𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓 (TASM) 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑶𝒃𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚. 𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑻𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒖𝒎… 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅.
It was supposed to be a normal Stark Tower evening. And by normal, you meant only slightly sabotaged by your painfully cute coworker-slash-archnemesis, Peter freaking Parker.
You were new to the Avengers intern program — tech division, sarcasm department. Peter was the golden boy who somehow managed to fix broken quantum drives and still spill coffee on your shoes before 9 a.m.
The two of you? Oil and water. Fire and gasoline. That one time he upgraded your Stark tablet without asking and deleted all your files?
Yeah. You still hadn’t forgiven him. Even if he did apologize with extra fries.
So naturally, when the power cut out mid-evening during a routine maintenance sweep, you weren’t shocked to hear his voice in the dark.
Your groan echoed off the walls of the tiny utility closet. “Tell me that’s not you.”
“Uh,” Peter said from somewhere uncomfortably close, “hi?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You fumbled for your Stark-issued flashlight and clicked it on — only to reveal Peter’s very concerned, very pretty face mere inches from yours.
Your breath caught for half a second. Half a second too long.
“Please don’t tell me we’re locked in here,” he mumbled, already fiddling with the door.
You crossed your arms. “I could’ve been stuck with anyone. Literally anyone. And I get you.”
“Hey, that’s rude,” he said, scandalized.
“You erased my playlist from the Stark server,” you snapped.
“I said I was sorry! Also, I replaced it with a better one—”
“Better?!” You scoffed. “You added Nickelback.”
Peter clutched his chest. “Photograph is a classic.”
“You keep saying that,” he muttered, pushing on the door with his shoulder. “But I don’t believe you.”
You went still. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
You narrowed your eyes. “Peter.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he said, still not looking at you. “Door’s jammed. Probably an energy surge tripped the whole building’s security grid. Should be back up in—”
You stepped forward. “You don’t believe I hate you?”
“I mean, do you?” he said casually, way too casually, like your entire history hadn’t been a mess of bickering, banter, and accidental almost-hand-holding last month on the quinjet.
You blinked. “You think I don’t mean it?”
Peter met your gaze for the first time in the dark, and suddenly the closet felt ten degrees warmer.
“I think…” he said slowly, voice low, “…if you actually hated me, you wouldn’t bring me coffee every Wednesday.”
Your jaw dropped. “That’s out of pity.”
“Sure it is,” he said, grinning now.
“And because I feel bad that you forget breakfast.”
“Pity,” he repeated with a raised eyebrow, “or… concern?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
This was spiraling. Fast.
You needed to change the subject. Fast.
Instead, your brain decided to launch itself off a cliff.
“Wait… you like me?! Why?!” you blurted before your frontal lobe could protest.
Peter froze like a deer infront of headlights. “What?!”
“You just implied—no, you said—you basically just said—oh my God.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. “I mean… yeah? I thought it was kinda obvious?”
You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Obvious to who?!”
Peter hesitated… and then, in the most infuriatingly adorable move known to mankind, he reached out and gently tapped your forehead with his index finger.
“I think it has to do with your personality,” he said, voice soft but teasing.
You reeled back, scandalized. “My personality?!”
He laughed. “I was pretty shocked too.”
“I’m about to strangle you.”
“You’re definitely blushing.”
You buried your face in your hands. “This can’t be real. This is a fever dream. I’m hallucinating from secondhand exposure to Tony’s leftover shawarma.”
He tilted his head. “You’re not hallucinating.”
“Because I’m sweating profusely and resisting the urge to pass out.”
You snorted. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m very serious. And also terrified.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. His brown eyes were so earnest it hurt.
“I’m not… what you think I am,” you said quietly. “I’m chaotic. I’m loud. I once started a dance battle during a fire drill.”
“That was one of the best days of my life,” Peter whispered.
“Yeah,” he said with a soft shrug. “You fill in the spaces I leave quiet.”
And just like that, your brain short-circuited.
You stared at him in stunned silence until finally, you muttered, “Okay, maybe I don’t hate you.”
“That’s a start,” Peter said, and God help you, he smiled like the sun.
By the time the power flickered back on, your heart was still doing backflips and Peter’s hand was hovering inches from yours like a promise not quite made.
The door unlocked with a soft click.
You looked at him. He looked at you.
And then, because you were you and he was him and chaos was inevitable, you deadpanned, “Still doesn’t excuse Nickelback.”
Peter grinned. “I’ll redeem myself.”
Thanksss @lostintheseawithmino
