#Mr. Stark and Peter Parker interactions: a thread | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Text

fine line - p.p

pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: there’s a fine line between love and hate and you and Peter dance it on a regular basis

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

When your dad told you he had recruited a boy your age to the Avengers, you felt a little flame of jealousy bubble inside you. Without any superpowers of your own, you were often left out of the heroic and dangerous missions the Avengers went on. Your dad did his best to include you by letting you help out in the lab and tag along on lowkey missions, but that all changed when Peter started coming around.

A lot of things changed when Peter started coming around.

The way he seemed to replace you, and so effortlessly at that, boiled into a deep resentment for the young hero. He was always there, occupying the spaces you once did, and you resented it. You resented him.

Just not as much as you resented the way he made your heart flutter when he looked at you.

“What are you guys doing?” You asked as you walked into the lab to see your dad. Peter was by his side, as he always was, making you roll your eyes. Peter smiled brightly at you as you sat down, and you gave him a tight lipped smile back.

“Hey, Princess.” Your dad greeted. “We’re adding back up back up jets in the butt of Rhodey’s suit in case the back up jets in his legs fail.”

“I call them the weapons of ass destruction.” Peter said gleefully as he held up the jets.

“Yeah, hilarious.” You said sarcastically and turned to your dad. “Um, daddy, I thought we were gonna do that.”

“Sorry sugar plum. I needed to get this done before the trip later and sticky fingers said I shouldn’t wake you.” Tony apologized to you and a familiar feeling of anger filled your tummy. This wasn’t the first time you’d found Peter doing something with your dad that you were originally supposed to do. It seemed like every plan you made, Peter weaseled his way in and took your place. You looked at Peter with narrowed eyes, to which he responded with a sympathetic smile.

“Did he now?” You said, just a little bitterly.

“Maybe you can help us next time. Did you sleep well?” Peter asked politely, and you just rolled your eyes.

“Did I sleep well? What are you, my Fitbit?” You snorted and looked away from him. Peter’s heart sank at yet another rejection from you, but he kept his mouth shut and continued working. Your eyes shifted back to him once he went back to his work, feeling a pang of guilt for being short with him.

“What trip are we going on later?” You directed your question only to your father, acting like Peter wasn’t there.

“Cap got a hit on where Bucky might be. We’re heading to Canada to check it out.” Your dad explained as he twisted a screwdriver.

“Okay. I’ll pack my stuff.” You got out of your chair and went to leave before you heard your dad sigh.

“Sorry Princess, but this is just gonna be an avengers thing.” He said with apologetic eyes. “We only have room in the jet for four and I promised Peter-“

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, not wanting to hear about Peter again. “I’ll just hang out with mom.”

“It’s really cold in Canada anyway. It’ll probably be a bad trip.” Peter offered to make you feel better.

“Yeah, thanks weather boy.” You teased and looked at your dad again. “Can we hang out tomorrow then?”

“Of course. Mall and a smoothie?” He asked, making you smile as he suggested your signature thing to do together.

“Mall and a smoothie.” You nodded, happy that he was finally making time for you. You rested your chin in your hands and watched them work, feeling slightly better now that you made plans with your dad that Peter couldn’t infiltrate.

You tripped over a cardboard box the next day, stumbling right into Peters arms as he caught you. You looked down and saw a bunch of boxes outside your old playroom, boxes with Peters handwriting on them.

“What is all this? You’re blocking the hallway.” You snipped at Peter as you stepped out of his arms.

“Sorry, Y/n. I’m almost done.” Peter apologized as he picked up another box. “Hey, I like your shirt.”

“Almost done with what?” You ignored his compliment, despite it making your face flush.

“Moving in. Mr. Stark gave me this room so I wouldn’t have to commute here everyday.” Peter explained. Your eyes widened up upon hearing this, not believing your dad would let Peter move in without asking you.

“You’re moving in?” You nearly yelled, making Peter clutch his box in fear that he did something wrong.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded. “Maybe we can hang out more now that-“

“Sorry, I’ll be right back.” You cut him off and rushed to the kitchen, finding your dad rummaging through the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” You demanded.

“Making a smoothie. Want one?” He offered as he shut the refrigerator with his butt.

“No thank you.” You shook your head. “And I’m talking about Peter. Why did he tell me he’s moving in?”

“Oh, cause he is. Now, do I want straw-bana or kale-berry?” Your dad pondered as he tapped his chin.

“Why does he have to live here? He has a house.” You reminded him.

“He has an apartment smaller than the first dollhouse I bought you. Princess, he was basically living in a cardboard box and sleeping under newspapers.”

“This isn’t an dog pound, daddy. We can’t just take in strays.” You whined, wishing he could take your side for once.

“He’s not a stray. He’s my son.” Tony quipped as he booped your nose and crossed the kitchen. Your heart sank to your stomach at his words and you felt your face fall.

“No he…no he isn’t.” You sputtered in a weak voice.

“Cheer up, sour patch. Think of it this way, now you have a brother.” Tony shrugged and dropped some blueberries in the blender.

“I don’t want a brother. Our family is fine the way it is.” You insisted, feeling the jealousy come back in a wave when your dad called Peter his son.

“He’s a good kid, Princess.” Tony said in a tone that told you the conversation was over. “Give him a chance. He’ll surprise you. Hell, he surprised me.”

Before you could respond, Peter entered the kitchen with a happy smile.

“Hey Mr. Stark. Hi Y/n.” He waved at you and put some bowls in the cabinet.

“Yeah, hi Parker.” You said dismissively, wanting him to leave so you could finish talking to your dad.

“You ready?” Tony asked Peter as he poured the smoothie into two cups, handing one to Peter.

“Yep. I’ll see you in the theater.” Peter nodded as he clicked his glass against your dads.

“What are you guys doing?” You wondered, watching them interact with disgust.

“He’s got me hooked on this show about teenagers in a glee club. The writing is horrible, I love it.” Tony beamed as he took a sip form his cup.

“I thought we were gonna hang out today. You know, mall and a smoothie?” You reminded him, feeling a bubble of hurt that he didn’t remember.

“Oh, sorry buttercup.” Tony realized he forgot. “I promised Pete the treat I’d watch the show with him. Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded sadly as your dad cupped your chin and left the room.

“You could watch with us if you’d like. They sing a lot of the songs you like.” Peter extended an invitation to you when he saw your disappointment.

“Thanks for the sales pitch, but I’m good.” You mumbled at him and left the kitchen, missing the solemn look on Peters face as you went.

“She doesn’t like me.” Peter sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at his smoothie.

“No, she does not.” Tony laughed, cutting it short when Peter looked at him in dispare. “Oh, not funny. Don’t sweat it, kid. It took me a long time to like you too. She’ll come around.”

“Okay, good.” Peter nodded, content with the answer. “Wait, what?”

“FRIDAY, what’s my assignment?” You asked the screen outside the lab as you reported for your job the following day.

“Good morning, Y/n.” FRIDAY greeted. “Mr. Stark asks that you repair bullet holes in one of the suits.”

“Cool. Let me in.”

“Access granted.” FRIDAY chirped as the doors opened. You only got a few paces into the lab when you saw Peter sitting at a table, sighing in annoyance at the sight of him.

“Hello.” He said weakly, knowing you wouldn’t thrilled to see him.

“What are you doing in here?” You eyed him skeptically as you got some tools off a shelf.

“Not much at the moment.” Peter shrugged, trying to make a light hearted joke.

“Well you can’t stay. I have an assignment.” You told him, a little proudly at that. You were finally given a task after being idle for months.

“Actually, I have to stay.” Peter said, looking a little weary of you as you neared him.

“Why?”

“I am your assignment.” He grimaced, anticipating your reaction to be bad.

“You have bullet holes?” You folded your arms and eyed his body.

“Canadians aren’t as friendly as I thought.” Peter chuckled.

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes. “Where’s the suit?”

“Right here.” Peter pulled it out of his backpack. “Theres three of them. The holes are in the front. And the back. They sorta went through.”

“Went through?” Your eyes widened as you worried for him. “As in went through your body?”

“Canadians really aren’t as friendly as I thought.”

“You said that already.” You stated as you laid his suit out on the table.

“Sometimes jokes are funnier when you say them twice.” Peter explained, coming to stand by your side.

“I don’t need you to explain humor to me.” You grumbled as you began working on the holes.

“Feels like I do.” Peter muttered, adverting his eyes from you.

“Excuse me?” You snapped your head up to glare at him.

“Nothing.” He gave you an obviously fake smile. “Nothing at all.”

Doing your best to ignore him, you got back to your work. He was close enough that you could feel his breath in your neck, your elbows touching every-time you pulled on the thread.

“Is there a reason you’re hovering?” You said suddenly, losing your ability to focus with him that near.

“I just want to make sure you’re doing it correctly.” He shrugged, leaning down to check your work. Your jaw dropped a little, feeling offended that he didn’t have faith in your to do it correctly.

“So what, you think I can’t patch a bullet hole on my own?” You laughed shortly as you raised as eyebrow at him.

“Well I know the suit better than you do.” He said simply, taking pleasure in getting a rise out of you.

“I helped design it, Parker.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I know it just as well.”

“Then you won’t mind me making sure of that.” Peter shot back, running his finger over the newly patched hole.

“Whatever.” You scoffed and went back to work. “Just because you’re my dads lab rat doesn’t mean you’re mine.”

“I didn’t say I was.” Peter leaned again, watching your work closely.

“And yet.” You looked up with a sarcastic smirk, your nose nearly touching his from how close he was. “Hovering.”

“Sorry.” Peter mumbled and took a step back.

“You said there were three holes. I only see two.” You realized as you held the suit up.

“That’s weird. I definitely got shot three times.” Peter tilted his head as he stared at it.

“Did you find three bullets?” You asked him, a rare moment of civility.

“No. Just two. Oh…” He trailed off when he realized where the third bullet was.

“Yeah. Oh.” You mocked him. “Take your shirt off.”

“What?” Peter furrowed his eyebrows at your request as you went to a different shelf in the lab.

“You can’t leave the bullet in there, you’ll get an infection.” You reminded him as you set medical supplies on the table. “Take your shirt off.”

Peter hesitantly pulled his shirt over his head once you turned around to disinfect the table. You turned around, needle in hand, and turned a deep red at the sight of him.

“Good.” You swallowed thickly. “Just leave it on the counter.”

“Are you trained to do this?” Peter worried as he folded his t shirt. You did your best to hold eye contact, but your eyes slipped every now and then.

“I’ve read about how to do it.” You said quietly, not trusting your voice to be steady.

“Have you ever done it before?” Peter wondered as he stared at the large needle.

“I’ve read about how to do it.” You repeated to avoid the question.

“See? You said the joke twice. That makes it funny.” He smiled smugly at you and you made a face.

“Shut up and get on the table.” You groaned and he complied, laying on his side to let you work. You rounded the table to work on his back where the exit wound was located.

“Oh good.” You commented as you rested a hand on his bare rib cage. “It’s right at the surface.”

“Okay. Try not to kill me while you’re back there.” Peter looked at you over his shoulder so you stuck your tongue out at him.

“I won’t.” You grumbled, hesitating a little as your stared at his wound. “Um, this is gonna hurt.”

