I'd love to request a reader who's obsessed with love languages (me fr) and is trying to figure out what peter's is without directly asking him
obviously r gets caught in the act
Thank you so much!!
-🔮
stalemate
tasm!peter x reader
warnings: teasing, fluff, complex relationship issues (lying)
a/n: i do believe peter’s love language is physical touch/words of affirmation but that’s a conversation for a different time
*
“would you rather run errands with someone and hold hands, or run errands with someone and get kicked out of the store cause you’re ‘disturbing the other customers?’”
peter momentarily pauses his chewing, raising an eyebrow at you. “one of these scenarios involves me getting escorted out of the grocery store.”
“yeah, but because you’re having too much fun.”
he shakes his head. “no such thing.”
“clearly, there is.”
he rifles through the remainder of his food, like digging for gold, but his cheek is twitching, and his eyes are thoughtful as he looks down. “why cant i have fun and hold hands with you?”
“okay,” you point at him, leaning back. peter, though you’d put his food across the kitchen table, so you could sit face to face, was adamant that you were too far. so now there’s only a table corner separating the two of you. and these questions, of course, building up a careful foundation. “first of all, i didn’t say it was me—“
“who else would get us kicked out of a grocery store?”
“and second of all, because that’s not the question. holding hands or ribs-hurt laughing?”
“both of those sound equally painful,” peter keeps leaning towards you like he knows something you don’t. which he doesn’t.
you lean forward too, undeterred by his challenge. “so you’re a completely-silent-errand-running-with-a-healthy-five-foot-distance kinda guy?”
“we literally went shopping today.” peter gestures back to the kitchen, where bags of produce and sugary containers (peter’s pickings) remain. after dinner, you’d both swore, but you’re having a hard time finishing your food. “you know what kinda guy i am.”
so it goes, on and on. you asking peter the same type of hypothetical questions you’d been all day. he hasn’t seemed to question it, besides a couple of ill-fated looks.
and you do. know, that is. peter did almost get you kicked out of the store today, when he’d tripped over a sign and knocked down a whole shelf of boxes. this, he claimed, was the crime of a faulty layout. though, he’d bumped into the sign in the first place because he refused to let go of your hand, even when it was less than conscientious.
this, though, you don’t bring up.
“if i bought you a gift,” you continue, ignoring his carefully planned out bantering techniques. “would you want something expensive, or something heart-felt?”
“why is that a question?”
you stare at him, nonchalant, gesturing for him to continue.
“are you buying me a gift?” he asks, rolling his eyes at you.
“maybe. your birthday’s coming up.”
“it is november,” he says, dryly.
“good memory.”
peter snorts. “my birthday is in august. you know, like, two months ago?”
“hmm…” you lean your chin on a hand, staring into hard honeysuckle eyes with feigned confusion. “i must’ve missed it.”
“you got me a spider-man calendar.”
“don’t recall.”
“i can go get it,” he points over his shoulder, leaning, again, towards you. enough so that you can feel his breath, smooth and challenging. “it’s just in the bedroom.”
“answer the question.”
he sighs and leans back again, almost laughing. “heartfelt, obviously. like my very cherished spider-man calendar. which is for this year, i might add.”
“what a wonderful gift,” you smile too, adoringly, “you should thank whoever got it for you.”
peter furrows his brows, though not in confusion. “i did,” he says, softly, trying to break you.
but you remain where you are, smiling as cool as you’ve been all day.
which is to say, of course, that you’ve been dancing circles around peter and hoping that he hasn’t noticed.
you hadn’t even thought of it until two days ago, when out to lunch with your friend and she mentioned a book—fabled and probably recommended by some hot-shot magazine—about how to connect with your partner.
“love languages,” she’d said to you, “are the basis to every relationship.”
and this must have been true because despite a rough patch between her and her girlfriend, they were now as solid as always. and you could tell this, just from how at ease she’d seemed.
which, naturally, put you on edge.
not that you doubted peter, or your relationship with him. besides some run of the mill insecurities, peter was probably the loveliest person you’d ever met. so it was probably a bad thing that you had no clue—not a single suspicion, or thought—what his love language was.
thus, the questions began. and peter’s dubiousness doubled with every one you asked.
evident because he was still watching you. “are we acting out a scenario in which you need a visa and i agree to marry you?”
you kick him under the table. “what? i cant ask you questions?”
“i think this is the fortieth one today.”
“i’ve asked, like, three, and you haven’t even tried to answer any of them properly.”
“you know we’re in a real relationship, right? i know your favorite color and everything.”
you stand up from the table, grabbing your take-out container, and his, and walking to the kitchen.
peter trails after you, clearly noticing your evasion. “do you actually need a visa?” he asks, leaning against a counter, almost knocking over one of the grocery bags. “cause i think you’re supposed to tell the person you’re getting married to. so i can ask you some questions.”
