Parings → Peter Parker x Stark!Reader
Warnings → mild injury, chaos, yelling, accidental fall, Avengers crack-fic energy, holiday shenanigans, Peter being an idiot, Morgan being a menace.
Summary → On Christmas morning, Peter and Morgan try, and fail to wake you up, causing chaos, injury, and a full Avengers-level emergency.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★
Christmas morning in Stark Tower should’ve been peaceful. Magical. Cozy.
…Instead, it was a hostage situation. And the hostage was you—face buried in your pillow, starfished on your bed like you’d been knocked out by tranquilizer darts.
Everyone knew you were a deep sleeper. Like, comically deep. Tony once joked that an alien invasion could happen right outside your window and you’d sleep through the apocalypse.
Peter had been your boyfriend for three years, so he knew the truth better than anyone:
You didn’t wake up.
You respawned.
And on Christmas morning? That was everyone’s problem.
---
Step 1: Gentle Approach (Fail)
“Morgan, we try nice first,” Peter whispered, crouched beside your bed like he was about to disarm a bomb.
Morgan nodded. “Right. Nice.”
She leaned in, pressed her mouth to your ear, and screamed, “Y/N/N, GET UPPPP!”
Peter flinched so hard he fell over. But you?
Nothing. Not even a twitch. You just mumbled softly, then stopped.
Morgan stared down at your sleeping form, traumatized. “She didn’t even move.”
“She never does,” Peter sighed.
---
Step 2: Musical Warfare (Fail)
Peter grabbed your ukulele—the one you guarded like it was a Stark-level classified artifact.
“Okay… please don’t kill me when you wake up,” he muttered to it like it was a witness.
Morgan sat on the edge of the bed, watching him with the judgmental eyes of a tiny supervisor.
Peter strummed.
Not beautifully.
Not even decently.
It was the acoustic equivalent of stepping on LEGO.
You stirred.
Your face scrunched.
You let out a dramatic little groan, rolled to the opposite side—and promptly cocooned yourself in your blanket like a burrito retreating from reality.
Morgan stared. “She just… reset herself.”
Peter whispered, horrified, “She’s immune to ukulele. We’re doomed.”
---
Step 3: Nuclear Option (Success… but also pain)
Morgan grabbed the Bluetooth speaker with the chaotic confidence of someone about to summon the apocalypse.
“Peter… she can’t sleep through this.”
Peter looked uneasy. “Use the Carey wisely.”
Morgan hit play without mercy.
Mariah Carey didn’t just enter the room—she detonated into it.
The opening whistle note shot through the air like a sonic weapon.
You reacted instantly.
You flinched so hard you rolled—straight off the bed.
There was a split second of silence, then thud, followed by a very real, very tragic:
“Ow.”
This time you were awake.
Wide-eyed.
Blinking at the ceiling from the floor, clutching your forehead as a bruise started forming like it was clocking in for its shift.
Peter dove toward you. “BABE—oh my God—”
Morgan gasped, hands over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to break her!”
You winced, sitting up slowly.
“What… was that? A sonic attack?!”
Peter held your face gently, eyes huge. “It was Mariah. I’m so sorry.”
---
The chaos attracted the entire building like moths to a Christmas tree fire.
Tony was first, hair sticking up, robe dragging. He burst in mid-yell:
“WHY DOES IT SOUND LIKE A CHOIR OF DEMONS IN HER—”
Then he saw you on the floor, holding your forehead, glaring murderously at your boyfriend.
“Oh my God, my child is injured. WHO traumatized my princess?”
Morgan immediately pointed at Peter.
Peter immediately pointed at Morgan.
You groaned, “Both of you are dead to me.”
Steve jogged in behind Tony, fully dressed like he’d been awake since 4 a.m. doing push-ups.
“What’s the emergency?”
Peter just motioned helplessly at you.
You were sitting on the floor, clutching your head, eyes narrowed at Peter like he’d committed war crimes.
Steve exhaled a Captain America Sigh. “Yep. Christmas morning.”
Nat walked in, assessed you, assessed Peter, and smirked.
“She’s fine. She looks like she wants to kill him, but she’s fine.”
Thor thundered in with a mug of cocoa the size of a toddler.
“IS THE LITTLE STARK WARRIOR DEAD?”
You shot him a look. “No, but Peter might be.”
Peter winced. “Babe, please—Morgan started it!”
Bruce poked his head in like a nervous meerkat.
“Should I… get ice? Or… a helmet for Peter?”
You reached up toward Bruce. “Ice. Before I pass out or commit violence.”
Peter was already trying to help you sit up properly, hands fluttering around your face.
“Does it hurt? Oh God—does it hurt a lot? Rate it 1–10—”
“Peter,” you snapped, voice low and dangerous. “If you say Mariah Carey one more time, you’re sleeping on the balcony.”
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great. Fantastic. I leave you three alone for ten minutes and suddenly we need medical, a therapist, and possibly a priest.”
Peter whispered, defeated, “I’m so dead…”
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
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