You felt a moment of sympathy for him, knowing he was in for a lot of pain. His skin was hot, even under your surgical glove you could feel it. In a brief lack of judgment, you squeezed his arm to comfort him.

“I’m Spiderman. Nothing hurts - SON OF A BITCH.” Peter screamed as you pressed a hydrogen peroxide soaked gauze pad to his wound. You quickly took out the tweezer and fished out the bullet, all while Peter hissed in pain.

“Sorry sorry sorry.” You stammered and threw the bullet into a dish. “It’s out.”

“Oh my God. I feel like a pencil sharpener.” Peter whined as he rubbed his back near the area.

“Sit up. I’ll patch you up.” You said in a kinder tone then he was used to hearing.

“You don’t have to.” Peter looked at you as he sat up straight.

“Yes I do. You’re my assignment.” You shrugged, trying to portray that you couldn’t care less when in reality, you did. As much as he got under your skin, you didn’t want to see him hurt.

You poured more hydrogen peroxide on a gauze pad as you cleaned his wound, feeling his body retract at first contact.

“That’s cold.” He winced, twisting his body around to avoid the pad.

“It’s also gonna save your life.” You grumbled. “Hold still.”

“Ow.” Peter jolted when you applied numbing cream to the wounds. “Cold again.”

“Can you stop whining?” You yourself whines as you blew on his cuts.

“Can you be a little more gentle?” He retorted. “Just try to be nice to me for five minutes. It can’t be that hard.”

“I am nice to you.” You hissed as you started your sutures. “I sewed up your dumb suit and I’m cleaning your stupid cuts so you don’t get an infection in your dumb ass body. I am nice.”

“Said the joke twice.” Peter quipped, grinning at you over his shoulder to rub it in.

“Shut up.” You sneered. “Stop fidgeting.”

“You think I’m funny.” He said in a sing song voice. “That’s fine. I get it all the time.”

“Oh my God. Could you be anymore irritating?” You groaned as you put the last bandaid on his back. You walked around the table to patch the front, looking up at him shyly as his bare chest rose and fell.

“Easily.” He snickered. “Wanna see?”

“I’ve seen plenty, trust me.” You rolled your eyes, meaning more than one thing with your words. Peter smirked a little, able to heart your rapid heartbeat with his advanced hearing. You rested a hand in his shoulder as you cleaned his chest, the wounds in the front stinging less as they already began to heal. Peter watched you intently as you worked, admiring the way you bit your lip when you concentrated.

“You know, if you stopped acting like I was the devils spawn for a minute, you might actually like me. We’d get along.” He laughed softly, making you look up at him. Your eyes locked and for a moment, he saw kindness in them. It quickly retreated as your face hardened, looking down to avoid his gaze.”

“Thanks for the life advice but I think I’ll pass.” You replied sarcastically as you opened a bandage.

“Is there a reason you don’t like me?” Peter honestly wondered. “Is it something I did?”

“No.” You grumbled, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment. “Be quiet, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Oh, I get it.” Peter nodded like he knew something you didn’t.

“You get what?” You took the bait, looked up at him in angry confusion.

“You like me.” Peter smirked, making your whole body ignite. Your face twisted in shock, followed by anger as you stumbled over the right words to say.

“What?” You sputtered. “What could possibly lead you to believe I like you?”

“That’s the most obvious answer.” Peter pretended to yawn, making you even angrier. “You’re mean to me because I you like me. Classic playground logic. It’s cute if you think about it.”

“I do not!” You stamped your foot, feeling frustrated that you couldn’t come up with a better argument. He had caught you red handed and you didn’t see a way out.

“Okay.” Peter’s voice was dripping with false innocence. “I believe you.”

“Listen Parker.” You growled, leaning your hands on either side him and gripping the table. “Let me make this clear, I do not, nor will I ever, like you. I don’t even tolerate you.” You shook your head slowly while holding his gaze. “I don’t want you here, okay? My life was a whole lot better before you came around and ruined it. If it were up to me, you’d be thrown out on your ass before lunch. I do not like you.”

“And yet,” Peter leaned forward, tilting his head a little, “your heartbeat says something entirely different. You know what they say, there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

“You’re all done.” You ripped off your gloves with a loud snap. “Put your shirt back on.”

Peter smirked as he tugged his shirt over his head, loving the angry flush he left on your face. You gave him one last glare before storming out of the lab, your footsteps echoing loudly as you went.

“See you later!” Peter called cheerfully, laughing when you let out an angry huff.

To be continued…

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x stark!daughter #peter parker angst #peter parker enemies to lovers #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x reader

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farfromparker · 5 years

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Too Busy Being Yours Part 2

Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Read Part 1!

Summary: Tony sent you on a mission with Bucky and Sam and Natasha and not Peter. When you finally get back, you’ve got a lot of time to make up for.

Warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), sub!peter (Peter is 19!)

Word Count: 4.5k

It’s worse.

Oh it’s so much worse.

Peter’s not sure what he was expecting… to not want you more? To think about you less because he’s slept with you? For the dreams to stop? Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And as luck would have it, or rather not have it, Tony had sent you on a mission the morning after your first night together. With Bucky and Sam and Natasha, and not Peter. You’d left so early, Peter didn’t even get to say goodbye. It was supposed to take a few days. But it had been almost two weeks now and Peter was losing his mind. He’d jacked off more in the past several days than he had in months but it was never enough. He’d started pouting instead, hassling Mr. Stark for any update on when you’d be back.

“Top secret, kid,” he’d always reply, smirking.

It was closing in on 16 days without you when F.R.I.D.A.Y. finally wakes him. Alerting him that you and the others had finally returned. He trips over his sheets trying to get out of bed fast enough. He doesn’t even bother pulling a shirt on, his boxers alone will suffice.

He gets down to the ground floor just as you and Natasha are walking in. Your black stealth suit hugs your body, hips swaying as you talk over details of the mission with Tony.

Peter feels about 5 inches tall suddenly, bare foot, shirtless, waiting for you. But you’ve got to debrief. Tony needs to know everything that happened and it’s barley 1am. You won’t be free until the morning and by then all you’ll want to do is sleep. He wrings his hands together nervously.

For a moment, he debates just going back to his room in an attempt to save face but as soon as the idea crosses his mind, you see him.

Your eyes lock and a wide grin spreads across your face. “Peter,” you say, interrupting Tony.

Peter returns your smile, cheeks aching with how happy he is to see you. Tony takes a moment to be dramatically offended, studying the two of you before telling you to just meet him in the third floor conference room. Natasha winks at you as she walks by, following Tony upstairs.

“Hey,” you breath.

“Hi,” he returns, sighing as you wrap your arms around the nape of his neck. His hands settle on your hips as you press against him. You smell like gunpowder and dirt… and blood. “Are you hurt?” He asks, eyebrows pinching.

You smile at his concern, “Nothing I can’t handle baby boy.”

And that pet name shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. He bites his lip and watches your gaze flick down to the movement. Finally, you lean in and kiss him. Lips molding together and that itch he hasn’t been able to scratch starts to ease. The silence is broken quickly though by whistles and catcalls. He freezes, making out the voices of Sam and Bucky. He thinks of pulling away, telling them to fuck off but your grip tightens on the back of his neck, holding him in place and deepening the kiss. Thankfully the two of them make no more fuss, continuing upstairs.

He sighs when you pull away, not nearly close to having his fill of you.

“I need to debrief, and then shower,” you state, trailing a finger down his stomach, “wait for me up in my room?”

“Okay, yeah, course.” He sounds eager but with the feeling of your lips still burning against his, he knows you feel the same way.

You wink, “Perfect, shouldn’t be too long.”

Famous last words.

He falls asleep in your bed just past 2am, and when he wakes to the door opening, the neon red numbers of your clock tell him it’s almost 4am.

“Hey,” he rubs sleep from his eyes and sits up so he can see you properly.

“Sorry Peter, clearly I underestimated just how detail oriented Stark can be.”

“No, no it’s fine. Do you uh - want me to go back to my room?”

You smile sweetly, “Only if you want to.”

He definitely doesn’t want to. When he makes no move to get off your bed, you smile again, shutting your door behind you.

“Good. I need to shower. And I’m going to ask you to join but not in the fun way.” You walk into the bathroom and turn the light on, looking back at him. “My injuries may be a little worse than I initially lead on.”

Peter jumps out of bed then, coming over to you, hands hovering close to your sides as if he’s expecting you to collapse.

“I need help getting out of this suit.”

He nods, following you into the light. Carefully, you thread your fingers into your hair to pull it to the side. Peter can see the zipper now, and delicately, he pulls it down. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut as your bruises began to make themselves known. Your spine is riddled with them, dark purple and angry looking. Some are green around the edges, a few days old by now.

As you shrug out of the suit he sees stitches wind around the curve of your waist, roughly the length of his thumb. The suit pools around your ankles and he drops to his knees, helping get your legs free. There’s another large bruise on the outside of your right thigh and he finds himself leaning in, placing a soft kiss on the purple flesh.

“Y/n,” he whispers, voice cracking.

You turn to look at him, and he hadn’t even realized he was crying until your thumb wipes away his tears.

“Downstairs, you didn’t seem - why didn’t you tell me?”

You rub his cheek, smiling sadly, “I’m on a hell of a pain killer, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well I’m officially worried.” He pouts. Catching sight of a cut on your arm, dried blood smeared across your skin.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure, running your fingers through his hair, “I’ve been through worse. Now c’mon, help me shower.”

He’s reluctant, he has so many questions but the look in your eyes tells him to stop, so he succumbs. He’ll fish the answers out of you later. And so he brings himself to the present, focusing on what’s important now. He helps you out of your bra and underwear, kicking his boxers off quickly as well before turning the water on and reaching out for you.

You hiss when the water first touches you, spraying across damaged and tender skin. Peter’s gentle, helping rub away dirt and blood.

He offers to wash your hair and your eyes sparkle at his words. You don’t have trouble raising your arms above your head, you could do it yourself. But in this moment, you really don’t want to. So you accept his help, guiding him through the steps.

“I never use conditioner,” he confesses, having no clue when and how much of it to use.

“The fact that your hair is that soft without it is really offensive.” You grumble, body sagging under his touches as he massages your head. Small moans of pleasure slipping past your lips.

You stay under the spray of the water longer than necessary, feeling the heat pound against your tired body. Peter is next you, keeping himself close, arm loose around your waist like he still doesn’t trust your legs to keep you upright. He’s at an awkward angle though, you notice, hips turned away from you and you smile to yourself.

“You’re hard.”

“What? I mean - yes. But don’t mind him, he’s a prick, doesn’t know how to read a room. This is clearly not the time.”

You laugh against his shoulder, “It’s a complement honestly, if we were in here together and you weren’t hard, I think I’d be offended.”

You pause for a second, chewing on your bottom lip before turning and looking him in the eyes, “Are you going to take care of it?”

He sputters, “Wha- now? I don’t- I’m - no?”

You smile at him, that innocent way about him you remember is still there. His big, puppy dog eyes stare back at you for answers. He wants so much, you can feel it in the way he touches you, see it in how he interacts with you. It pleads with you to crack it open. And god do you want to.

You turn the water off and decide, baby steps. You must crawl before you walk, walk before you can run.