“doesn’t seem like you’re having any problems with that.”
peter snorts and comes behind you while you grab something out of the first bag. his hands are warm as they wrap around your waist, resting on your stomach like a possession. “what’s up with you?”
“i’m unbagging the groceries.”
“you’ve been acting weird all day. do you need to talk to me about something?”
“no.” you pull away from him, putting some apples in the fruit bowl. “you’re crazy.”
“yes. i am the crazy one.”
you hum and walk around him, carefully not meeting his eyes.
after a couple minutes of this, with peter pretending to put things away, you break, uncomfortable with the silence.
“painting a room together,” you start, “or cuddling?”
peter pushes off of the counter, his teeth peaking behind his lips. “cuddling, obviously. you’re a terrible painter.”
he moves about a foot away from you, staring, again, like he knows something you don’t.
“what?” you ask him, closing a drawer. you cross your arms.
“nothing. nothing.”
but peter is grinning at you.
“what’s with your face?”
“what’s with yours?”
you roll your eyes at him, not moving. peter copies your stance, and the two of you remain as still as statues, testing one another.
finally, peter laughs. “you think i don’t know what you’re doing?”
“posing hypothetical questions?”
“i know what love languages are, baby,” peter steps closer to you. his hands just lingering by the seam of your shirt. “you’d make a terrible detective.”
despite the heat running through your body at being caught, you narrow your eyes at him. “me? it only took you all day to figure it out.”
“that’s cause i was giving you the benefit of the doubt. i thought you really wanted to know.”
“i do,” you cross your arms, bumping into him, offended. “i would’ve given up like three hours ago if i didn’t.”
“you’re crazy,” he says, simply. his look is amorous. “you could’ve just asked me.”
“no. i should know just from spending time with you. that’s couple 101.”
peter actually laughs. right in your face. he leans down, resting his chin against your head for support. “cant say i’ve ever taken that class.”
“well you should. it’s very informative.”
“okay, professor, then what’s my love language?”
you open your mouth. then close it. you push him back. “i’m not telling you.”
“oh,” peter tilts his head. “why not?”
“cause that’s cheating. figure out your own love language.”
“you think i don’t know what i like?”
“nope.”
peter shakes his head at you. “you just don’t know.”
“you just don’t know,” you poke his cheek. “you couldn’t even decide which cereal to get. we have three boxes now.”
“that’s called choice paralysis,” he informs you, as if you didn’t have this conversation earlier. “and you agreed to that.”
“sure,” you say to him, turning away.
“you’re a sore loser.”
“we’re not playing a game.”
“the elaborate ‘would you rather’ scheme wasn’t a game?” he asks.
“it was an informative questionnaire.”
peter gets in your way as you try to walk out of the kitchen. “then why hasn’t it informed you?”
you roll your eyes at him again. “c’mon, peter, you know that data can take weeks to process.”
he runs a hand up to your face, easily trapping you. “you just don’t know” he repeats softly.
he’s getting close again; resuming the game he’d lost earlier.
“you don’t know,” you say, stubbornly, not meeting his eyes.
“i know i like you,” he answers, breath marring your reaction skills.
and before you can even smile in response, peter is kissing you.
his lips are soft, pushing at you like he wants you to admit defeat. consoling you into a loss. convincing you to back down.
but you refuse.
you pull away, pushing his hand off of you. “that’s cheating.”
“we never set any rules.”
“well you’re breaking one.”
peter leans and let’s it go, crossing his arms as he looks at you, very arrogantly. “that’s okay,” he shrugs.
you attempt to catch your breath while peter stares at you, clearly thinking that he’s won.
“okay,” you say, pouting. “tell me. what’s your love language?”
peter smiles voraciously at this. he takes a step towards you, molding his body heat into yours.
then he shakes his head, his smile falling into something sweeter. “i don’t know,” he whispers to you, hand reaching down for yours, hair in his eyes. “physical touch, probably, before. but i like everything with you. i always want more, doesn’t matter what it is.”
you brush the hair out of his eyes, smiling.
though your intents are less than straightforward, there’s still a part of you that curls under this confession, like it just can’t take it.
“that’s sweet,” you whisper, leaning into him. he’s bent down so his nose is to yours.
peter hums, breathing in the smell of your skin, and pulling you closer and he stands there, lingering on the briefest of touches.
he tilts his head a bit, lips lined up with yours.
and you smile. “i’m not telling you mine,” you whisper to him, quickly pulling away and moving to the table, whistling as you do so.
you start to collect the trash you’d left there, hearing nothing for a moment, but peter’s heavy breathing.
you smile at the sound of his defeat.
“now that’s cheating,” he says, and you laugh.
