I’M SO SORRY THIS IS THE WRONG PROMPT AND I DIDN’T REALIZE UNTIL LIKE FOUR READ-THROUGHS LATER
Peter’s not going to lie - he knows Harley’s favourite colour is yellow. His two best friends are in math with him, but neither of them have phys ed in the same period as Harley does. His favourite pencil is the blue one that’s barely a stub and covered with teeth marks, despite the fact that he has a brand new orange one sitting in his pencil case. (Peter got to use it once. He wonders if he’d be able to steal it permanently without Harley noticing.) And between all of that, Peter has no idea what he's been learning in history class all month. How could he, when Harley’s caramel curls are just a seat in front of him?
Peter has to say something, to ask him out. Harley’s a catch, really - if Peter doesn’t take action, someone else will, and that will be devastating. Peter just... doesn’t know when to do it. Lunch? Band practice? Meet him at his locker (1103), or find him after school? What will the response be? Will this be a mistake, or the best move of Peter’s short, short life-
“Hey.” A finger taps Peter’s desk and he jolts out of his thoughts, surprised to be met by startling blue eyes and a crooked grin. Harley’s turned around in his chair, facing Peter- looking at Peter. Oh, crap.
“I was going to ask if you knew the answer to number three, but....” Harley’s eyes trail down to the worksheet on Peter’s desk, the one that every classmate has, but Peter’s is blank. He’s gotten no work done.
Peter scrambles to pick up the paper, hoping to hide his blush behind it as he scans the page. Even then, he has to read the question a couple of times over before actually understanding it.
When did the war end?
“Oh, um-” Peter squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “1918.”
Harley gnaws on his lower lip, and Peter’s lost. Shit, that’s attractive. “You- you know we’ve moved on to World War II, right-”
“I like you.”
Harley freezes, mouth falling open. Peter’s cheeks grow red, and his mind is simultaneously blank and full of thoughts at the same time. “I mean, I just- just wanted to say that. You don’t need to respond, or anything, or we can just pretend I never said it- yeah, actually, let’s do that-”
Harley places his hand atop Peter’s and Peter practically jumps out of his skin. He shoves away from his desk, and the sound of his chair legs on the floor has his classmates turning to stare at him. His face is beet read as he's met by their judgmental eyes, the room suddenly silent.
“Peter?” their teacher asks, her brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”
Peter sees Harley from the corner of his eye, barely stifling a laugh. The blush on his face darkens by about 250 shades as he sinks back down into his seat.
“All good, Ms. Lee. Sorry.”
Peter settles back in his desk, burying his face in his hands. Mistake, definite mistake. And now Harley’s watching him, he can sense it - the nosiest of his classmates are, too, and he’s done it. He’s completely screwed everything up.
But maybe... this is all a dream? A nightmare. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.
“I don’t really know what to do next,” Harley says, his voice light and... and amused.
Not a nightmare, then.
Crap.
Peter slowly lifts his head from his arms. “I- sorry, we can just forget I ever said anything. The answer to number three, it’s 1944. Or, ‘45-”
“I meant, do I take you out to dinner, or is a movie more appropriate? I really have no idea.”
Peter freezes. Error 404: thoughts not found. He’s looking at you, idiot. Reboot, dammit, reboot-
“I don’t, uh-” Peter’s mouth opens and closes, looking for something to say. For the life of him, he can’t find anything.
Okay, so this isn’t a nightmare. It’s definitely a dream, then, and the best one of his life, apparently.
“Movie,” he finally answers in a whisper. Harley grins, and- damn, Peter wants to get lost in it.
“Seven?” Peter nods wordlessly, and Harley holds out his hand. Trembling, Peter reaches out his own, and Harley grabs it, flipping it to expose Peter’s forearm. He begins to scrawl out his number, and Peter doesn’t know what to look at - his chicken scratch handwriting, the way his tongue is slightly poking out from between his lips, or the fact that Harley Keener is touching me. He’s holding my hand - well, in a way. We’re- contact. Skin to skin. What what what-
“Text me?” he asks with a gleaming grin, and Peter sucks in a breath, nodding. “Great. And you said, what, 1945?” Again, Peter nods, and Harley smiles. “I’ll see you at seven, Parker.” And with that, he turns in his chair, leaving Peter to stare, wide-eyed, at his back.
OOH 14 with parkner plllzzzzz ❤️ (if you have the time, if not no worries! Take your time and just know anything you write is loved by all of us❤️)
Aww you're so sweet, thank you 😊
"Make me."
When Harley arrives home at midnight after a late shift, he doesn't expect the noise coming from the kitchen, and he especially doesn't expect his boyfriend to still be awake when he goes to investigate - but there Peter is, hunched over the kitchen table, a hand knotted in his hair and the other scrawling across a piece of paper.
"What are you still doing up?" Harley asks, switching on the light. Peter hisses, literally hisses, eyes squeezing shut.
"Homework."
"What- how are you still doing homework? You've been working since before I left and now it's midnight."
"Yeah, well, I have an essay due tomorrow and I didn't start working on it until-" He blinks up at Harley. "What time is it?"
Harley raises a brow. "Midnight," he repeats. When Peter stares at him blankly, he sighs. "Twelve o'clock. Midnight, Parker."