As you step out of the shower, Peter’s already reaching for a towel and wrapping it around you. You dry off as quickly as you can, tenderly dabbing at your injuries. Peter’s rubbing a towel against his curls, turned away from you, still subconsciously embarrassed. You hang your towel, running your fingers through your wet locks when he reaches for his boxers.

You touch him softly as you walk by, enough to get his attention and he looks at you. “Sleep naked Peter.” It’s meant as a suggestion, but there’s enough of an order in your tone that Peter doesn’t think twice about not listening.

He swallows harshly, cock still hard between his thighs and he wants to have a real conversation with his dick because this is so not the time. Yes, you’re still naked, and gorgeous as ever… but covered in bruises, and minutes ago he was still watching your blood circle the drain. Fuck hormones.

You crawl into bed gingerly, finding the best position to accommodate your sore body. He flicks the bathroom light off, hoping to regain at least some of his dignity in the dark. But no, your blinds aren’t pulled and there’s a full moon, light streaming in and he feels like, if anything, it just accentuates the fact that his dick has a mind of its own.

He lifts up the sheets, settling down easily into your bed. You’re on your side, facing him, and he can feel your stare.

He turns towards you, reaching out to cup your cheek, “Should get some sleep.” He suggests, rubbing his thumb along your skin. He feels you smile, turning your head to kiss his palm.

“What if I’m not sleepy? What if I don’t think you are either?”

“Y/n we can’t have sex, you’re not-”

“No, I’m in no shape for that. But I wouldn’t mind a show.”

It takes him a second, his brain processing what you're suggesting. “You wanna watch me?”

You nod firmly, reaching out under the sheets to touch him. “I’d like that very much Peter. I want to hear the sounds you make when you touch yourself. I want to hear the obscene wet noises as you fist your cock. I want you to tell me what you think about; what you have been thinking about since I’ve been gone.”

His mouth pops open. He was annoyingly hard before, a small voice in the back of his mind. Now it’s screaming in his face, throbbing and aching and he can’t ignore it any longer. You read his expression, not needing a vocal affirmation to know he’ll do exactly what you want.

“There’s lube in the drawer,” you nod towards your nightstand behind him. He fumbles, the moonlight not helping aid in his search. His fingers grope along the contents and he hesitates when he realizes what he’s found. “Don’t mind the vibrator. Or… you can use that on me later if you want to.”

Peter whines pathetically. Cock twitching, leaking a bead of pre cum. You haven’t touched him, you won't be touching him, and yet the hold you have over him is tangible. Finally, his fingers wrap around the little bottle and he settles onto his back, pushing the sheets down his body so you can see. He chews on his lip, finding your eyes on the dim light and waits, wanting you to guide him.

“Touch yourself sweetheart.”

He eagerly pops the cap on the bottle of lube, drizzling a dollop of liquid onto his palm. You shake your head.

“More. I want your dick to be as wet as it would be if you were fucking me.”

He groans, dropping his head back into the pillow. His cock jerks against his stomach again, more pre cum dribbling down onto his skin.

You reach a hand out, fingers hovering over the head of his dick. “Are you getting wet for me baby boy?”

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut to try and get a grip. He feels your hand on his jaw then, turning his head towards you and he opens his eyes.

“Answer me, Peter.” Your voice is soft but firm.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I’m so fucking hard for you my cock is leaking.”

You smile devilishly, proud of his dirty mouth. You drop your hand away, giving him the signal to continue. He sucks in a deep breath, squeezing more lube into his hand. You don’t comment this time so he assumes you’re happy with the amount. He shuts the lid and tosses the bottle aside, immediately forgotten. Slowly, he reaches down, wrapping a fist around himself and his hips flex up into his hand. He spreads the lube around generously and in no time at all that obscene wet noise you wanted to hear is ringing in his ears.

He tugs at his cock gradually, you wanted a show and he wants to give you one. But fuck if this isn’t going to test his stamina. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, the sting of pain a mild distraction.

You trail your fingers down his stomach, feeling the muscles work beneath your touch. “Have you been doing this since I’ve been gone?”

“Yes,” and he knows you want to hear more so he brings up the courage to keep talking, “daily, multiple times a day.” His breathing is starting to labor, that ache in his groin is growing stronger.

“And what do you think about?”

“You, always you. Your skin, your touch, how wet you were…” for me.

“I’m wet now, Peter. Do you wanna feel me?”

There’s only one thing in this moment that could have pulled his hand off his cock and it’s your offer. “God yes.” He says quickly, hand falling away from himself. He turns towards you and gingerly you move onto your back, spreading your legs for him. His fingers ghost along the inside of your thigh. He’s touched you before, hell you’ve cum on his cock already. But this seems different, more intimate and he’s shyer than he was that first time.

He dips his finger along your pussy slowly and his chest tightens when he feels how wet you are. You sigh as he skims across your clit, and he moves down, carefully pushing his middle finger inside you. His cock throbs as your wetness and heat envelope his finger.

“I - can I-” he clears his throat. “I wanna taste you.”

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair and he moves easily as you tug his head back to look him in the eyes.

You nod, “If you want to Peter, you can. You can do anything you want to me.”

He whines and squeezes his eyes shut. “You can’t just say things like that.”

You smirk, continuing to rake your fingers along his scalp, “Why? It’s true.”

He glares at you, trying to keep his voice level to hide the fact that he’s putty in your hands (like you don’t already know). “You’re gonna be the death of me.” He grumbles, getting up to settle between your legs, careful not to bump against you.

You laugh, “Death by orgasm? There’s no better way to die.”

He doesn’t have a retort, mostly because you’re right, and so he just rolls his eyes, focusing on what’s in front of him. And what’s in front of him has him dizzy with arousal. You’ve spread your legs further for him, and he can see your wetness now, can smell you and all he wants to do is bury his face between your thighs.

He’s self conscious though, now that his brain has caught up with his body. You reach for his hand, seeing his hesitation and squeeze, he glances up to see you staring back at him.

“You don’t have to, Peter.”

“No! God no, it’s not that. I want to - I really want to. I just - I’ve never…”

“You might not like it.” You say, realistically. And you’re not going to force him into anything, there are a million different ways he could get you off without his tongue.

He rolls his eyes, “I’m going to like it, I just - I wanna make sure you like it.”

It’d be impossible to say that eagerness and willing to please didn’t turn you on even more. “I’ll tell you what I like.”

He likes the sound of that, he likes when you tell him what to do, and all he really wants is to hear his name falling from your lips. He nods, mostly to himself and leans in.

He’s not tentative like you thought he would be. For lack of a better word, he dives in, forcing a gasp from you lips. He moans when he gets a real taste of you, hands gripping into the sheets to pull you closer. He can properly bury himself deeper in your cunt now. Nose bumping steadily against your clit.

“Fuck, Peter.”

And he doubles down on his efforts, he wants to keep hearing you, knowing he’s the cause. It's a little uncoordinated, but his ambition is more than enough to make up for it.

“That’s good, yeah.” You moan, reaching down to curl a fist in his hair. “You can -” and you guide him a little, bringing his tongue up to your clit. “Suck.”

And he does, eyes opening for the first time since he got his mouth on you and his cock throbs with the sight he’s met with. Your back is arched off the bed, nipples hard, but skin soft under the glow of the moon. He almost forgets to keep his hands off you. Wanting nothing more than to feel you under his fingertips but he can’t remember where you’re hurt and the last thing he wants to do is fuck this up.

So he closes his eyes again, trying to focus but it’s hard to ignore how hard he is now. Your whimpers and moans going straight to his dick. And if he can’t touch you then he has to touch himself.

He groans as he wraps his hand around his cock, tugging quickly, to turned on to try and make this last.

“Don’t touch yourself Peter, I wanna be able to see you cum.”

He lets go immediately, making a desperate noise against you as he opens his eyes to meet your stare. He twitches under your gaze, aching for release but he won’t disobey you. Wouldn’t dream of it.

So he focuses back on you, your scent, your taste. You’re trembling under his touch now, eyes slipping shut as he flattens his tongue and works it against your clit.

“Oh fuck Peter, so good sweetheart.”

He’s completely buzzing under your praise, he’s dreamt about this, doing this to you, making you feel this way, and now it’s real. The whole situation is heady.

Your hand is searching for purchase when your fingertips skim across Peter’s knuckles. He reaches for you and you intertwine your fingers, squeezing his hand as he brings your closer and closer to orgasm.

Your toes curl and you’re doing everything in your power to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs around his head. It’s building quickly now, you can’t stop yourself from rocking your hips against his mouth.

“Peter, Peter, I’m gonna cum,”

It slams into you hard and fast. Back arching off the bed, body absolutely shaking from the force of it and Peter is working you through it, tongue steady against your clit and he can feel you clenching and fluttering.

When you sag back into the mattress, he pulls away. You body is glistening under the moonlight, chest heaving and Peter did that to you.

You look down at him, still breathing hard and run your fingers through his curls. He sighs into your touch, “How have you not eaten pussy before?”

And as it ridiculous as it feels in the moment, he blushes. Simply shrugging as an answer.

You rub along his scalp gently, “Did you like it Peter?”

“So much, could do that to you every day, twice a day, and not get sick of it.” Licking his lips to accentuate his point. Because hearing you like that? Doing that to you? Peter feels on top of the world.

You smile, “Come ‘ere.”

And he does, crawling over you carefully to situate himself against your side. You pull him into a kiss, and he opens his mouth to yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue. His cock nudges against your hip and you reach over to touch him, fingers running lightly up his hot, hard flesh. He moans, pulling away from your mouth because it suddenly feels like he can’t breath.

“Still feel like putting a show on for me?” You ask, eyes sparkling.

He laughs, rolling onto his back, “Won’t be much of a show.” And he’s not kidding, he knows once he gets his hand around his cock this will all be over soon.

You smirk, pushing up against his side, “That’s okay, the finale is the best part anyway.”

He can feel your nipples hard against his skin, lips ghosting along the shell of his ear as you whisper to him. He gets a hand around the base of his dick, squeezing as his stomach muscles jump.

“You’re gorgeous, Peter.” You purr. His breathing is uneven already, hips beginning to thrust up into his hand. “Such a pretty cock too. Love how you feel inside me. Can’t wait until you can properly fuck me again.”

He’s whimpering now, gasping loudly on every down stroke. “Y/n, I’m gonna - I can’t… I’m so close.”

“That’s alright baby boy, go on, cum for me.”

He moans your name, long and loud, echoing around the room and you’re sure he’s woken the entire tower. Pride prickles along your skin having Peter sound like that with your name on his lips.

He spills across his stomach, shuddering under his own touch. His eyes are screwed shut, head thrown back and you can see the veins prominent in his neck. He’s gasping, aftershocks of his orgasm vibrating through him.

His hand falls away and he opens his eyes just in time to see you dip your finger along the cum scattered across his stomach. You lock eyes with him as you bring your finger to your mouth, sucking obscenely.

He moans pitifully, “Fuck me.”

You pull your finger out your mouth slowly, savoring his taste. He can’t peel his eyes off you and you smirk. “Since I literally can’t fuck you, I’ll take it that was a figurative statement.”

He laughs, “It was definitely meant as both, just have to wait a bit for the literal part to come back into play.”