*
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one thing you learn living in new york: you literally never know what's going to happen the next day. it's become a general rule of thumb to expect the unexpected, so to speak.
despite this, when the avengers get reports of iron man flying in circles over queens, growing more frantic by the second, they're confused. mainly because they're currently sat at a table with tony stark himself. and, according to his ai, the suit that's out causing mayhem is still securely stored downstairs.
they all head out to see what the hell is going on. they meet with strange on the way, who mutters something about inter-dimensional disturbances and whatnot.
spider-man gets to the scene just before them. the second iron man visibly freezes when he spots him in his red and blue glory. "mr. stark?" they hear him ask. they see as he turns and spots them, and then does a double take. "what's going on?"
"underoos!" real tony calls, nervous, at the same time as the other one spots them, and then lurches forward to all but manhandle peter behind him.
the avengers all tense, readying for a fight. fake tony raises a repulsor. "i just want the kid. i don't want to fight."
"you don't belong here." strange says, infuriatingly calm. "i don't know how you got here, but you need to go home." fake tony nods. strange adds, "you can't take him with you." which earns him a rather mean blast. luckily, he ducks out of the way.
the poor kid is whipping his head back and forth, clearly confused. tony's stomach twists unhappily. "you don't understand," fake tony hisses, "all the work it took to get here. i'm not going home without him."
"you have to." strange takes a step forward, "you can't transport him between universes. it's not viable." the lenses on peter's suit widen, and he looks at the fake tony.
"he's from another universe?" steve asks, disbelieving. strange nods, and opens his mouth to say something more, but is cut off by the other-universe tony. he removes his faceplate, revealing a tony stark that is far more haggard than anyone had ever seen before. he's thinner, his eyes are darker, pleading. he looks like a man who's lost everything.
tony looks to peter, who's still staring, wide-eyed. he can see the gears in his head moving but can't decipher why.
"you dimension hopped to kidnap the kid?" tony asks, a little unfocused. the kid was in danger, and it was all he could think about. "why?" peter turns to him, then back to tony number two. he gasps as something apparently clicks in his brain.
he steps forwards, rounds the other-universe tony and stands in front of him. he instantly lowers the repulsor. "because i'm dead." peter says, confidently.
everyone pauses. they look at the spider like he's gone insane, because he clearly isn't dead, not anymore, at least. but other-universe tony looks like he's had the wind knocked out of him. "pete-"
peter deactivates his mask. "right?" he asks. other-universe tony frantically looks over his face.
"it's my fault." he says, softly. "i'm so sorry. i'm sorry, pete. i'm-"
"come out of the suit."
other-universe tony pauses. "what?"
"come out here, please." peter asks again. other-universe tony does as he asks, stumbling out and immediately into the open and waiting arms of the baby spider. it seems to break him, the embrace; all at once he loses any trace of intimdation and anger and sobs, curling around the boy as much as he can. peter seems unphased, unlike the other heroes, and shushes him. "it's okay, mr. stark. it's not your fault," he murmurs soothingly, only reaching their ears due to the intercom on his suit. "it was never your fault. i chose this, i chose to come up there. i didn't regret it for a second."
other-universe tony heaves. "i was supposed to protect you. i failed. i failed and you're gone and you were so scared and i couldn't do anything-"
"you're wrong," peter soothes, and it's a weird image. the child comforting the adult. "if he was anything like me, then-" for a second, his eyes cut back to this-universe tony. "then he was glad you were there when he was dying. you made him feel safer. it would've been so much worse without you."
and then it all clicks for tony. this was a version of him from a world post-snap, who'd watched a kid he considered his own fade to dust in his arms. who sat in his own guilt, and shame, and loneliness. he knew the feeling all too well, and this tony had crossed dimensions to try and get his kid back in any way possible.
if it were for anyone but peter parker, this tony would've said it was a little dramatic.
he's sent home eventually, the other tony, after some more comforts and a not so subtle hint as to how they got everyone back after the snap, much to strange's dismay. later, real tony sits in the lab, watching peter from across a table, and he asks, "how'd you figure it out?"
"figure what out, mr. stark?"
"why that other me was here." peters looks up from whatever he's tinkering with. frowns.
"well, you invented time travel to get me back," he says. "why would you stop before dimension travel? it just made the most sense." tony has half a mind to argue, but one look at his lab: a midtown high hoodie draped over the back of a chair, a teenager's backpack in the corner, a seperated table with it's own organisational pattern and piles of blueprints, a report card pinned to a board, and a spiderman charm hanging from dum-e, he figures the kid is right.
"yeah, well, i love you a little too damn much then, don't i?" he doesn't think about the words before he says them. he's felt it for so long it feels like a second instinct.
luckily he gets no time to panic. because peter immediately lights up, says, "i love you too." and gets back to work.
damn kid.
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