"Okay, well, I didn't start writing this essay until mid evening, Keener," he mocks. When Harley frowns at him, Peter sighs. "Nine o'clock." He turns back to his essay, but Harley steals the paper away from him before he can. Peter tries to fight back, but all Harley has to do is brush a hand through his hair. Peter's eyes are fluttering closed and he leans into it, his task already forgotten. Honestly, it's kind of cute.
"You're exhausted, Parker."
"'M not."
"You're practically purring." Peter forces an eye open to glare at Harley. "Come on. You need to go to bed."
"Make me."
Harley sighs. "You know what's going to happen next."
Peter sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I think you're bluffing."
"You don't want to do this."
"I dare you."
Harley shakes his head fondly, stepping forward with his arms outstretched. Peter tries to slap him away but he's too weak, and Harley loops his arms beneath Peter, hefting him up in a bridal carry. Peter slaps at Harley's chest, though his eyes are falling shut.
"No, put me down. I have- have an essay-"
"I'll call your school tomorrow and pretend to be your guardian."
"You're only a year older than me."
Harley reaches Peter's bedroom and sets him down, pulling the covers up to his chin before pressing a kiss to Peter's forehead. "And don't you forget it."
Overworked peter falling asleep on the couch in the avengers common room after insisting he wasn’t tired and didn’t need a nap and H is sitting with P’s head in his lap glaring murderously at anyone who makes any sort of sound. Clint or sam or someone accidentally makes a loud sound and Harley wants to get up and make them pay for waking up his sleepy bf but p wakes up slightly disoriented and h’a for us Whitt’s to soothing p and coaxing him back to sleep w/ a forehead kiss for good measure -🌸
oh... soft.........
listen as the king of napping in places I probably shouldn’t: I won’t wake up for a nuclear explosion if I’m tired enough. my family hates me
Peter would probably just roll over and Sam and Clint would be terrified if they almost woke him up
oh hi i dont really post parkner anymore but i was just thinking that like– peter’s probably well adjusted to isolation and the idea of ‘theres dinner in the fridge, heat it up when you get hungry’ but harley grew up with a younger sister he had to take care of and how he never got the chance to truly be alone but he was probably lonely a lot
Peter wearing Harley's jeans and they are too big so he has to constantly pull them up
i dONT KNOW WHO SENT THIS OR WHEN IT GOT TO MY INBOX BUT ITS 1AM AND THIS IS MAKING ME CRY WAIT-
I’m sorry sweatshirts are one thing, but pants? who wears someone else’s pants? the mental image I have is hilarious, but imagine like Peter fucked up and grabbed the wrong pants after spending the night in Harley’s room and not wanting to walk past Tony to change/admit he has the wrong pants and is just suffering
Duuude I love your writing! If you haven't done 13 with Parkner, could you please do it?? Byeee🌟🌟🌟
Aww thanks so much!!
"I never realized how literal of a term love sickness actually is."
TW: mentions of vomit, but no actual sickness
Peter groaned as his bedroom door was shoved open and Tony walked in, pulling open the blinds. Peter flinched away from the light, curling under his blankets.
“I’ve called you three times already,” Tony scolded gently, moving to lean against the dresser opposite Peter’s bed. “Come on. Up and at ‘em.”
“Can’t go to school today. ‘M sick.”
Tony tsked gently, moving to sit on the edge of Peter’s mattress. He placed the back of his hand on Peter’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”
“Stomachache.”
“Maybe you just need some breakfast. Come on, I’ll make you pancakes. If you still don’t feel good after that, fine, you can stay home. But, you know, I bet your friends will miss you, Ned and MJ and that Harley kid-” Peter’s eyes squeezed shut, and Tony froze. “What?”
“Just got a wave of nausea,” Peter muttered, curling in tighter on himself.
Tony cocked an eyebrow, intrigued. “... Huh. What class do you have with Harley, again?”
“Math,” Peter groaned. “But I can’t talk about it right now-”
“Can’t talk about what, math class?” Peter blinked his eyes open, giving a small nod.
“I guess.”
“Or talking about Harley?”
Peter shook his head, burying his face into his pillow. “Told you not to ask me about it.”
Tony grinned, patting Peter’s leg under the sheets. “You have a crush.”
Peter blinked an eye open to glare at Tony. “No, I don’t, and I really don’t feel well right now-”
“You like this Harley kid.”
Peter froze and eased himself up from the mattress. “How did you-”
“Peter, you’re lovesick.”
Peter frowned, collapsing back onto his pillow and yanking the covers up to his chin. “No, this isn’t some stupid emotion, alright? I’m actually going to throw up on your expensive pajamas. What, are those Gucci?”
“Oh, this is definitely lovesickness.”
“Can you take me seriously? I- I’m actually going to vomit right now. This isn’t about some blue-eyed boy.”
A smirk began to grow on Tony’s face. “Blue-eyed, huh?” Peter forced his face back into his pillow. “Tell me, do you feel worse when you think about vomit, or about Harley’s blue eyes?”
“Let me tell you something, I don’t feel bad about punching you across the face right now.”
“You can’t even form a fist in your state.” Peter blinked open one eye to glare up at Tony as he ruffled Peter’s hair. “Now, come on. You’re going to school.”
“I’m gonna throw up all over him.”
“Well, it’ll be a good conversation starter. I’ll make you pancakes.”
Peter eased himself up from the mattress. “With chocolate chips?” he asked hopefully. Tony paused in the doorway.