He gets up and heads to the bathroom to clean up. You reach for the sheets to wrap around your body, the air the room feels chilly now.

He comes back to bed and the heat from his body is lovely welcome. He kisses you on the cheek before moving to your lips, “Goodnight beautiful.” He says sweetly, one last kiss on the lips before he moves towards the side of the bed. He lays down on his side, facing you.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and you can see him watching you, “What are doing all the way over there?”

“I - your bruises, I don’t wanna hurt -”

“Remember what I said about a hell of a pain killer?” You ask as you slide up against him, nuzzling into his neck. “Besides, I'll sleep better if I’m on my side.”

Delicately, he wraps his arm around you, helping you snuggle against him. He pulls the blankets up around the two of you, relaxing into your bed.

“I missed you so much.” He confesses. Nervous to admit it out loud but figures it’s best to just be upfront with you.

You press your lips to his neck, “I missed you too Peter.”

The sky is starting to lighten, soft blues cascading over the horizon. You’re snug against his side, breathing deep and even and Peter falls asleep smiling.

***

You and Peter walk into the kitchen in the morning, nay afternoon, body stiff as your bruises continue to heal. Steve, Bucky, and Natasha are at the dining table. Natasha is in sweats, drinking coffee, no doubt having been awake not much longer than the two of you have. When she sees you walk in she breaks into a grin, leaning back in her chair and cocking an eyebrow at you. You smile back, knowing what’s coming.

There’s a chorus of ‘mornings’ around the kitchen and you pour yourself some coffee. Hopping up on the counter top after you’ve filled your cup, legs dangling against the cabinets. Peter hesitates for a moment, wanting to step into your space. You reach for his arm, giving him the okay to be close to you in front of them and he moves to stand between your legs, resting his back against your chest.

Bucky’s curled over a bowl of cereal. Steve’s reading the paper, and you notice how he pulls it up past his eyes as you glance in his direction.

“Peter, how was your night?” Natasha asks cooly. Smile cracking open wider when she watches Peter blush.

Steve groans. “You can’t leave anything alone can you?”

Natasha simply laughs and Bucky cuts in, “C’mon Steve, the whole tower heard em, it’s only fair to give them hell for it the next day.” Bucky turns his attention back to the two of you, “So Peter, I think Nat asked you a question.” He’s poking, wanting to embarrass Peter further but you can feel his demeanor change.

Peter squares his shoulders, his confidence returning, “Good, I had sex with my girlfriend I hadn’t seen in over 2 weeks. How was yours?”

You can see a smirk twitching on Steve’s lips and Natasha looks akin to the Cheshire Cat, leaning over the table, “I think Peter asked you a question Buck.”

Bucky grumbles, returning to his cereal. Steve gets back to actually reading the paper and Natasha settles back into her coffee.

You run your fingers up Peter’s arm and he turns to you, hands splaying across your thighs as he looks at you. “Girlfriend?” You ask quietly.

And that beautiful blush returns, “It just slipped out,” he whispers, trying to keep this conversation between the two of you, “I’m sorry - I know we haven’t - I mean I don’t know if you-”

“I like the sound of it.” You cut him off, saving him from his own rambling.

His eyes widen, “You do?”

You nod, biting back an even bigger smile than the one adorning Peter’s face right now.

“Girlfriend,” he says again, leaning in to brush his lips against yours and you can’t help but smile into the kiss.

Taglist:

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#peter parker #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #sub!peter #peter parker fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfic #peter parker smut #my writing

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blushing-starker · 4 years

Text

For my Gracie dear. What would I do without you in my life? Merry Christmas darling. @vaguekiwi

"Well, you wouldn't really be in this position if you had accepted my proposal, baby cheeks. In fact, I'm practically drooling over the thought of you saying fuck it and coming to visit with a few surprises beneath that second skin you're rocking." Two sentences, two very different tones of voice, both trying to coax him in. Reprimand and flirt, the only possible courses of action for Wade when it came to them.

"So I guess it's true what they say; chivalry died when you were born, Wade. Every single conversation between us is proof and the world knows it." He grinned as soon as he heard the exaggerated gasps over the landline, always loved these tennis matches with his partner in crime.

Sure, the 'red devil' of Cliffwood often threaded barely subtle, often outlandish innuendos into their interactions and never denied the neighborhood a chance of seeing him draped over Peter, but it was, God forgive him, fun. Exciting and a little thrilling.

And also past their bedtime. So to speak. "I gotta go and I know Wanda likes to cook late. Go help her in the kitchen, Mr Gifted Hands. Vision might give me an A in the next exam if I told him I encouraged you to make his favorite lasagna." It won't happen, obviously. The Maximoffs, because Vision had adopted the name on his second date with Wanda long before their wedding, were usually chaotic neutrals that tried sticking to the right side of the law. Hopefully, Mr Maximoffs' morality would at least allow the man to add a five point bonus on Peter's next physics test.

"Oh, you finally admit my hands are gifted, Mr Parker? How forward of you." If there was one thing that he loved about being friends with the incorrigible Wade Wilson, it was how the man oozed sex like it was nothing. His surety in it, in flirting, in courting and joking made Peter feel at ease. Most people, even those like Mr Rogers with his slightly conservative views, enjoyed Wade's antics because they were harmless.

Most of the time. The guy had slept with two thirds of the town, after all.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Wade. What would Vanessa say of-"

"Please, the woman basically throws me at people in the hopes of watching me sleep with them."

"you being with me before her?"

"..."

Peter squinted at a shiny red nail, worried he'd somehow messed up Morgan's job of decorating him in the Christmas spirit. The lamp next to the couch is a tad dimmer than usual, right, he has to swap the bulbs. He'd completely forgotten in the midst of playing with Morgan and Rocky, baking them brownies, battling the upstairs shower mold, decluttering the toy boxes and throwing something semi appealing for dinner. There was a spare light in the, was it the garage? No, his memory had been reduced to physics laws and the kids' allergies, but Peter's sure he would have noticed. Maybe Morgan had hidden them in the office, Rocky liked chewing on light bulbs so it's not too unlikely

"Shit, Parker, now I'm thinking about that, Jesus. Christ on a bicycle! Hmm? It's nothing, Wanda, just Peter being a brat and a tease."

"Hey, I'm not a brat!"

"Says you. I bet a certain member of the awesome facial hair club could evidence the opposite. Actually, I'll go right over and ask, hey!" The sound of Wade distinctly face planting onto the Maximoffs couch sent Peter into enough hysterics he could barely make out what Wanda was saying.

"I sincerely apologize for the little devil-"

"I'm almost two heads taller than you!"

"that can't seem to mind his manners no matter how many times we try to teach him how to be human."

"It's," God, he's wheezing like a freshman first day of gym with Coulson, "perfectly alright, Miss. I'm the one that should say sorry for keeping him up so late, I know he has chores to do around the house. Lovely Christmas lights, by the way. I think you guys might win the competition again this year."

There's a tiny worm of guilt crawling up his throat; how could he distract Wade when Wanda had her hands full with an energetic baby ready to sprint out of the house at any moment?

"Oh sweet Peter," she drawls out the vowels, like they're honey and she's trying her best to stretch them out, savour them, "you really think so? I thought the yard looked perfect, but Vision insisted on decorating the roof to 'ensure our win against my dear brother in law'. And please, a happy Wade that's finished his teasing for the day is wonderful for us. He cleans faster and doesn't kiss my cheeks as much."

"Wait, you did the roof?" He knew the Maximoff siblings were intense, had witnessed Pietro stabbing flamingos into Clint's lawn just to add some color to his already bright remodeling a weeks ago.

"You haven't seen it? Tell Morguna's father to take you outside to see it while the kids are watching television. That way you can go back with an excuse if you get too nervous with him."

Peter spluttered, ignored the fact his cheeks were flaming, pretended he couldn't hear Wade's howling through the phone. "I don't, I wouldn't, it's not like, I mean. The, the kids will probably sleep early tonight."

"Perfect, you won't have an excuse and he'll finally kiss you. Oh, Vision. Hello, dear, I'm saying goodbye to Peter. That idiot might kiss him tonight."

"Hello? Hello, Peter. I'm very happy for you both; but may I request you kiss after midnight? I'm afraid I made a substantial bet regarding that kiss and was hoping to get Clint back over Banner and Natasha."

Great, he'd died and entered a hell where the only thing he could do was stutter and flush crimson. Typical Parker luck, really.

"SurebyeMrandMrsMaximofflaterWade."

He slammed the phone back on its pedestal, dove into the leather couch and screamed until his throat ached.

--------

"Daddy? Peter, daddy's here! Don't let him go to our room until we're done with the Christmas card, please!" He yanked his head from under the cushions, scrambled to the door, tripped over Morgan's race car, narrowly avoided the destruction of Rocky's Lego chop shop, hastily stashed a pink apron in the drawers by the door, failed to straighten his sweater (a gift from the kids' grandmother) and took all of ten seconds to fix his hair before opening the door. In the exact moment the owner of the house leaned against it to enter.

There's a second where realization kicked in, worry is splashed over both their faces, he darted forward to help so the man's heart didn't shut down on them right then, said man wanted to preserve such a young, healthy body; they tried to control the damage.

They failed. Spectacularly. Crashed into each other, somehow elbows and knees sunk into bad spots, bone snapped, ligaments wept in pain, a chest became winded, one of them got a black eye and the other a constricted throat. This was, of course, before it started raining and two idiots got drenched while piled up on the front door.

Peter gasped, wasn't sure whether it was better to lie under his dream, his wet fantasy, his goal in life or allow his brain some oxygen.

To be fair, this would only happen the once. He could breathe for the rest of his lonely life.

"Uh, welcome home, Mr Stark. How was work to, today, sir, that's not my thigh." Wade would know. Jesus, Wade would find out Mr Stark touched his dick for the first time and it wasn't even on purpose.

"Kid, I'm so sorry. Here I was wondering if I could give you your Christmas gift without ruining the box and now look at me. Peter, you don't have to come back to work if you don't want to-"

"Wait, you got me a gift, Mr Stark?"

"I will pay you for this whole month, obviously." The man shuffled back, attempted to shakily stand up like a foal and immediately slid down onto the sleek young man.

"Not come back to? Mr, ow, Tony, I'm not going anywhere. Not on Christmas, not ever. Look at me." Don't look at what's between my legs, Peter prayed, don't look at how you are between my legs, don't look.

Tony Stark glanced down, inhaled sharply and snapped his gaze to the au pair's. He may have leaned against what he hoped was his Christmas gift. Maybe.

"I'm not leaving, Mr Stark." The rain kept drizzling into the house, his throat continued to ache, the distance between their two bodies remained the same. But there was something in Mr Stark's eyes now, yes indeed, something Peter had resolutely ignored for the past six months while working with the sweetest family he'd ever known. It was the same something Wade yelled about when talking about his best friend's employer's face as it regarded the au pair.

"I think Wade might kill me if -"

"Rhode's is gonna choke me out if-"

"Are you two gonna kiss or not?"

They risked whiplash to peer right at, or, in Peter's position, upside down at Morgan and Rocky who unflinchingly stared at the ridiculous site their fathers made. Rocky even shook his head the way Tony did when he was disappointed. Little Morgan criss crossed her arms and Peter thought he'd sob because that's just how he taught her.

