The fullness was almost too much, a delicious, overwhelming pressure. You stayed there for a moment, letting your body adjust, letting him feel the hot, tight clasp of you around him.
Then you began to move.
You rose up, almost letting him slip out, then sank back down, setting a slow, deep rhythm. His hands slid from your waist to your breasts, thumbing your nipples as you rode him. The angle was perfect, his cock grinding against that deep, sweet spot with every downward stroke. Pleasure built again, a steady, rising tide.
“Faster mama.” he urged, his own hips meeting your thrusts.
You obeyed, picking up the pace, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, mingled with your ragged breaths and his choked curses. One of his hands left your breast and found your hand beside his head. His fingers laced tightly with yours, pinning it to the mattress. The gesture was unexpectedly intimate, an anchor in the frantic, physical storm. You squeezed his hand, holding on as the world narrowed to the place where your bodies joined.
“I’m not gonna last,” he warned, his thrusts becoming more erratic, driving up into you. “Come with me. I want to feel you come on my cock.”
You were right on the edge. The coil snapped. Your second orgasm was different—deeper, more consuming, a rolling quake that started in your cunt and radiated outwards until your very fingertips tingled. You clenched around him, milking his length, a broken cry escaping your lips.
That was all it took. With a final, brutal thrust, he held himself deep and still. A hot, pulsing flood filled you as he came, his own shout muffled against your shoulder. You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you slick with sweat, hearts hammering a frantic, syncopated rhythm.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your breathing. His softened cock was still nestled inside you, a tender, intimate connection. His hand, still laced with yours, gave a gentle squeeze.
“So,” he said, his voice hoarse. “About that lab report…”
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Summary → After getting stabbed on patrol, you seek Peter’s help. He’s furious, but his anger fades into love and comfort.
The pain in your stomach was unbearable. Every step you took sent a sharp, searing ache through your body, but you gritted your teeth and pushed forward, forcing yourself to climb up the fire escape. Blood dripped from your wound, soaking into the black fabric of your suit, but you ignored it. You had to get to Peter. You knew he was home—he’d told you he wasn’t going on patrol tonight because of finals.
Reaching his window, you mustered the strength to knock. Once. Twice.
Seconds later, the curtains shifted, and Peter’s face appeared, his expression soft with confusion before it twisted into pure horror.
“Holy—” He scrambled to unlock the window, shoving it open. “Y/n? What the hell happened?!”
You barely had the energy to answer as he reached out, gripping your arm to help you inside. The moment your feet touched the floor of his room, your knees buckled, but Peter caught you, arms tight around you.
His touch was warm. Yours were freezing.
“You’re bleeding,” he muttered, voice tight with panic as he looked down at your stomach. His hands hovered over the gash, the fabric of your suit already dark with blood. “Shit. Shit. Why didn’t you go to the compound?”
You gave him a weak, lopsided smile. “Didn’t want to deal with the yelling and questions from Tony.”
Peter didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. His jaw clenched, and his brown eyes burned with fury as he guided you toward his bed.
“You’re so damn stubborn,” he grumbled under his breath, lowering you carefully onto the mattress.
“Hey,” you protested weakly, “I prefer the term independent.”
Peter shot you a sharp glare, making you shrink slightly. “Shut up.”
He knelt beside you, unzipping your suit with quick, jerky movements. You let him peel the fabric away from your body, revealing smooth skin stained with blood. His hands hesitated when he noticed how much of it there was.
Peter swallowed hard. “Fuck, Y/n…” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’m fine,” you mumbled.
Peter snapped his gaze up at you, furious. “No, you’re not. You’re stabbed. That’s, like, the opposite of fine.” He ran a hand through his curls, then exhaled sharply. “I—I need to stitch this up. I need to—just—stay still.”
You watched as he practically ripped open his first aid kit, hands shaking as he pulled out antiseptic, gauze, and a suture kit.
“Lie down,” he ordered.
You did as he said, wincing as you moved.
Peter took a deep breath, then grabbed the antiseptic. “This is gonna hurt.”
“No kidding,” you muttered.
The second the antiseptic touched your wound, you hissed, arching your back slightly. A sharp, burning pain spread through your stomach like wildfire.
“Ah—damn it—” Your hand shot out, gripping Peter’s shoulder instinctively. You squeezed hard, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie.
Peter barely even reacted. He was too focused, brows furrowed, lips pressed together tightly as he cleaned the gash. He worked quickly, but his hands weren’t as steady as usual.
Once he was satisfied, he grabbed the suture kit. You felt your heart drop at the sight of the needle.
“Oh, come on,” you groaned. “Seriously?”
Peter shot you a look. “You need stitches.”
You sighed, closing your eyes. “Fine. Just… be gentle, okay?”
Peter scoffed. “Yeah, well, maybe you should be gentle with yourself and not get stabbed.”
You cracked one eye open. “Wow. Great advice, Parker.”
“Shut up,” he muttered again, but there was no heat behind it.
Then, he started stitching. The sharp sting of the needle made you clench your jaw, and your grip on his shoulder tightened.
“You’re such an idiot,” he muttered under his breath.
You blinked, barely able to process his words through the haze of exhaustion. “What?”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and furious. “I said you’re an idiot. What were you thinking, going out alone?” His voice rose, trembling with anger. “You got stabbed, Y/n! Stabbed. Do you even realize how close you were to—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God! You’re reckless.”
You swallowed hard. “Peter—”
“No,” he snapped, tugging the stitches a little tighter than necessary. You winced, and guilt flashed across his face, but he didn’t stop. “I get that we do this whole vigilante thing, but you don’t go out injured. You don’t go out alone. And you sure as hell don’t come to me after getting stabbed like it’s some minor inconvenience.”
Your chest tightened. You knew he was scared, but right now, you couldn’t deal with his anger. You were exhausted. Your body was screaming, and all you wanted was comfort.
But instead, Peter was yelling.
Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision.
“I don’t need this right now,” you whispered.
Peter froze. The anger drained from his face as his gaze dropped to your eyes, taking in the way your lashes glistened with unshed tears.
His throat bobbed. “Y/n, I—”
You sat up, ignoring the dizziness that hit you instantly. “I can’t do this. I’m tired, Peter. I just want some silence.” Your voice cracked. “I don’t need you yelling at me.”
You pushed yourself off the bed, but your legs wobbled, and you nearly collapsed. Before you could hit the floor, Peter was there, catching you.
His grip was firm but gentle. “Wait,” he murmured, voice much softer now. “I’m sorry.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat.
Peter stepped closer, his free hand cupping your face. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I was just—God, Y/n, I was scared.”
You sniffled, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were glassy with emotion, filled with concern, with love.
Peter exhaled shakily. “Please. Just let me finish taking care of you.”
You hesitated for only a second before nodding.
Peter guided you back onto the bed, this time more careful, more gentle. He grabbed the roll of bandages and began wrapping them around your waist, his touch featherlight now. When he finished, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another on your arm, then your knee.
Your breath hitched.
Peter moved back up, his lips grazing yours as he whispered, “You scared the hell out of me.”
You cupped his face, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “I’m sorry.”
He kissed you. Soft and slow, like he was afraid you might break under his touch. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his curls.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “Stay over,” he murmured. “Please.”
You gave him a tired smile. “You gonna yell at me again?”
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No. Just gonna hold you.”
That sounded perfect.
You nodded, letting him climb into bed beside you. He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you as if he was afraid you might disappear.
“Sleep,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Safe. Warm. Loved.
Summary: While saving his girlfriend from a new threat, Peter discovers a surprising connection between her and an old acquaintance.
Word Count: 1.6k
"It looks like this Jean Gray had a sister."
"A sister?" Peter asked. "What was her name?
"Sarah."
Sarah.
His heart dropped into his stomach. Jean had just been searching for her kidnapped sister, and he'd handed her over to Damage Control.
"They brought her into custody for... oh, this is great. Observation and study."
"So experimentation and torture?" (y/n) asked, popping into the back of the screen.
"Yes. Wait, who are you?"
Peter shooed her out of the camera and quickly shut down Yelena's questions. With a quick thank you, Peter ended the call and found (y/n) pacing in her room.
"I know you've gotta go, but Pete, please be careful. Rescue her, but don't forget she's still dangerous."
He gently cupped her cheeks, cutting off her rambling. "I will be, okay? I promise."
"Okay," she whispered. "Now go save the day, Spider-Man."
Then he was gone, swinging through the city like a madman as he raced to Roosevelt Island. Back at the docks, (y/n) continued to pace. Her stomach rolled at the thought of Peter facing Jean and Damage Control alone.
She had to do something.
"Dad!"
~~~
Myrtle's tired screeched to a halt as Frank slammed on the brakes to avoid the ten-car pileup. They both hopped out of the car with furrowed brows. Everyone within the shimmering dome stood frozen. A little white dog's leash was caught halfway down the strap. It frantically barked at its frozen owner.
(Y/n) smiled as she thought of Peter's fake story from the day before. His explanations were always hilarious because she knew the truth about his daily habits.
"Yo, kid!" Frank hollered into his comms. "We've got a problem. The girl's frozen everyone within a mile-and-a-half radius of the island."
"Okay. I'm here now. Is (y/n)-"
She flipped on her comms. "Hey, Spider-Man."
"What?! Why aren't you at Frank's?!"
"We thought you might need backup."
"I've got it under control, alright. You need to go back-"
Frank shook his head. "She's safer with me, kid. Trust me."
"Alright. I gotta go. Frank, I've got a plan. Don't interfere with it."
The comms cut out without another word, and the pair's eyes met. It only took one second for (y/n) to know he would never listen to the young hero. If there was one thing about Frank Castle, he always had a backup plan, a failsafe.
He hurried over to the van. "Get in."
They sped down the streets, laying on the horn as they swerved through traffic to somewhere only he knew. Frank pulled over and grabbed his rifle case from the trunk before running inside the nearest building. (Y/n) followed him up the stairs to the roof, where he quickly assembled his rifle.
"Spider-Man said not to interfere. You better not use that unless you're sure you have to."
"I'll do whatever I see fit. And what's with you and Spider-Man?"
