Y/N 🍪

_

"OKAY, ONE TABLESPOON," Peter said, squinting at his crumpled notebook.

The Stark Tower Kitchen looked like it had gone through a blizzard. Flour and sugar dusted the walls of the space, a product of numerous failed recipes. The ingredients Peter suggested worked, but we had to make the measurements precise. Too long in the oven might make the cookies explode. Too much flour, and the batter turns into goo.

I dusted a spot of powdered sugar off my space, scooping my tablespoon into the jar of vanilla extract. We learned it covered up the chemical taste.

"Next?" I asked.

"A quarter-cup of Methanol."

"Okay, next?"

"Teaspoon of Salicylic Acid."

"Next?"

"Two drops of Toluene."

When Peter first suggested those ingredients, I dismissed them. They didn't seem edible. They weren't edible. It was only until he explained the properties behind them that I agreed (keeping the batter from falling apart), and we planned to make it edible once it worked.

And it's working. We think.

"I've been meaning to ask," I said, looking up at the boy. He was sitting on the marble counter, notebook propped in his lap. "How do you know so much about this stuff?"

Peter grinned. "I like science."

"Yeah, but this is complex chemistry. How did you even get access to these materials without Mr. Stark?"

"I've got connections," he said, "non-sketchy ones."

I stifled a laugh, picking up the bowl in front of me. I had to let this whisk for two minutes.

"Every time I think I know you, Peter Parker," I smiled, locking the bowl into place, "you surprise me some more."

"Is that a good thing?"

The cheeky smirk on his face sent my stomach flipping like a pancake. I don't like pancakes. That's why I hated this jittery feeling I got when I looked at him—it made me remember that I liked him.

Even with flour all over his hair, he looked adorable. If someone turned a golden retriever into a human, it would probably be him. Not to mention he was smart, polite, and all-around perfect. I had to ask him on a date. Have to. Will.

"Yeah," I nodded weakly, "it's a good thing."

Nope, I can't do this.

I barely can grasp the idea of having a friend, let alone having a boyfriend. He's not supposed to be my boyfriend. His soulmate is probably out there waiting for him to show up, and I'm out here home-wrecking.

Maybe Mr. Stark was wrong.

No, scratch that, Mr. Stark is never wrong. That doesn't make this any easier. I feel like I'll ruin both of our lives by doing something like this, and even though I don't have much of a life to ruin, I can't ruin his. Or whoever his actual soulmate is.

I need to stop overthinking. I should just go for it.

If Mr. Stark ends up being wrong, I'll just sue him for all his money and make him pay me back in scientific labs (for legal reasons, this is a joke! I have no clue if there's an Avenger Mind Reader somewhere in this tower and I do not want to find out. Wouldn't be surprised though).

"Hey Peter?" I blurted out. "Why did the Raisin go out with the Prune?"

Oh my god, you have got to be kidding me.

He ruffled specks of flour out of his hair. "Are you trying to tell me a joke?"

Unfortunately, yes. My brain lacks anything of romantic value.

"Maybe."

"What's the punchline?" He asked. "Why did the Raisin go out with the Prune?"

If I had a chance to add anything to the notes in my brain, I'd remind myself to cry in a corner after this. I really spent all of that time overthinking, and couldn't come up with an actually good way of asking him out?

I glanced up quickly at the kitchen's security cameras, 100% sure Mr. Stark was watching this all go down. I'm adding a new house to his payback tab.

"Because he couldn't get a date!" I exhaled sheepishly. My body feels like it's melting into the counter. Pronounce me DOA. "Like me. Do you maybe want to go on one?"

Peter wasn't even looking at me, and that somehow made it worse. He was cleaning the floor with a mop now, chuckling under his breath as if he completely missed me asking him out a darn second ago.

"Good joke," he beamed, spinning the mop, "I remember hearing that in Middle School."

I stared at him blankly. "Oh."

"Funny though."

"You think it's funny?"

"Yeah, of course." My heart sank; I bet he just ignored it. It's my fault for using a stupid joke to ask a simple question. Peter was still talking, "it's 'cause he couldn't get a date, duh."

My head was in my knees now. "I'm not talking about the joke, Parker."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"What I said after the joke."

"You said something after the joke?"

"Oh my god, Peter!" I exclaimed, arms shooting up right by my head. Don't get me wrong, he was like my mirror image when it came to personality, but that also meant he got my stupid, oblivious side too. "Do you want to go out with me or not?"

Suddenly the kitchen became quiet.

Peter's face was like a deflating balloon. The smile drained out of existence, and his eyes bugged out of his head. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach—of course this was a bad idea. He probably already knew who his soulmate was, and thinks I'm a home-wrecker. WHICH I PRETTY MUCH AM!

"You want—" he began to say, "sorry, you, you want..."

"Yeah."

"Did Ned dare you to do this?"

"What? No!"

"And you're being one-hundred percent unsarcastic?"

"For heaven's sake, yes," I groaned. I wanted to crumple up into a ball. "Just—just never mind. Forget I ever said anything, you're clearly not interested."

I needed to leave. Now. Sliding off the counter, I hopped onto my feet and began to stride towards the door. I don't think I'll be able to look him in the eye after this, given that he still wants to talk to me. I hate you so much right now, Tony Stark.

As I neared the doorway, I heard the sound of the mop falling to the floor and was suddenly pulled backwards by the hem of my shirt. Peter spun me to a stop in front of him.

"I never said I wasn't interested," he said.

For a split second, I saw a flash of someone else in his eyes. It was almost as if I was seeing another side to him—one that seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on. It was probably being the way he said that was surprisingly cocky for him.

But then it faded away a split second after.

"What did you have in mind?" He asked.

I had no clue what was going on. "I don't know."

"Neither do I. Haven't gone on a date before."

"Neither have I."

There was a brief pause, where we did nothing but look at each other. Was this really happening? Did I massively screw up asking him out, but somehow managed to get him to say yes? This whole thing does not obey the laws of physics.

We ended up blurting out the same thing. "Food."

The oven beeped.

Both of us turned our heads, remembering why we were here in the first place. Snatching a mitt from the counter, I popped open the oven door and pulled out the tray of finished cookies.

Peter walked up behind me, bending over my shoulder to look. "They didn't explode."

"Nope."

I set them on the stove, fanning the glove to cool them off as much as I could. They were still steaming hot, but that didn't stop the boy from swiping one into his hand and shoving it into his mouth. I wondered how he didn't burn his tongue off.

Then his eyes lit up.

"It's good," he said, "really good."

"What?"

"I think we did it!"

I stared at him in disbelief. Was something in the air? I managed to ("successfully") ask out the guy I liked, not get friend-zoned, and we finally figured out the recipe to YANA? My heart was beating so fast, I almost passed out.

"Yeah," I smiled to myself, "we did."