"We were going to put mistletoe on the door when you came in; we finished the holiday card months ago so that was the one thing left on the to do list."

"Months ago? I helped you two make one last week!"

"Oh yeah, how were you going to hang up mistletoe, daughter mine? There's no nail." A soft thwump over the doorway. It seemed Clint had given Morgan her own bow. And she knew how to use it.

They collected their courage, scraps of reduced pride, some drool and a tiny drop of sweat before turning to the man they'd been waiting for for so long.

"Mr Parker, will you do me the honor of bestowing a kiss upon an old man with creaking bones and heating hair?"

Oh. Oh, this was happening.

"I love your hair and I'll get you a walker that has a cup holder for water and a few pain pills. Mr Stark, will you kiss a kid from Queens who's so into you the red devil of Cliffwood himself doesn't dare sleep with either of us and get in the way?"

"Well, first of all. A walker, really, am I that old. Second, nice call on the pain pills, very good save on the hair. And please. He'd never get in the way of us two-"

"Great, are you gonna kiss me?"

"Why, Mr Parker. Don't mind if I do." It was a soft statement he would otherwise confuse as a plea.

"Fucking finally." That was a bit more of a pained gasp instead of a sigh of relief, but Morgan and Rocky were doing enough sighing for the both of them afterwards.

Afterwards though, when the blood is finally distributed to the right places

"Yeah, I think I broke my wrist and you should get that throat checked. I'll get the car."

"Tony, it's the fifties. I can get the car while you call Bucky to look over the kids. Anyone talks to me and they'll think you had something to do with my throat."

"That is a fantastic idea, sweetheart. Save it for later, maybe raincheck?"

"Get the car, Tony."

"Yep. Come on, you rascals. Help an old man out."

----------

Wade can't look at Tony without howling, mutters something about a limp wrist while Vanessa sighs and apologizes, compliments Peter on surviving life with a ridiculous best friend by his side. He says it's ok. Wade's his go to guy for whenever Peter has to get his head in the game and his lips on Tony's.

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aspiratixxn · 5 years

Text

Wiggles and wriggles and wounds, oh my!

Summary: Tony really wants to say fuck but he can’t in front of one insistently wiggly red spider boy.

Warnings: Blood and injuries.

Word Count: 1877

Notes: For @jalapenobarnes‘s writing challenge! I know I just signed up but I sort of just churned this out because it was fun to write and because I’m avoiding my two other fics heh. My prompt was “I’m trying to stop the bleeding!”, which just screamed Tony attempting to parent injured Peter.

🚫 Starkers don’t interact 🚫

“Will you PLEASE STOP THE WIGGLINGS.” Tony can’t curse because Peter is a child and he’s really trying to cut the habit for the press, but he so wants to say fuck right now. Like really, really wants to say fuck.

The cause of said desire is of course one grievously injured Peter Parker, who’s normally fluffy hair is slick with red and he wheezes with every breath. The wheezing is less concerning when it’s because Peter’s laughing at his own stupid jokes, coming out in a pour of words.

“B-but Mr. S-Stark,” he giggles, “I’m a SPIDER! We wiggle!” And to prove his point, he wiggles a little bit even though it makes him wince from all the gashes on his body.

Tony has been blessed with multiple kids in his life. But between Harvey, Morgan and Peter, he can finally feel his age catching up with him.

To combat the raging headache beginning to bud in the back of his head, Tony does a categorical assessment of the situation. Peter’s spider suit is torn to pieces pretty much. It’s not really salvageable so he’ll strip it for parts for the next suit. Friday and Karen do a scan and reveal some pretty heavy bruising and fractured bones but no internal bleeding or compound fractures (thank fuck). Peter’s weirdo heal factor is already plugging itself in so those will be gone in a day or two. Peter himself on the other hand refuses to stop talking or moving for even a minute and he’s babbling something about how spiders spin their webs and how they walk and how their legs bend. Who knows who spider’s legs bend?? Peter Parker that’s who.

“I am. Trying. To stop. The bleeding! So, if you’ll just be a good little spider and lie still for your flies or whatever you drain the goo out of, that’d be amazing. Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful.” Tony has never felt more grateful that he has an entire med kit packed into his suit as he’s spraying Neosporin on basically every inch of Peter’s body. If he could, he might be tempted to slam dunk the kid into a whole pool of the stuff. There is to be no infections on his watch. Not after the shit he experienced in Hong Kong a few months ago. That was absolutely horrible for a regular person, who’s to say what it’ll do to Peter who can’t take painkillers or antibiotics?

“Ewwww, goo? Goo’s gross. I mean I know spiders dissolve the guts of flies and other various small insects, and sometimes male spiders but like, what do you think it’s like to just slurp goo every day for food?” Peter makes a face, interrupted briefly by the sting that the spray brings. “But I guess it’s the buggy way since flies do it too. Hey Mr. Stark, did you know that flies secrete enzymes through their feet and they drink through their feet? Or that butterflies eat flesh? Did you know that?”

Deep breaths Stark.

“I did not but you know what, of everything I sure am glad you weren’t bitten by a butterfly. Or a fly. Or any other enzyme foot secreting insect.” It’s onto the wrapping even though the worst of the lacerations are already starting to look a little better. Tony whips out a sleeve of gauze and several rolls of bandages to begin wrapping around the more severe oozing cuts, mostly located on his arms and legs though there’s quite the nasty one on his chest. Peter snorts as he begins, fingers fumbling just a bit. He’s really not good at this. His forte is more like slapping on an Avengers band-aid on Morgan’s everyday scrapes, bumps and bruises. Pepper’s the real patcher-upper. She’s off in Thailand right now though, enjoying some mangoes and a very stubborn board of directors, insisting on cutting all funds to the avengers/S.H.I.E.L.D initiative.

“It’s not enzyme foot secretions! It’s an enzyme secreting foot!” Peter huffs. “And I mean yeah this spider stuff is pretty cool y’know especially for sneaking out and stuff like walking on walls is the bomb diggity but wouldn’t it be cool if I could fly?! Imagine that!!” That’s one arm down.

“First of all, spider boy, as long as you’re not secreting enzymes on the carpet it’s fine. You know how Pepper gets about her rugs.” Peter nods solemnly, apparently remembering the Jell-O goo incident on her nice Persian rug. “Secondly, have you been sneaking out? You know how I feel about you breaking curfew young man.” And it’s a pretty generous one in his mind, at the exact stroke of midnight. Hey if Cinderella gets that much then it’s good enough for his little pumpkins to roll home and go to sleep. Peter shrugs and suddenly has the urge to look at everything else, the smoldering buildings and piles of debris, instead of meeting Tony’s eyes. He’s even mumbling YMCA to keep from saying stupid things. Oh how they grow without his notice. He sighs, thinking he’ll have to update the protocol again. Or possibly reinstall it, given Peter’s previous compulsions to just uninstall the fucking programs. Having finished the other arm, he moves onto the quickly wrap up the bits and bangs on Peter’s legs. “Third, who says bomb diggity anymore? You’re way too young to even know that term.”

“What! No way Mr. Stark, some of my favorite stuff to say is like, bomb diggity and radical! It’s a renaissance of 90’s slang.” And there’s that big, toothy smile he gives when he’s trying to butter up and get himself out of trouble. Ha! Tony’s installed a Notepad of things Peter does that are bad protocol to make sure he and Pete have some talks about things like this. Sure his old man brain might get flooded with other stuff but ever faithful Friday will remind him of it later.

The last bit requires Peter to strip off the remnants of his suit, which is going to be a bit of a problem considering Peter has a case of the jelly limbs right now. As in he’s so exhausted and beat up that his body has effectively said nope! to any form of movement that isn’t wiggling in place and being pushed around gently. So it’s the old scissors trick (not a trick) and Tony just uses some super duper ultra sharp scissors to gently cut through the wires and fabric of Peter’s suit. Peter moans a small complaint (I liked this suit Mr. Stark) but Tony’s more worried about the still dribbling tear that crosses his chest.

Peter heals like there’s no tomorrow, something that Tony only wishes he could have sometimes. But still this one looks like it might scar, especially given the kid’s habit of picking at scars. But for now all he can really do is wrap it up and-

Boss. Friday’s soothing voice chimes up and as soothing as he’s made it out to be, after radio silence all this time Tony nearly shits himself. It appears that Mr. Parker will need stitches for this one.

Aw, fuck.

Well Tony is garbage with a needle and thread so there’s no way he’s going to be doing those stitches. In fact Peter is normally the one sewing so this poses a slight problem. He doesn’t want to move the kid, who’s mumbling now about 1950’s fashion (again, who knows about these things?? Peter). And forget ambulances since they take forever to do anything and that’s not really Tony’s style in the first place.

There’s a nearby clinic, about a quarter mile away boss. Ah Friday, ever so helpful lovely Friday.

A quarter mile isn’t that bad, he reasons to himself. Even he, with his emaciated lungs, can get that far without the suit so it should be a cinch to do it in the suit right? Even with a hundred sixty four (that’s 164) pound child in his arms.

Now the real question is how to get Peter there. He’s started to sing drinking songs (he’s not even old enough to drink yet why does he know these??) and is kind of waving his arms around. Well, it’s probably not because of blood loss because Karen, and by extension Friday, would’ve let him know. The easiest thing to do would just be to scoop up the lil spider and princess carry/fly him there and pass it off to a real professional. But a part of Tony really hesitates because what if that hurts him? He’s not really known to fly slow so what if the jet propulsion opens up new words or the turbulence in-flight causes him to shift shards of bone from his fractured humerus or what if! Peter decides to start dancing to his singing!

There’s a twinge behind his eyes and he groans, pressing the heel of his palm into them. Okay. So logically none of those things will happen. Peter’s a sturdy kid. But also, Tony’s not really well versed on all this stuff. He almost tells Friday to flip a coin, carry or fly him there, but his rational brain finally takes over. It kicks his parent panic to the corner and makes him scoop up Peter, delicately of course, and take a low flying (above tree tops because they’re not getting whacked on the way to the doctor) course to the clinic, where the nurse’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. She stammers her way through the paperwork process. Peter is seen immediately by an older physician, who simply collects him and brings him back without much fuss.

Which leaves Tony to deal with the flustered nurse who literally looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle on the floor. To be fair it is 3:47 AM so this is probably a little extreme for night-time injuries. Tony mindlessly scrawls information on the papers passed to him, wrinkling his nose at the insurance one.

Strictly speaking Peter isn’t part of his insurance. But Tony quickly dismisses that, telling Friday to make a note to add him to the policy. Easily done, considering this is Tony Stark they’re working with.

The physician comes back out and ushers Tony into a room where Peter has finally knocked out, snoring on the cot like he wasn’t just painting a random street corner iron red. Tony has the good sense to sit down and try to untense his shoulder as the physician goes through lists of care items and thing, prescribing antibiotics which Tony knows won’t work. He just listens anyways, thanking her for her care and services. She says that he can take him home but in a car, not flying across the city in a suit. Probably a good idea.

He gets Friday to call Happy who is obviously very not happy about being woken up at this god forsaken hour of the night. He still grumbles that he’ll be there in ten, twenty minutes and hangs up and Tony groans once more, that headache bursting into a full-blown migraine. And he doesn’t have any ibuprofen because he forgot to restock it.