"Oh, just shut up," she groaned. "You're reaching."
"Really?"
"Yes, now--Dad! It's expanding!"
"Okay, okay." Frank rested the bipod at the edge of the building and set up the shot. It only took him a moment to adjust for the range.
BANG.
(Y/n)'s brows lifted, and she stood as she scanned the city around her. "It's gone! You did it." She tapped her comms. "Spider-Man, the dome's gone!"
Silence.
"Spider-Man?"
The next thing she knew, Frank grabbed her arm and rushed them down the stairs and out of the building. The stricken expression on his face told her something was wrong. Was he upset about shooting Jean?
So upset that he left his specialty long-range rifle?
"What's wrong?" she asked as they climbed into the car and sped toward the Roosevelt Island bridge. Other than the occasional grunt, he didn't respond. "Dad?"
It was only when they arrived at the Damage Control facility that it all came together. She sprinted behind her dad toward the shattered facility. Frank pushed through the ajar door and froze for half a second.
There, in the center of the destroyed room, was Spider-Man. And he was lying in a widening pool of blood.
Frank was by his side in an instant, putting pressure on his pouring wound. "Hang on, kid. Hang on."
(Y/n)'s feet remained glued to the floor. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't come to terms with what had happened.
Her dad had shot Spider-Man. He had shot her boyfriend. He had shot Peter. Her Peter.
Then, as if everything crashed down on her at once, she ran for him with everything she had, sliding to her knees on broken glass beside him. Tears streamed down her face as she knelt over him, cradling his unconscious face in her hands.
"Peter? No, no, no, no," she cried. "Pete, you're gonna be okay. You hear me?"
"We gotta get him to a hospital. Now!"
Frank hoisted him into his arms with a grunt and dashed to the van. He laid Peter in the back, and (y/n) jumped up with him while her dad put the pedal to the metal.
"Put pressure on it! There should be some, uh, a med kit back there."
With one hand pressing on the wound, she rummaged through the junk around her until she found a roll of gauze. (Y/n) pushed against the wound using her full weight, begging him to stay with her.
"We're so close, baby. Come on."
"One minute out!"
The minute passed in what seemed like a few seconds. Then the doors flew open, and Frank hoisted Peter into his arms again. Just as he was about to make for the doors, (y/n) pulled his mask over his head.
"He'd--he'd want-"
Frank didn't need a further explanation as he bolted through the automatic doors. "Get me a medic! Now!" he bellowed.
In a flash, Peter was on a gurney and being rolled down the hallway as hospital staff swarmed his bed. Hands quickly cut his suit and removed the mask as they got to work. (Y/n) and Frank tried to follow, but two nurses stopped them.
"I'm sorry. You can't go back there. The doctors need to work."
"The hell I can't!" yelled Frank, pointing at the crowd disappearing down the hall.
After the threat of calling security was raised, he stepped back and sank into the closest chair, dropping his head in his hands. (Y/n) stood motionless as she stared down the hallway. His blood, Peter's blood, soaked her dark tactical jacket down to the skin. She still felt the fading warmth of his body beneath her touch as she slowly looked down at her hands.
Drying blood covered every inch---caked beneath her nails, the crevices of her shaking hands. Her vision blurred, and everything became too much. She numbly followed the signs to the bathroom, where she collapsed and emptied her stomach into one of the toilets. Then she dry heaved when there was nothing left.
And when that finally ceased, (y/n) just leaned back against the bathroom stall and let everything go. She held herself tightly as she sobbed, shaking uncontrollably until the emotions ebbed into numbness.
She stumbled over to the sink, leaving pink splotches on the white porcelain. (Y/n) scrubbed and scrubbed until her hands were raw. The only blood beneath her fingernails was there due to her own cracked nails. Her eyes caught on the pink soap as it swirled down the drain.
But when she caught sight of herself in the mirror? That's when things truly fell apart. Eyes red and swollen, tearstains streaking through smears of blood, clothes still slick with Peter's blood...
(Y/n) took a shuddering breath and braced her hands on the sink.
"He's okay. He's gonna be okay," she whispered to herself. She needed to believe it. Had to. A life without Peter seemed heartless, devoid of all warmth and love. Of course she loved her dad, too, but that was different.
Her dad.
Emotions warred within her at the thought. He shot Peter, but he was trying to save everyone from Jean. Anger and sadness. Frustration and understanding. In the end, an overwhelming exhaustion won out.
She washed her face and cleaned her clothes to the best of her ability before returning to her dad. Two chairs had been moved directly beside the ICU doors for the two of them in their own makeshift "waiting room."
Frank glanced up when he heard her footsteps. "So I guess I have met Peter Pan, huh?" he croaked, shaking his head when emotion filled his voice.
She only nodded as she sat beside him.
"I am so sorry, sweetheart. I..." Frank trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. He took a moment to compose himself before continuing. "I messed up. Bad. And I hate myself for it. I'm so sorry."
(Y/n)'s eyes burned once again, and her throat closed up. Unable to speak, she reached over and grasped his hand, squeezing once. That was all it took for Frank to pull her into a hug.
