spider-man and steve rogers oneshots 2

Read Between the Lines: P.P

idek what this was lmaoooo. its just a bunch of fluff :) and cringe :)

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Peter always made sure to poke fun at you for your stature, as if you could control being on the 5'4 and under, 'petite' side. He'd seize every possible opportunity to tease you about your height, whether that be lifting you up by the waist to move you aside instead of just asking politely, using you as an armrest, or his personal favorite lines, 'Oops, didn't see you there' or 'I couldn't hear you from way down there!' or '5'4? More like 4'4.' (In your opinion, 5'4 wasn't even short at all. But he stood at 5'8 and a half, so you were a 'midget' in his eyes.) He'd called you cute more times than you could count and while you knew he was just joking around, the comments still got on your nerves.

But whatever you lacked in height, you made up for with uncanny talent. Having been injected with an attempted replica of Steve's super-soldier serum, you could run a mile in 5 minutes, never miss a shot, and were nearly unmatched in hand-to-hand combat and knife-throwing. Natasha would help you train daily to hone your skills, being your sparring partner and personal trainer. Clint would teach you archery, and every morning at the crack of dawn you'd wake up and take a run with Steve and Sam.

"Morning, boys," you greeted as you came into the kitchen dressed in full workout gear, pulling a bottle of iced tea out of the fridge and taking a long gulp.

"Stark 2," Sam greeted, before you launched into your secret handshake. "Still as jumpy as ever?"

"You bet."

"Peter's gonna be coming along, so we're gonna leave in about five minutes," Steve informed you. "You're ready to go, right?"

"Yup."

"Prepared to get your butt kicked, Y/N?" Peter grinned widely as he arrived a few minutes later.

"In your dreams, Spider-Boy," you smirked, lacing up your tennis shoes. "A boy can dream."

"Ooh, rivalry..." Sam glanced over at you two, then his smile faltered as you proceeded to trash-talk each other, "Oh, no. There's two of them."

"How are you so tiny but somehow, miraculously, I don't even know how, so fast?"

"How can your long legs propel you forward so slowly even though you're tall?"

"Midget."

"Giraffe."

"Alright, alright," Steve cleared his throat, "enough of the banter and let's get going! You can gloat once we're done."

You tapped your wristwatch as you got off the subway and arrived at Central Park, glancing around at your surroundings. Perfect running weather. You weren't about to let Peter's snarky comments get you down; not today.

Especially not with twenty bucks on the line.

It didn't matter whether Tony was your father or not, every buck counted.

"On my mark, get set...go!" Sam shouted, and you took off sprinting. Within seconds you'd steadied into a smooth pace, feet pounding against the ground as you went as fast as your legs could possibly go. The cool breeze felt good against your skin, and for a moment you let yourself go, forgetting you were actually competing against someone and instead, just taking a leisurely jog through the beauty of New York City.

"Sorry!" you yelled as you whizzed by a little boy, practically knocking him over from your speed. "I'm sorry!"

"On your right, Cap! Heads up!" you called out to Steve, who was several meters ahead of you.