Under his breath, in the weird yellow limelight of the fluorescent bulbs above, he finally mutters a vehement, “Fuck.”

#Tony Stark #Peter Parker #irondad #marvel #mcu fanfic #blood tw #injury tw #saranschallenge #jalapenobarnes

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starkeredits · 4 years

Text

A Lot of Catching Up to Do

By Tileb Hanser

Chapter One: Answers

Find it here on AO3

It’s been about a month and a half now, since the restoration of the Blip, the return of all those lost to Thanos’ fingers, and the sacrifice Tony Stark made for the universe. He should be dead, according to Dr. Strange. The power of all six Infinity Stones and the Snap were almost the death of the Hulk, who seemed to be made for the Gauntlet. Tony is just a regular human being when it comes right down to it, while the Hulk was obviously more equipped for the destructive effects, there is just no logic to explain the miracle. Yet of course, Tony was still left severely damaged clinging onto life by a thin thread. Surrounded by his closest friends and family, the sight of their faces, all alive and finally safe, was what gave him just the slightest bit of energy he needed to stay holding on. The trip from the battlefield to the closest moderately staffed hospital was blurred with confusion and dissipating adrenaline. It was a miracle, the few doctors still staffed throughout the Blip did all they could to save the hero of the Universe, along with Dr. Strange, Bruce, and Shuri. Their combined efforts kept his life supported with high tech machinery and a few wizardly tricks from Dr. Strange.

The past month and a half after the defeat of Thanos left the hero in a coma, during which he had plenty of visitors, whom most were immediate friends and family. Peter Parker being one of the most frequent visitors. He has the most gratitude and compassion since that fateful day. He may have had a slight obsession with the billionaire genius before Tony first recruited him, but it has only grown since then, especially after the undying sacrifice Tony made for all of mankind. It started off innocent of course, just a geeky obsession from a nerd for a genius. But within the last month or so, Peter has started to notice changes in his feelings towards Tony.

Since the Blip, Peter has basically missed five years of aging and at a somewhat inconvenient time in his life. When he first started noticing the increasing changes in his body, he dismissed them, knowing it was all normal signs of puberty. He started puberty a decent time before the Blip, therefore, he assumed, it should just pick up where it left off at sixteen years old. However, that was not the case. To make matters worse, all his thoughts are filled with countless fantasies he’d never even known he knew, and they were all centered around one person; Tony Stark.

Everyday, he finds himself trapped in his thoughts as he sees Tony, Mr. Stark, sweaty from a workout, peeling off his shirt as he smirks at Peter watching with awe. He imagines being under the hard muscle of Mr. Stark's torso as he pins his wrists to the silk sheets below. Peter can’t take the onslaught of pleasure anymore, he needs answers, he needs help. His best bet is to seek out Dr. Strange after his fifth random hard-on in the past two days, for an explanation.

While he stutters through his question to the wizard, realization dawns on the later. He then explains to Peter, with a much too calm demeanor, that his body is confused about missing five years of time and that it’s trying to make up for it in the quickest way it can.

“Basically, your body is attempting to cram five years of puberty into… well, right now.” Peter is appalled, how long would that take? Will it be nonstop, seemingly forever? He can’t even spend the next week with the constant heat pooling in his stomach or the dirty thoughts plaguing his mind.

“I can probably come up with an antidote that will unfortunately only slow the process so it’s not as overwhelming, but it’s better than nothing.” Peter accepts the offer greatly before he finally decides he needs an answer about his new obsession with Tony.

“Oh and there’s uh, one more thing I was confused about.” He speaks sheepishly, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice. The wizard only responds with an uninterested grunt. Peter takes that as an invitation to continue.

“With everything that’s happening with my body, well, it’s also sort of focused on one person. Like, all the fantasies, they are about this person...” Peter trails off, not exactly sure how to phrase the question, but Dr. Strange gives it some thought before answering.

“Usually after one goes through a traumatic or confusing experience, much like the Blip, the first person they see or interact with becomes some sort of... source of comfort to the other. Almost like an imprint.” He pauses his movements before continuing. “Was this person someone you interacted with after you returned from the Blip?”

Suddenly it all starts to click, after the constant adrenaline from the battle against Thanos and his army, Peter remembered his worrying thoughts cleared from his head the moment he laid eyes on Tony. He was hysterical over him, clutching onto his lifeless body with complete desperation.

“Yes.” Peter simply replies weekly.

“Hmm, it’s possible you may have... imprinted on this person, and with your other symptoms of puberty, I suppose your body is just using the comfort you feel from this person to base your thoughts and feelings on, if that makes any sense.” All Peter can do is nod at his reply and the wizard accepts it nonchalantly.

“The antidote can’t fix that unfortunately, since these are two different mental reactions combining to one and this antidote is only specific towards one.” Peter mentally slaps himself before he sulks over to the living room couch. After about an hour of torture sitting on the couch of the wizards home, suppressing another urge to reach his hand down his pants at any moment, the antidote is finally finished. He snatches the vial out of Dr. Strange's hands before speeding out of the building with a rushed “thank you.”

Peter drinks the sour tasting liquid of the antidote the minute he knows he’s alone and he feels immediate relief on his aching hard-on as his mind can finally focus on anything other than Tony. While the sensations are pleasurable, they are just too overwhelming and it's just now that Peter realizes how exhausted he is. He lands with a huff on his small twin sized bed and finally manages to sleep without any dreams filled with his mentor's body against his own. Luckily, he doesn’t experience any nightmares either, which have also become somewhat of a recurrence since the Blip.

The loud familiar ring from Peter's phone jars him awake somewhere around three a.m. from an unknown number. Frustrated that his undisturbed sleep was interrupted, Peter plans to just let the phone ring out, but when the ringtone starts up again a second time, he finally gives up with a groan of protest.

“Hello?” He answers with clear annoyance.

“Mr. Parker,” the well known deep voice of Nick Fury purrs through the speaker. Peter sits up immediately, concern and panic etching its way into his mind.

“Mr. Fury, sir, what is it?” Peter continues to drag himself out of bed, rushing straight towards his spider suit stored in his closet.

“We have someone here at NY Presbyterian Hospital who is awake and would like to see you.” Peter immediately stops in his tracks hearing those words. His heart starts to race and an entirely too inappropriate image appears in his head for a split second before he pushes it to the back of his mind. He is ecstatic, already putting on his suit and jumping out his window before he could answer Fury.

He arrives in less than ten minutes, bursting into the hospital room where he sees a few familiar faces already there. But he doesn't care about those people, the only one he’s concerned with is Tony. All eyes are on Peter with his big entrance, sporting his spider suit, including Tony. His face is still red and terribly sore looking, on the majority of the right side, from the resulting blast of the final Snap. His right arm still wrapped in reddening bandages. But his eyes, oh those brilliant brown eyes are open, awake, and staring into Peter's soul.

Peter rips off the mask from his suit revealing his slack jaw and teary wide eyes. He watches Tony's lip barely manage to curve with a hint of a smirk and he loses it.

“Mr. Stark!” He cries out, suddenly jolting towards the feeble looking man before him. He collapses against the edge of the hospital bed in a sobbing heap, clutching onto Tony's shoulders desperately.

“Oh, Peter,” Tony murmurs into Peter's hair along with a small peck. Peter tries not to think too much of that, it's just a common gesture of affection, yet he can’t stop how his mind wonders and there's an undeniable stir in his pants. The added strong scent of Tony filling his senses as he tucks his head into his neck doesn’t help either. Although, it's nowhere near as overpowering as it was before the antidote, so he manages after a few minutes of concentration to will those thoughts away. When he unburries his face from the now damp spot of Tony's neck, he notices they are now just the only two in the room; Tony must have dismissed them while he was concentrating on… other things.

Peter looks into Tony's deep brown eyes, he can see them glossy with his own tears, yet crinkling ever so slightly with the tired smile he could muster.

“I missed you so much Mr. Stark! You have no idea! I came here and visited you as much as I could, even talked to you when I knew you couldn’t hear me.” Peter rambled, while still clutching onto his mentor.

“I missed you too, it doesn't feel real, but god I’m so happy it is.” To hear his voice again, although clearly tired from his injuries, it was the best sound in the world. Tony tugged on Peter's suit arm sleeve the best he could while making room for him on the bed. Peter happily obliged.

“Tell me everything, kid. What have I missed?” Tony asked, sounding content just laying there listening to Peter's voice. Peter doesn’t miss a beat and begins babbling about everything that has happened since the Blip was fixed which causes Tony to chuckle lightly. Of course Peter does leave out a few things involving his new highly inappropriate obsession with the genius hero and everything that applies to it. He doesn’t want to scare off Tony just yet, not so soon after almost losing him for good.

They spend the next few hours talking about the past months' events until Tony finally lets himself fall asleep listening to the boy's constant rambling, a small smile on his face. When Peter finally notices he's asleep, he doesn't feel too opposed to the idea of sleeping himself, remembering the fact that he woke up at three am just two hours ago. He lets his head rest gingerly on Tony's shoulder, inhaling his scent as he feels himself succumb to sleep.

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ckerouac · 6 years

Text

fic: other costumes as assigned

Title: Other Costumes as Assigned (AO3)

Fandom: MCU

Summary: It was easy being Peter Parker at school, and Spider-Man out on the job. Being both Peter AND Spider-Man in the same room... that was a little more difficult. Luckily, a certain SPIDER BRO owes him a favor. Well, 'owes' is a strong word. Maybe he can guilt out a favor?

Follow up to Other Duties as Assigned

If Peter was being honest with himself, he kind of assumed that once he started Avenger-ing more often, he would spend less time stuck in an English class talking about personal essays that he didn’t want to write. He wasn’t sure why he thought he’d be able to get out of this stuff. The school would never let him drop his language arts requirements due to superhero work. And he wasn’t going to just drop out of school entirely. May would kill him if he dropped out of school to be Spider-Man full time. And then she’d kill Mr. Stark, because obviously he would’ve had something to do with this plan. And the worst part was, based on the couple of times he’d met Pepper Potts, he was 99% sure that Ms. Potts would help May kill Mr. Stark if she ever got the idea that he’d had anything to do with Peter dropping out of high school.

May had already threatened to revoke her signature on the work permit that allowed him to take the Stark internship in the first place if his grades suffered because of his… outside job requirements? And Mr. Stark was fitting him for MIT sweatshirts. So dropping his English class was out of the question.

The reading wasn’t the issue -- it was the personal essays. Ms. Diaz insisted each time she wanted them to dig deep and tell stories that bared souls. Whatever that meant. But none of his stories were the kind he wanted to share with anyone in his class. Hey, here’s an essay about my dead parents. And here’s a follow up about watching my uncle get shot and being able to do nothing about it. Oh, and did I mention that I was Spider-Man? Want to hear about the time I stole Captain America’s shield and totally beat him in hand to hand combat? (That one may be more creative writing, but if no one else was going to know what really happened, he would tell it in a way that he totally won). You guys remember Liz and how her dad got arrested ‘cause he was a super villain? Yeah, that was me.

“Mr. Parker? Are you paying attention?”

Peter jerked his head up after Ned gave him a tap on the arm and focused on Ms. Diaz. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Please repeat the assignment back for the class.”

“Three pages on a non-family member who made a positive difference in your life.”

Flash Thompson leaned back and smirked. “She means someone you actually know. Not someone you claim you work for but never actually interact with.”

“What? The internship is real,” Peter insisted.

“Yeah, it’s totally real,” Ned chimed in. “He knows Mr. Stark personally.”

“Yeah, and I go golfing with the Falcon on the weekends,” Flash replied.

“He’s met Falcon too,” Ned fired back. “And he’s, like, best friends with Spider-Man.”

“I don’t know if I’m best friends with Spider-Man…” Peter tried.

“It’s borderline obsessive to keep claiming you know someone like Spider-Man, Penis,” Flash said. “You’ve already tried that once, and it was sad and pathetic at Liz’s party, and it’s sad and pathetic now.”

“Mr. Thompson, that’s enough,” Ms. Diaz interrupted. “Mr. Parker, you’re welcome to write about Spider-Man if for some reason you actually know Spider-Man.”

“He could get Spider-Man to come in to class!” Ned said before Peter could reply.

That got the entire class’ attention.

Peter, for his part, felt all of his excuses get caught in his throat. “I… I mean, he’s really busy. With Avenger work. And I do most of my internship stuff with Mr. Stark and Stark Industries and, like, engineering work and stuff. I’m not sure if he’ll be busy doing Avenger stuff on that day. You know, like, saving people.”

“Class, let’s get back on topic,” Ms. Diaz tried, but the bell interrupted her. “Fine, I’ll see you all tomorrow. The essay is due Friday. Mr. Parker, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Peter sighed as he collected his bag and Ned gave him a sympathetic look. Each time Flash got on him in class, somehow Peter was the one that ended up in trouble. This one wasn’t even his fault -- he was trying to change the subject. But Flash made it his mission in life to make Peter as miserable as possible in front of everyone else in class. “Ms. Diaz, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know how sometimes these student rivalries can get out of hand. And you’ve probably told people that you knew the Avengers and now it’s come back to bite you. I would hope that by this age you kids would learn that lying never helps a situation.”

“Wait… but I do know the Avengers,” Peter said, taken aback and speaking before he really thought things through. “I mean, not like friends friends, but I’ve met them through Mr. Stark.”

“And how would Mr. Stark spend so much time with them?”

Peter paused. “Because he’s Iron Man?” he said. Peter was the only one whose identity was a total secret. Mr. Stark answered most work calls with ‘This is Tony Stark, I’m Iron Man’ and had a t-shirt he wore under a suit that said ‘I AM IRON MAN’ in capital letters that Ms. Potts rolled her eyes at.

Ms. Diaz smiled. “I know you want to feel important in your internship, but I also know that a lot of these internships are just ways for big companies to get administrative help without actually having to pay someone a living wage, and therefore technically run afoul of Department of Labor standards. So it’s totally normal to want to make your internship sound more exciting than it really is.”

“But it is exciting!” Peter insisted. “I can… what if I can get Spider-Man to come in?” He hiked his bag up on his shoulder. “If I can get Spider-Man to come in, can I get out of writing this essay?”

Ms. Diaz considered. “If you can get Spider-Man to come in, you don’t have to write the essay. Hell, if you can get Captain America to come in, you don’t have to write another essay all year,” she chuckled.

Peter nodded. “Alright. Okay. So… Friday. I have until Friday. Thanks Ms. Diaz. I gotta run. Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s it,” she said. “Just remember not to let Flash get to you. And it’s okay to have a boring internship.”

***

“Hey, I’m sorry about English class today,” Ned said, as Peter organized the books in his locker. “I don’t know why I said you could get Spider-Man to come. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s fine,” Peter said. “I… I might’ve said the same thing to Ms. Diaz after class.” He leaned against the locker and glanced around. No one was paying any attention to them. “She thinks my internship is just getting coffee for Mr. Stark and I got rattled and said I could totally get Spider-Man, and she said if I did I wouldn’t have to write the essay.”

“That’s great!” Ned beamed. “You hate those things anyway.”

“No, not great.” Peter rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I can’t get Spider-Man because… you know… I am Spider-Man,” he added, his voice dropped to a whisper. “What am I gonna do? Run out to the bathroom, change, and come back? I can’t do that. It doesn’t work as well as it does it the movies.”

“No,” Ned said. “You have to be in class, and so does Spider-Man. So, what if there was another you? What if you got someone else to wear the uniform and pretend to be him?”

Peter closed his locker and leaned against it. “Have you seen the rest of the Avengers? They’re all huge. You really think someone would believe Captain America in a Spider suit? He’s seven feet tall and built like… Captain America. And that’s even if Mr. Stark has built a suit that could fit anyone else.” Peter paused and considered. “Which, he might’ve. He doesn’t always tell me when he’s making adjustments to the suit. Should I start making my own suits again to have control?”

Before Ned could answer, Peter had a flash of an idea. There might be someone who could fit in the suit. And who knew he was Spider-Man. And could move like Spider-Man. And who he might be able to convince to do it. Maybe. If he pulled the right guilt card. Could he sound sad enough to be convincing?

“What are you doing?” Ned asked.

“Calling in a favor. Well, begging for a favor. Tricking someone into a favor, at most.”

He scrolled through his phone to find the name and text thread he was looking for.

Hi it’s Peter. Peter Parker. I need a favor and I’m pretty sure you owe me one cause the last time you needed me it was in a dept store and I helped you out and I know that you’d hate to see a kid get humiliated right?? It’s urgent.

***

Peter was surprised when he got a reply right away. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. That’s what SPIDER BROS were for, right? To be there for you when you need them? Sure, she wasn’t aware that she was considered his SPIDER BRO. Or maybe she did know. Peter was never sure exactly what Natasha knew or didn’t know, and she probably kept it that way on purpose. Didn’t she used to be a spy? So she’d be able to keep people in the dark. But if she was a spy, why was she called the Black Widow? He should ask someone that. Mr. Stark would know. Or maybe Captain America. They were close. But was that something he could just ask Captain America about? He should get his phone number and text him.

Aunt May would have his phone number, but ugh, he didn’t want to have to explain to Aunt May why he wanted Captain America’s phone number. He didn’t even want to think about why Aunt May had Captain America’s phone number in the first place. Did Captain America text Aunt May? Did she tell him dumb jokes and make him laugh? Did Captain America like dumb jokes? Did he get jokes from nowadays or did he miss when jokes were about, like, the war and swing music and stuff?

He was supposed to meet Natasha in an hour at a bookstore around the corner, so there was time for him to work on his calculus homework at the Starbucks and simultaneously plan his perfect speech to convince her to help him. It was a nice enough day, and he’d grabbed the last table outside. One hour to plan the perfect plan of attack to get her to sign on to ‘Operation Double Spider’ as he’d decided it was going to be named. He reached down to pull his book out of his bag…

...and yelped as soon as he looked up to find a woman in sunglasses and a ball cap sitting across the table from him.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Natasha chuckled.

“What… what are you doing here?” Peter said, trying to will his heart to stop racing and maintain his cool. “I thought we had another hour. And in the bookstore.”

“Yeah, but you were here now, and there was an empty chair, so…” she trailed off with a shrug. “Plus, you said it was urgent.”

Ah, right, he had used the word urgent. “Yeah, so urgent may have been a slight exaggeration.”

“Right, which is why you replied, hang on…” She pulled her phone out and scrolled to the right convo. “‘no not urgent just life and death please come alone thanks Ms. Widow’.” She looked up and grinned. “Your aunt must be so proud of your manners.”

This was going well. “Aunt May is great,” he replied. “But, um, thank you for coming. And for coming alone.” Natasha tilted her head, and Peter groaned. “You didn’t come alone. Is Mr. Stark about to fly in with a full suit ‘cause he thinks I’m kidnapped or something?” Because only someone who was kidnapped and trying to get a message across would send the kind of rambling texts that was on the SPIDER BROS chain right now.

“No,” Natasha replied. “I didn’t tell Tony. Actually, I didn’t tell anyone.”

Peter looked up to see Steve in sunglasses and a ball cap as well, carrying three to-go cups through the crowded patio. Every shimmy and squeeze between too-close tables merited an ‘excuse me’, a ‘pardon me’, or a ‘I’m just going to squeeze by here, thank you’ because what’s more patriotic than good manners?

Where had he heard that phrase before? Probably one of the videos.

So Peter waved once he saw Steve looking around for their table. No use attempting to hide now. “You didn’t need to come, sir.” See, he had patriotic manners too.

Natasha rolled her eyes and grabbed one of the cups from Steve’s hands once he got within reaching distance. “Of course he didn’t, but Nosy Nellie couldn’t keep his eyes to himself.”

Steve just smiled as he set the remaining coffees down on the table and politely asked the girls at the adjacent table if he could use their unoccupied chair. “I have 60/20 vision and you weren’t hiding your phone screen. It’s not nosy if you aren’t covering the screen,” he said, sitting down and distributing the coffees. “White mocha for you… Natarfa?” Steve showed her the scribble on the side of the cup.

Natasha glanced at the name on the one she grabbed and traded it for ‘Natarfa’. “I don't know how you can drink black coffee."

He took the lid off the one labeled 'Stove' and took a long sip. “Because coffee is supposed to taste like coffee and not corn syrup.”

It was obviously not the first time they’d had this particular debate, and Peter was smart enough not to jump into it. Mostly because he fell squarely on the side of ‘coffee tastes like drowned bitter hopes and dreams’, but if they were nice enough to buy him coffee, he was going to drink it. Even if it was for… He reached over to grab the unclaimed cup. Pebble. Close enough.

Steve settled into a more comfortable slouch against the back of the chair. “It’s hot chocolate. I didn’t know what you liked, but everyone likes hot chocolate.” He tilted his head forward enough to let his sunglasses slip down far enough to meet Peter’s eyes. “When someone sends a message and says to come alone, it usually means that there’s some sort of trouble. I wanted to make sure that you weren’t in trouble, kid. Are you in trouble?”

Peter grinned. Captain America was genuinely worried about him! It’s like the first step to friendship, even if he was definitely just a kid from Queens in the Captain’s eyes. They needed their own name -- SHIELD BROS. Or AMERICA BROS. Maybe he didn’t need to be bros with Captain America, he could be something else? NEW YORK’S FINEST… no wait, that was the NYPD…

“Didn’t care anything about whether I was walking into trouble,” Natasha murmured, taking a sip of her coffee with a grin.

“The last time I told you not to do something, you hid my boots in the trash,” Steve pointed out. “I learned my lesson.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rogers,” Peter said. “For being concerned. I’m sorry you came out, this isn’t an emergency. I just needed a favor.” He sighed and turned to look at Natasha as pitifully as he could muster. “You’re the only one who can help me. You used to be a spy, right?”

“Used to be?”

“So you can really be anyone you want to be?” Peter was getting excited at this point, but trying desperately to come off cool and collected. He knew he was failing at that, but it was the thought that counted, right? “Like, you can convincingly be other people? Like to the point where they’d believe that you were this other person, and not ask too many questions, and I could point and be all ‘yeah, that’s totally him!’ and they’d believe it?”

Natasha shrugged, wordlessly confirming Peter’s assumptions. “Do you need someone to pretend to be your aunt to get you out of a parent teacher conference at school?”

“What? No!” Peter shook his head. “No, that’s not… I don’t need you to be Aunt May.”

“Then who do you need me to be?”

Peter took a deep breath. “Spider-Man.”

Both Natasha and Steve paused mid-drink. “Spider-Man?” Natasha asked. “Is he… retiring?”

Peter shook his head. “So, we have this writing assignment and it’s supposed to be about someone that we know that we admire, but Flash was being a dick and teasing me that I didn’t know anybody worth admiring and then it turned into how much I didn’t actually do for the Stark internship and how I didn’t know any of you guys, and Ned, he stood up for me and said that I totally did know you guys and that I should get Spider-Man to come in and talk to the class.” He made a point to remember to breathe so that he wasn’t recounting the entire conversation in one breathless run-on paragraph. Breathing at normal intervals would make him sound less panicked. They didn’t seem that impressed -- did they not understand that this was a very big deal ? Not urgent urgent, but still -- a big deal. He considered sinking down into his chair when he was met with the confused, and probably completely disapproving stares from both Captain America and the Black Widow. And as much as he claimed he was SPIDER BROS with the Black Widow… she was still scary when she looked at you with that blank stare she used when she was sizing how dumb she thought you were. Was that the same kind of look that actual black widow spiders used against their prey? Was that why she was called the Black Widow?

“It’s like Liz’s party all over again.” Not helpful, Peter. “Not that you know Liz. She’s doesn’t go here any more. It’s not important!” Focus...focus. “I told Ms. Diaz that I could bring in Spider-Man. And she said if I did, I wouldn’t have to write the essay. The essays are awful cause we’re supposed to write from personal experience but all of my experiences are ones that I can’t share or ones that are nobody’s business. So I said I could get Spider-Man, but I can’t get Spider-Man because I’m Spider-Man, so… I was hoping that… maybe you could be Spider-Man?”

Steve and Natasha sat there in silence for a moment, with Steve moving first to turn and look at Natasha…

… and then break down into decidedly un-heroic giggles.

“So you need a Spider-Man,” Natasha repeated, ignoring Steve’s continued and increasingly loud giggles. “Why ask me?”

Peter shifted in his seat. “Because… you’re the only one… who kinda… you know…”

“Looks like a fifteen-year-old boy? You think she can pull off fifteen-year-old boy?” Steve supplied, his head still down and his shoulders still shaking as he tried to compose himself. “I didn’t know I needed this today, but I really needed this today. Oh, Jesus, this is great.”

Peter sat up straighter and tried to look serious. “I think she can pull off anything! You know, she’d just needs to… you know… tape them…” He motioned to Natasha’s chest, and then to his, and then felt his face to completely red once he realized exactly what he was saying. She was the spy, she could figure out what she needed to do. She was the best spy ever!

And if he never had to mention her chest or anyone else’s chest in front of another Avenger again, it would be too soon. He was going to die of embarrassment in a Starbucks. Not exactly the obituary he was hoping for.

Steve nodded his agreement. “No, I totally see it. I’ve always found both her shape and her personality to be a little flat-”

Natasha gave Steve a quick punch to the arm. “Pull yourself together.”

“It’s just that everyone else is huge,” Peter said. “You’re closer to my size.” He sighed and let his shoulders drop. “Please, Ms. Romanoff. I shouldn’t have let it get out of hand like that, but if I don’t get a Spider-Man there, I’m never going to hear the end of it. I still get shit about Liz’s party, and now that Ned said he knew I knew Spider-Man, he’s gonna get shit too, and I can’t do that to him. He’s my best friend.” He looked up at her with the biggest, most innocent puppy-dog eyes he could muster. It was the same look that got him out of trouble with May, but May was easier to read than Natasha. The Black Widow was probably immune to the pathetic looks of high school boys, which really cut into his non-Spider-Man arsenal.

Natasha’s expression softened. At least, Peter thought it did. He still couldn’t really read her. But that’s probably why she was such a good spy. “Tony’s going to have a fit knowing someone else was in your suit.”

“I think that’s one of the best parts of this idea.” It had taken a while, but Steve was finally composed enough to smile conspiratorially at the group. “I can get in on this plan too, right? I’m a great actor. I punched out Adolf Hitler over 200 times in 45 states.”

“You just want to watch me pretend to be Spider-Man for an audience,” Natasha accused.

Steve grinned. “It’s not nothing.”

“Actually,” Peter said, remembering Ms. Diaz’s aside, “I think I have the perfect role for you, Mr. Rogers…”

***

“And next up, we have Mr. Parker,” Ms. Diaz said, making a note on her notepad. “Are you ready to read your essay?”

“Cause I certainly don’t see Spider-Man here to get you out of it,” Flash replied. The whole class laughed.

Except for Ned. Peter could always count on Ned.

“Yeah, yeah… I just… can we wait another minute?” Peter asked as he walked to the front of the class. He checked his watch, looked out the window, and then checked it again. Natasha wouldn’t leave him hanging, would she?

Ugh, GREAT SPIDER PUN. He needed to remember to tell someone that. Captain America would think that it was hilarious. That was an old timey type of joke. Probably the kind that he told when he was young. Did they have puns back in the 40s? Google would probably know the answer to that --

“Mr. Parker,” Ms. Diaz sighed, dragging Peter’s attention back to class. “As much as I wish that we could, any waiting will not result in--”

She was interrupted by a tapping at the window. The class turned to look -- and saw Spider-Man, casually hanging upside down and waving.

“Here he is!” Peter said, rushing over to push the window open. “Hey, Spider-Man.”

“Hi Peter.” The voice coming from the suit was remarkably close to Peter’s, but with a touch more mechanical feedback to make it sound interesting. KAREN was getting better at mimicking voices and not sounding like a death bot. Much better than she’d been at disguising his voice when he first got the suit. He’d have to mess with the options again next time he went out. Should he use this voice all the time? “I’m not late, am I? I was doing work with the Avengers.”

“That’s not really Spider-Man,” Flash said, even if his voice didn’t sound totally convinced.

“You try hanging onto an overhang outside of a high school and getting the right window,” Spider-Man shot back.

“Hey, man, it’s cool, it’s just Flash,” Peter said, trying to make Natasha remember the promise not to pick a fight with any of his classmates.

“Oh, that’s Flash,” Spider-Man chuckled. “Yeah you were right about him.”

Flash’s expression was murderous. “What do you mean, right about him?”

“But, uh, yeah,” Peter continued. Natasha was a professional. He didn’t have to worry about Natasha. She’s brought down governments before, she can handle one acting assignment. “Thanks for coming. Like I said in my essay, I really admire Spider-Man because he’s always fighting for the little guy, and he’s from our neighborhood, and I hope that I can… make a difference like he does. Or at least like he tries to.”

“Do you really get to hang out with Thor?” one of the girls interrupted.

“Yeah, I hang out with all of the Avengers,” Spider-Man answered. “But Black Widow is my favorite. Honestly, she’s probably the smartest of the bunch. Definitely the brains behind the entire operation. I try to be more like Black Widow every time I go out. She’s basically my Spider Bro.”

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” Peter said quickly, trying to mask his excitement. Natasha thought they were SPIDER BROS! They were going to be best friends and fight crime and make a difference and she didn’t think he was just a silly kid and this was the best day of the entire year. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I know you’re busy with saving New York.”

“Don’t worry,” Spider-Man replied. “I don’t mind taking a moment just to… hang around.”

The entire class laughed at the joke. Why didn’t they laugh when Peter made jokes like that?

The questions started coming faster than Natasha could answer them.

“Has the Hulk ever Hulked out but in, like, a building?”

“Why do you just hang out in Queens? Aren’t there more interesting places to work?”

“Do you think that the presence of the Avengers in New York is partially responsible for aliens choosing New York as a target, and therefore you and the Avengers as a whole function as both the cause and solution to the growing interstellar threat we’re facing as a planet?”

“Does Thor have a girlfriend?”

“Why doesn’t Iron Man add in a stealth mode so he can be like an invisible jet?”

Spider-Man laughed. “Some people are better at going under the radar than others. Iron Man likes to be seen. Unlike the Black Widow, who is a master at going under cover. Why, who knows, maybe the Black Widow is here in this room and you don’t even know it…”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny Spider-Man!” Peter tried to redirect the conversation, but before he could remind Natasha to wrap it up there was a hard metal CLANG against the wall. The webbing Spider-Man was dangling from sliced in half, and he dropped out of sight from the window.

That got everyone up and running to the window, pressing around Peter to see what was going on. They were only on the second floor, and Peter knew it was part of the plan, but Peter’s heart dropped as soon as Natasha dropped. Thankfully, instead of a spider going splat on the sidewalk, everyone saw Spider-Man flipping easily onto his feet and Captain America, in full regalia, catching a ricocheting shield. Cap glanced up, and gave Peter a wave. “Sorry to interrupt, Peter,” he called out in his most authoritative Captain America voice. “But we need Spider-Man for an important Avengers mission. I would only interrupt class if it was vitally important, because learning is the most important job the youth of today have. So you’ll have to tell your teacher we apologize for the interruption.”

Ms. Diaz hopped on a chair and waved. “Hi! That’s me! I’m the teacher!” She shoved a couple of the kids in front of her out of the way. “Rachel Diaz. Hi. Can I just say? Big fan.”

Captain America gave her a grin and a polite nod. “Ma’am. Thanks for your understanding. You do an important job, and we’re impressed with how well you’re teaching Peter and all of the Midtown students.”

Ms. Diaz took a deep breath and looked like she was a minute away from jumping out the window to, hopefully, just shake his hand. “Thank you! My students mean a lot to me!”

“You have a nice day, ma’am,” Captain America called back with another wave. “C’mon Spider-Man, we have a mission.” With that, the pair of them sprinted towards a car idling next to the sidewalk.

“Doesn’t Spider-Man usually, like, shoot webs and swing away?” one of the kids asked.

“But there’s a car right there,” one of the other kids pointed out. “Why waste time when they can drive away?”

The bell finally rang, and Ms. Diaz excused everyone once the car with both Spider-Man and Captain America was out of sight. “Oh, Mr. Parker?” she said once most of the kids were out of the classroom. “A deal is a deal.”

“No more essays?” Peter asked, trying not to sound too eager.

Ms. Diaz nodded. “So.. on a completely unrelated note. Since you obviously know… is Captain America single…” she trailed off

“Oh, ah…” Peter stumbled. “You know, that’s not… that’s not part of my internship duties. I’m not--” He was interrupted by a buzzing in his pocket, which he assumed would be a very loud voicemail from Mr. Stark. “I’m sorry, I have to check this. It’s my internship stuff.”

“Sure, of course,” Ms. Diaz said. “But if he asks…”

“Have a good day, Ms. Diaz!” Peter said, rushing out of the classroom. Before he had a chance to check the message, his phone buzzed again. “Hi Mr. Stark. Is something wrong?”

“Why is KAREN reporting that Natasha is in your suit?” Tony asked.

“Funny story, Mr. Stark…”

#mcu #mcu fic #chasingkerouac writes #peter parker #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #this is yet more lighthearted fluff #team building fluff #because i enjoy the happy #enjoy y'all

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