Just wanted to request a Peter Parker x Stark!reader fic set after Tony’s death, with Peter helping the reader through her grief while he struggles as well. Tyyy
thank you for this request! somehow i really needed to dive into the Peter Parker space again 💕
Pairing: Peter Parker x stark!reader
Warnings: grief. loss. hurt/comfort. crying.
The tower feels too big now. Too quiet. Like it’s holding its breath and never quite letting it out.
Peter stands awkwardly in the main living area, hands fidgeting at his sides, eyes scanning a space that used to feel alive in a way nothing else ever did.
Now it just feels… empty.
“Hey,” he asks softly, glancing toward the others. “Have you seen her?”
Rhodes shakes his head. He seems gentle but tired.
“Not today.”
Pepper adds quietly, “She’s been keeping to herself.”
Something in Peter’s chest tightens. A quiet, instinctive pull, like something isn’t right.
He nods once, already turning. “I’ll go check on her.”
The hallway to her quarters feels longer than usual. Each step is heavier than the one before. His hand hesitates on the door before he knocks—once, twice.
No answer. “…hey?” he calls softly.
Still nothing. The unease in his muscles sharpens and he pushes the door open.
There you are. Curled into the corner of the room, knees pulled tight to your chest, shoulders shaking with silent sobs that clearly haven’t been silent for long.
“Hey—hey,” he rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside you. “I’m here, I’m here—”
You don't even look up at first. Just shakes your head, like you're trying to disappear into yourself.
“I can’t—” your voice breaks. “I can’t do this, Peter.”
“Yes, you can,” he says immediately, softer, steadier. “You don’t have to do it alone, okay? You don’t have to—”
You finally look at him. Your face is wrecked. Eyes red, cheeks wet, breathing uneven.
“I don’t know who I am without him,” you whisper.
And that—that’s what breaks him. Because he feels it too. Every damn day. He swallows hard, blinking quickly, but it doesn’t stop the tears that start spilling over anyway.
“I know,” he says, voice shaking now. “I know, I— I keep thinking I’m gonna turn around and he’s just gonna be there, you know? Saying something sarcastic or— or telling me I did something wrong—”
A broken laugh slips out of him. “Or right,” he adds, quieter now.
You stare at him, something softening through the grief. “You miss him too,” you say.
Peter nods, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Yeah,” he breathes. “A lot.”
There’s a moment. It feels heavy but also like your sharing something to ease the weight on each others shoulders.
And then—you lean into him. Not graceful or even careful. Just… desperate.
Peter catches you instantly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close as he shifts to sit on the floor with you in his lap, holding you like if he lets go, you might fall apart completely.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your hair, even as his own voice trembles. “I’ve got you, okay?”
You clutch at his shirt, crying harder now, the kind of sobs that come from somewhere deep and don’t ask for permission.
Peter holds on even tighter. His own tears falling quietly into your hair. Neither of you tries to stop it. There’s no fixing this. Only… surviving it.
A few days later, the tower is still quiet. But it doesn’t feel quite as suffocating. Not when you’re not alone in it.
Peter follows you down a hallway he’s only been in a handful of times, watching as you push open a door slowly.
The workshop. Tony Stark’s space.
It still smells faintly like metal and something warmer—something that used to mean he is around.
You hesitate in the doorway. Then step inside with a heavy feeling in your legs, which made it hard to even move forward.
Peter stays close, like he’s not sure if you’ll change your mind.
The room is exactly how it was left. Tools. Half-finished projects. Screens dark but waiting.
You walk over to the workbench, fingers brushing lightly over its surface. “He used to hate it when I touched his stuff without asking,” you say softly.
Peter huffs a quiet breath. “Yeah. Same.”
You glance at him, a small, sad smile tugging at your lips. “He always let you, though.”
Peter shrugs a little. “Only after pretending he wouldn’t.”
That earns a real, tiny laugh. Fragile, but the first real thing in days. You pick up a small piece of metal—something unfinished.
“He was gonna show me how to finish this,” you murmur.
Peter steps closer, looking over your shoulder. “He would’ve,” he says.
You nod slowly. “I keep thinking… I should’ve spent more time in here with him. Paid more attention. Asked more questions.”
Peter shakes his head immediately. “Hey—no,” he says gently. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
You look at him. “He knew,” Peter continues. “He knew you were there. That you cared.” A pause. “And he was so proud of you,” he adds, quieter now.
Your breath catches. “…yeah?”
“Yeah. He told me all the time,” he says, a small smile breaking through. “Like—constantly. ‘She’s smarter than me already,’ or ‘I have no idea where she gets it from, but I’m taking credit anyway.’”
A soft, shaky laugh leaves you. “That sounds like him.”
He hesitates. Then adds, a little more vulnerable—
“He was proud of you in the way that… you could tell it wasn’t just talk. Like—he meant it.”
Your eyes sting again. But this time, it’s warmer. You look down at the workbench, then back at Peter. “He was proud of you too,” you say softly.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Don’t even try to argue that. He saw himself in you. You know that, right?”
Peter looks down, overwhelmed in a way he doesn’t quite know how to handle. “I just… I wish I could’ve told him more,” he admits quietly.
“You did,” you say. “In your own way.”
A small silence settles between you. But it’s not empty. It’s full of him. Of memories. Of laughter. Of everything he left behind.
You reach for Peter’s hand. He laces his fingers with yours instantly.
“We’re gonna be okay,” you whisper.
Not because you fully believe it. But because you want to.
Peter squeezes your hand gently. “Yeah,” he says.
And this time it doesn’t feel like a lie you tell yourself to eventually make yourself feel better. Not entirely.
Because you are both still here. And somehow—
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Thank you so so much for reading!!! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙
