First and Last
Dark!Tom (The Party 2017) x ExWife!Reader
Word Count: +3,234
Warning(s): +18, Non con, ANGST, Domestic violence, Mentions of overdose/overdosing, Drug usage, Addiction, Forced drug usage, Heavy domestic violence, Forced breeding Accidental OD, Really long because I don't have a life.
Author's note(s): I wanted to post this before my trip. Idk if I want to make this into a 2 part series maybe if its good than ye 😃
You run into your soon-to-be ex-husband at a friend's party. He's determined to get a second chance. But some things never change.
You met Tom in college. Both of you were part of the same friend group and would see each other often. He was persistent in pursuing you. Eventually mustering up the courage to ask you out. You said yes because you fell for him first. But it was Tom who fell harder. He was your first love, first kiss, first everything. After a year of dating, he finally pops the question. Everything seemed to be going fine at first.
That was almost a decade ago. He's not the same man you fell in love with. Something inside him changed. There were times where you were unsure whether it was the drugs talking or how he truly felt. He would try to hide it but failed miserably. You can't remember how many times you've found his stash, which always resulted in an argument. You were sick of his excuses. It eventually got worse with his intake. He would arrive home half sober. You were sick of seeing him waste away like this. You remember finally deciding that enough was enough.
After catching him at home for the fifth time, you decide to take action into your own hands. In a fit of anger, you retrieve his hidden stash and flush it down the toilet. When Tom found out his reaction wasn't what you had predicted. Not at all. He dragged you to the bathroom and demanded to know where his supply went. It was the first time he'd ever laid his hands on you. Instead of apologizing for bringing them home, Tom held you in a chokehold until you told him where they were.
Never in your life would you imagine Tom of all people reacting in such a way. When you finally confess what had happened, he loses his temper. It terrified you how strong he became while under the influence. You were no match for his drug-fueled rage. Your wrist is still sore from how he held you down last week. There were bruises that were still healing for all the times before. But this one had been the worst punishment yet. He left you there on the bathroom floor, naked and sore. Tom hadn't bothered to look your way. He zips up his pants before leaving in search of his next 'fix'.
That wasn't the first time he put his hands on you, but it was the first time you had left him. You received a string of desperate phone calls, voicemails, text messages all from Tom. You returned home to find him on his knees with a bouquet in hand and tears in his eyes. He apologized and promised to be a better man for you. That was shortly lived. When you arrived home from a late shift, you caught Tom using it again. This time it was different, you found Tom overdosing. You lunged towards him, "Tom?! Tom!" cradling his head in your hands, holding him close. It was the first time you've caught him. A part of you feared this wouldn't be the last.
Tom had tried to make it up with sex, but you couldn't be around him anymore. You felt almost revolted how he didn't care. Having him around only reminds you of the pain. This time instead of throwing a fit, yelling, or crying. You simply packed all your things and left. What could you do with a man who refuses to change? Leave. You left for your mother's place, finally accepting that it wasn't your fault.
The divorce papers were mailed to him. For a while now, Tom knew there was something wrong with him. He was just too stubborn to admit it. You'd spoken with a lawyer and there was a court date issued. In a few months from now, you will no longer be referred to as husband and wife.
For the first time in years, you've finally let the feeling of guilt go. No longer were you going to let this define who you were. You weren't a failure as a wife. Because it was never your fault in the first place. Soon enough you were doing the things you loved again, even began to pick up a few new hobbies. That spark of joy began to return. You started dressing up in nicer clothes, going out, actually spending quality time with friends and family.
Sometimes there would be a moment when you'd feel for Tom and wonder what he'd be up to. But then again did you really want to know? It would usually be the same thing, him being higher than a kite. Still, you couldn't help but mourn at the loss of your marriage. When you were young and promised to love each other until your very last breath. You still loved Tom, but he loved other things more.
You were looking forward to your old college friend's New Year's party. A healthy dosage of socializing to get you out there again. You had the opportunity to catch up with everyone there. It felt as though no time had passed. You danced around, joined in some games, things were going well. But there was a lingering feeling that someone, somewhere was staring at you.
That's when you spot him, Tom, sitting quietly at the end of the room. Your breath hitches at the sight of him twiddling his thumbs. There's a part of you that regrets not filing a restraining order. Tom always had a habit of showing up unannounced. You weren't in the mood for whatever he had to say. So, you left his sight, down the hall, to the nearest restroom.
You sat on the counter, removing your heels for a moment. A groan escapes your lips as you rub both feet, knowing very well they would ache in the morning. Shit, you were really gonna feel that. You splash your face a few times, hoping that it would combat the summer heat. Completely unaware of the sound of the door opening. It was as if you knew who was behind you, turning around to find Tom leaning against the door. You gave him a glare, "Get out," you were in no mood for his emotional ambush. He ignores your request and calmly states, "I just want to talk to my wife,"
"We're not--"
"Legally, yes, we are," he corrects. Always so condescending. It was one of the things you couldn't stand. How he would belittle your intelligence. It was the little remarks he'd make to shut down any effort you gave. He made you feel unwanted. He was the one who decided to push you away first.
If only he could see past his own selfishness that you truly wanted to save this marriage. But in order to do so, he would need to admit that it was an ongoing problem. You didn't have to worry about a mistress, no. You had to worry everyday about finding him dead. You've caught him overdosing a few times. It eventually took a toll on you. To the point where you lost weight from the stress. Tom rakes his hand through his locks, "Of course you don't want to see me, nothing ever satisfies you," a snarky remark to try and get under your nerves.
With the amount of alcohol in your system, it worked, "Are you kidding me?" you scoff, "Don't you dare lie to me Thomas, I tried everything, everything to fix us, can you say the same?" you growl in his face. Maybe it was the liquid courage that gave you a whole new attitude. Whatever it is helped with confronting him. His reaction, however, was not what you expected.
He smothers you into a deep kiss, pulling you into his embrace. You try shoving at him in an attempt to catch breath. Finally breaking free from his grip. For a moment, he's seems visibly hurt. You scold, "What you wrong with you?!" it wasn't fair. After all the hurt you've been through, Tom still tries to insert himself into your life.
You deserved better. You try to shove him away. Instead, he shoves you against the wall, "Can't you see..." he presses his sweaty cheek against the crook of your neck, "You're my everything..." his voice sounding more desperate with each word. You scoff, "No, Tom, you can't do this..." tears began to brim, threatening to spill. His eyes are filled with worry, "No...now, baby please don't cry..." his expression is saddened but there are no tears. He kisses each cheek, ignoring your sniffling. Tom held you in place by the shoulders, "I couldn't stop thinking about you," it's true. You were his first love.
Tom had longed to see his wife again. To feel her, touch her, caress and worship every part of her. He wanted to make things right, truly. But she just got up and left him. Like he was trash. What made her so high and mighty? He's so sick of seeing you always playing the role of a saint. For once he wants to see you get downright nasty with him. His breathing became frantic, "Can't you see? I'm addicted to you," there's a mischievous look on his face that you were more than familiar with.
You place a cautious hand in front to create distance, "Tom, listen to me, you’re high right now, you're not in the right--" you were muffled by his hand, "No! No! Listen to me!" his voice booms. His sudden mood swing scares you. So much so that your nails dig into his wrist. He hisses in pain, "Stop it! Just stop!" he grits his teeth. When he releases his grip the first thing you do is make a run for it. But before you could even set foot out of the restroom you're pulled back by the hair. You fell on your back, hitting the marble floor.
It sends the air out of your lungs. That's when you start crying, shriveling up into a ball, begging for him to stop. This was how your arguments always ended. Tom crouches down, "Oh...baby I'm so sorry..." He grabs a towel, pushing it against the bottom of the door to ensure that it's soundproofed. He then pulls you into a hug, locking his arms around your waist. Tom rocks you in his embrace, "Please...please don't cry shh.." He doesn't want to see anymore tears spill. He's thankful for the music being loud enough to muffle your cries. He lifted you onto the counter.
You look down at the floor, refusing to look him in the eyes. Tom presses his forehead against yours. His eyelids flutter shut, "Let me make this right..." he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small bag, "Here... this'll help with the nerves," he swipes his fingers on his tongue before dipping it in. He swirls it a few times, coating the digits with the white powder.
When he brings it to your mouth you turn away with disgust, smacking his hand off, "Get it the fuck away from me! You fucking tweaker!" you claw at him. He's hurt by your words. How could you? He really is trying to stop. It's harder than it looks. He's tried just about anything you could name to fix his marriage. Nothing, not a damn thing worked. Every time he'd come running back to that same euphoric feeling. When you left, he started using it again, more than ever.
If only he could get you to try it out, then maybe, you'd understand. He presses you against the counter, using his bodyweight to hold you in place. You sob, "Please...please Tommy...don't do this..." he grips both of your wrists, ignoring your pleas. He looks at you with a maddening look in his eyes. You knew he was out of it. There was always that nothingness behind his irises. To think that this man was once your devoted husband.
He muffles your cries with a clean hand. He has an idea for the other. Tom hisses, “M’gonna make you take it, make you feel really good...” he reaches in between your legs, pushing aside the lace. Tom brings the snow coated fingers to your folds. He bites his bottom lip, concentrating on finding your opening. He slowly starts to insert them, ignoring your cries and pleas for him to stop. Tom starts pumping his coated fingers in and out of your channel.
You let out a muffled scream under his palm. Stray tears falling down and landed on his wrist. He felt almost bad, but you'll understand soon enough where he's coming from. Just wait and see. You'll love it as much as he does. Fuck, every vein in his body felt like it was on fire. It's easier getting hard while using, too easy. His dick almost hurts form how hard it was. He spat a wad on the tip, coating it with a bit of snow before hovering it over your folds. He presses it against your opening.
A wide grin spreads on his face, "Sh...please...don't flinch sweetheart I just wanted to feel... can I feel my own wife's pussy?" He moans. A mewl escapes your lips. Tom chuckles, he knew you'd love it as much as he does. His hands grip your neck, he doesn't know how strong he's squeezing, not while he's using. It felt nice feeling you clench on his length. He’s on an adrenaline high right now. He’s not going to stop anytime soon.
He rapidly thrusts his hips in and out your channel, indulging in the feeling. Two of his most favorite things combined. Oh, how he’s missed you. Tom picks up his pace. He leans down to plant wet, sloppy kisses across your bare neck. He retreats his lips, groaning against your ear, “I promise you I'll make up for everything, I'll even give you a baby like you've always wanted...” He knows it’s the one thing you’ve always wanted to be. A mother.
Your eyes shoot wide open as you scream into his palm to stop. Tom pops a pill in his mouth. He swishes it around a few times before forcing your mouth to open. He removes his palm only for a moment, before shoving it inside. It's too much, too much...You felt like you were flying, no, falling? Your heart couldn't stop beating and every single last one of your limbs felt like jelly. A visible vein bulges on the corner of your temple. Only a faint gargle leaves your lips, "F-fuck...T-tom...please..” sniffling for him to stop.
He coos, “M'gonna give you a baby, ok? then we'll be a happy family..." He sighs in admiration. Fuck, you looked so beautiful. Always so compliant. Don’t worry, he’s going to make sure you’ll never get rid of him, “This was mine the day I put that ring on that finger..." He finishes with a roar, coating your insides with his spunk. Tom is almost satisfied, almost. He doesn’t want to waste a single drop. He carefully removes his cock from your channel, plugging you back up with his fingers.
Tom takes the small baggie. He coats it with your arousal. A deep moan escapes his lips, "Just hide it for me, yeah, can you do that love?" Two of his fingers are buried deep into your channel, he scissors them apart a few times, testing the waters. Then he starts to push it in. You were too buzzed to even fight him off.
His fingers have always caressed that spot you just couldn't quite reach. Tom sighs, “Beautiful...fucking beautiful...” words that he hasn't used in years. Tom throws his coat on the floor. He carefully places you on it, taking no note of the blank expression on your face. He hadn’t noticed your eyes rolling back. He pressed his head against the door to hear if anyone was lurking. If the coast was clear, he could leave.
He places a chaste kiss on your cheek before leaving, placing a tie on the doorknob to ensure no one would wander inside. Tom prepares his car for the both of you. If you were thinking of escaping him, think again. He would keep you hidden until you were surely pregnant. You’ll have a part of him with you forever. He returns to the house with a pep in his step, opening the door to find you still lying on the ground.
That’s when Tom finally notices the faint frothing on the corners of your mouth. He crouches down, “No...” he should’ve seen this coming. You weren’t used to any kind of drug. You’ve never smoked a day in your life. Tom pulls you into his arms, “No no no no...no please...” he shook your unconscious form, “Please! Stay with me!” he shook harder, “Please! Fuck!” Finally breaking down. Tom couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life without you. For it to actually come true was his biggest nightmare, “Please! Don’t leave me!” He rocks both of you back and forth.
Tom tries his best to control his breathing, reaching into his pocket. He calls the one person he knows would help, "Lenn...I'm in deep shit," he chokes. Tom prays that his brother can make it on time. For years now, Lenny had been the one covering up for his little brother. He could hear Tom on the other end of the phone, “She--she’s not waking up...” That’s when Lenny races out his office in search of his twin, "Tom, listen to me, where are you?"
Whatever shit his little brother has gotten into this time, he better hope it doesn’t ruin his record. Lenny hadn't spent years in law enforcement just to lose it all in one day. If word got out that the local detective’s own brother was a tweaker, he’d have to kiss that promotion goodbye. However, Lenny isn’t going to let him get away so easily. Unlike Tom, his brother is colder, more calculated than emotional. He's always surpassed him in every way possible. Well, almost. Lenny hates to admit it, but Tom had the one thing he finally beat him at, you.
You were the color added to his life. Without you his world was just...black and white.
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Songs Hozier has covered
Bowie - Changes, Young Americans (see also Trinity Orchestra section)
Prince - I Wanna Be Your Lover, Raspberry Beret, Jungle Love
James Carr - The Dark End Of The Street
The Beatles - Blackbird
John Lennon (Donny Hathaway version) - Jealous Guy (at the goldenplec block party with Zaska)
Ariana Grande - Problem
Warren G - Regulate (mashup with Problem)
James Blake - Retrograde
Tom Waits - Strange Weather
Florence and the Machine - Cosmic Love
Stevie Wonder - Living for the City, As
Sting - 7 Days
The BeeGees - To Love Somebody
Lauryn Hill - Doo Wop (that thing)
Amerie - One Thing
Skip James - Illinois Blues
Muddy Waters - Catfish Blues
Van Morrison - Caravan, Sweet Thing, Domino, Brown Eyed Girl, Saint Dominic’s Preview
Bill Withers - Ain’t No Sunshine
Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know
Demi Lovato - Sorry Not Sorry
Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love
Fun - We Are Young
Paul Simon - Bridge Over Troubled Water
Sam Smith - Lay Me Down
Destiny’s Child - Say My Name
Britney Spears - Toxic (snippet)
The Band - The Weight
Otis Rush version of Willie Dixon and the Big Three Trio - My Love Will Never Die
The Talking Heads - Burning Down the House (Instagram live messing around with friends)
The Staple Singers - Let’s Do it Again
The Weather Forecast 🤪
Ed Lewis - I Be So Glad When the Sun Goes Down (Instagram snippet)
Mavis Staples - Eyes on the Prize
Jackie Wilson - (Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher
The Meters - Just Kissed My Baby
Christmas Songs - God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Winter Wonderland, Santa Claus is Coming to Town (with others at the Xmas Eve Ball 2015)
Traditional Irish songs - My Lagan Love, The Humours of Whiskey, I Am Stretched On Your Grave, The Rolling Wave (on the low whistle), The Parting Glass, The Lonely Jig (on the low whistle)
(Live) Collabs - that are not Andrew’s own songs
Alvin Youngblood Hart - Illinois Blues
Maren Morris - The Bones, My Church, Girl, The Tree
Annie Lennox - I Put a Spell on You (Screamin Jay Hawkins cover)
Tom Odell - Another Love
Noah Kahan - Northern Attitude
Allison Russell - Requiem, Stop Dragging My Heart Around (Stevie Nicks & Tom Petty cover)
Brandi Carlile - The Joke, Walk On (U2 cover), The Weight (The Band cover)
Jamala - Walk On (U2 cover)
Mavis Staples - The Weight (The Band cover), Keep Your Eyes on the Prize (with Our Native Daughters, Jason Isbell and Phil Cook)
Boygenius - Salt in the Wound
Alana Henderson - Ae Fond Kiss (poem by Robert Burns)
U2 - When Love Comes to Town
Tori Kelly - Blackbird (the Beatles cover)
Mumford and Sons - Guiding Light, Awake My Soul, With a Little Help From My Friends (Beatles cover, with other artists)
Lake Street Dive - Everyday People (Sly and the Family Stone cover)
Rachael Price - Rental Love
Victoria Canal - Swan Song
Elwood (his dog) - Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Elton John and Kiki Dee cover, Insta snippet)
All the artists at Love Rocks NYC 2022 - Like A Rolling Stone (Bob Dylan cover), Feeling Alright (Traffic cover)
Brian Kennedy (and others) - I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free (Nina Simone cover)
His Dad - The Weight (The Band cover at MSG)
Zaska, Wyvern Lingo, Loah - Sir Duke (Stevie Wonder cover)
Eabha McMahon - Bright Blue Rose (Jimmy McCarthy cover)
Christmas Eve Busk 2015
Bono, Glen Hansard - When Love Comes to Town, Every Breaking Wave
Glen Hansard, Imelda May - The Dark End of the Street (James Carr cover)
Christmas Eve Busk 2017
Glen Hansard, Coronas, Imelda May, Liam O Maonlaoi - So This is Christmas (John Lennon cover), The Aul Triangle
Music Groups
Nova Collective - (original songs) Tuile, Closer, Quick Bossa
Zaska - (original songs) In Your Own Sweet Time, Different Light, She Gunk Gunk Dunk A Funk, Oh Yeah
Anuna - with Andrew on lead vocals: The Raid, La Chanson de Mardi Gras. With Andrew in the choir: Jingle Bells, An Uaithne
The Wiggles - Cherry Tree Carol with Anuna
Trinity Orchestra - songs covered with Andrew on lead vocals
~ Queen - Somebody To Love, Don’t Stop Me Now
~ Arcade Fire - My Body is a Cage
~ Pink Floyd - Time, Breathe, Comfortably Numb, Shine on You Crazy Diamond, Money
~ Michael Jackson - Earth Song, Black or White, Smooth Criminal
~ David Bowie - Heroes
*This list may not be complete. It only contains songs that can be found online.
Please let me know if any songs are missing so I can add them 🫶
I’ve not included the songs he sang snippets of on that Song Association interview
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Omg cool I have an angsty request 😈(if you’re comfortable writing it<3)
Kind of Tom!Peter Parker x Male!Stark!reader x Tony Stark(platonic obviously) ??
Reader has a rocky relationship with his dad Tony, just wants his attention, to be seen by Tony etc. but once Peter joins and takes Tonys full attention reader just automatically hates him for ‘stealing his dad from him’. As time goes on reader just gets more hateful and jealous of Peter, maybe getting into fights with Peter on purpose. Suddenly there’s a new villain/anti-hero (??) that’s been interfering with there plans or just wrecking havoc to go after Peter. Plot twist when they finally catch them/they’re too hurt to keep fighting, it’s revealed as reader. You can make it as angsty as u want!
(A.K.A. Reader is Loki, Peter is Thor and Tony is Odin lol)
AHH THIS
I love this trope-
So glad you requested this, (and thank you for checking stuff first) and enjoy
Also note that I’m not too fresh on the marvel timeline, if you notice anything that doesn’t exactly align with the movie than I’m sorry just brush past it- this also might be the longest fic I’ve ever written so
Implied to be set around the start of Peter’s Spider-Man stuff.
x
Look What You Made Me Do
Male Stark Reader x Avengers
“If I loved you, was a promise….
Would you break it, if you’re honest?”
[idontwannabeyouanymore, Billie Eillish, 2017]
Cw: violence/fighting, Tony being a bad dad, slightest mentions of drinking, angst Kind of jumping straight into it too-
I’ll fix a few things later I’m tired I want this one to be out and about
Named after a Taylor song, starting with a Billie lyric 💪💪
If you were to ask anyone about the wealthiest men in modern day New York, it’s inevitable for Tony Stark to appear somewhere on that list.
He’s rich, handsome, a superhero. New York’s knight in shining armor.
Most believe his life is a dream, somehow oblivious to the fact that maybe a superhero doesn’t live life in the dream house. But when he’s made his brand through money, fancy houses, big parties, and shiny military weapons it’s easy for people to see no further than surface level.
That isn’t the case for his son, though.
From a wealth aspect of it- the young Stark knows how grateful he is, how grateful he should be, for his father.
If it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t be currently sitting in this large bedroom, with a view most would pay a couple grand for, wouldn’t be surrounded by the various expensive objects linked to his little interests. It doesn’t even matter how much Y/n would insist on paying- he never seems to think much of it. Maybe it’s his way of showing affection.
That’s what Y/n hopes, at least.
Because if not- there’s not much there. Tony Stark has never been much of an affectionate person, some may blame it on his own father. Others would blame it on the business- no time for distractions on a long days work.
But neither of those reasons matter- for all his son ever wanted is for Tony to love him the way he wants him to.
-
Static crackles through Y/n’s small speaker, and quickly the boy perks up. A short glance over and he finds the old Queen record spinning aimlessly, with the tone arm at the end of its songs.
Pushing himself off the bed, he walks over to the stand where Tony’s old record player sits. Taking the arm off- he flips the record over to side b, before returning it to its place.
The intro of Queen’s “Hammer to Fall” begins ringing from the speaker, and a small, satisfied smile grows on Y/n’s face.
He hums the beat, nodding his head with it while turning back to his bed- but something catches his eye.
Outside, there’s two figures standing out front. One eyebrow raises, Y/n slowly steps closer to the window.
“Who-?”
Recognizing his dad, dressed in his best suit, Y/n leans closer. The other figure isn’t quite as tall as Tony, and looks quite obviously nervous.
Y/n furrows his eyebrows.
….That’s Peter Parker.
What the hell is he doing at Stark’s house?
***
The sound of a backpack falling to the ground echoes through the foyer- and immediately it’s a sigh of relief. The sweet, sweet air conditioning here is heavenly in contrast to the one at school.
Y/n faintly feels a vibration in his pocket- grabbing it only to see multiple notifications coming from a group chat.
‘What are they on…’ he wonders, scrolling through countless messages worth of nonsense. He goes to reply, when-
“Y/n!”
His head snaps up at the voice, echoing out from the couch.
‘didn’t realize he was home…’ he looks back at the window, finding his father’s car parked in the driveway.
“Oh.”
Deciding the group chat can wait, the teen wanders to where his father sits.
“What’s up?” Immediately Y/n sees the scattered papers piling on top of one another on the coffee table, the short crystal glass filled halfway with rum. You’d think he’d wait until at least five, but that’s not the Stark way.
“I found a uh, form on the coffee table,” his voice sounds bored, tired, “something about textbooks for school?”
Y/n notices the forms sitting at the edge farthest from Tony, as if they’d been pushed away as far as they could go.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” He says awkwardly, looking at the dirty laces of his shoes, “it’s fine, I got it.”
“Well I can pay for them, if that’s what you’d like.” The eldest Stark shrugs, finally looking at his son from over the rim of his glasses.
Y/n almost feels embarrassed- when had he asked for that? He shakes his head, though it doesn’t hide the surprised look on his face.
“No, no you don’t have to-“
“Oh please, I got it, education is our future or something, right?” Tony shrugs, taking off his glasses and beginning to stand up from his chair, headed for the black leather wallet he’d left on the dining table.
Y/n isn’t quite sure why he’s now rushing to step in front of his dad- there isn’t much harm in the gesture after all. Maybe he just doesn’t want the weight of depending on his father for everything to lay on his shoulders. Either way, excuses are already falling from his mouth.
“You really don’t have to, dad-“
“You’re acting like I’m handing you the presidents treasury,” Tony deadpans, “besides, you don’t have a job.”
Y/n pauses.
“Wha- yes, I do-“ does his dad really not know about his job?
“Look, it doesn’t matter, I can get them used anyways-“
Before he can take one step closer, a nervous voice quips up from the doorway and ends the race for the wallet.
“Um, Mr. Stark?”
Curiously, Y/n and his dad snap their heads to see who has just joined them.
“Peter-?”
Peter Parker stands in the large door way, curled into himself with his backpack strap folded between his fist. His eyes are wide and questioning, looking between his classmate and his idol as if he had walked into the wrong room.
Suddenly, Tony’s shoulders drop- and he’s no longer interested in any textbook or wallet.
“Ah, Parker, didn’t think you’d make it.” He says bluntly, strutting away from his son and towards the obviously nervous boy.
“Here, sit down kid.”
With the man’s hand pressed into his shoulder blade, Peter has no choice but to follow him towards the various seats lining the dining table. And from the side- Y/n watches, absolutely lost.
After he had seen his father and Peter talking, he kept it to himself. Knowing the boy, he had simply assumed Peter was asking for an autograph or a picture, just like half of the city.
But now, he is in his house. At his table.
What the hell is this?
“Um,” Y/n’s voice sounds blunt, almost too similar to his father- who’s already sitting down across from Peter with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, as if this was a press conference.
Peter looks at him first, while his father throws a glance over his shoulder.
“What’s this?” Y/n asks, pointing to the strange teenage boy sitting down in his seat. Tony tiredly leans back in the chair, twisting to the side just slightly so he could look at Y/n head on.
“Y/n, this is Peter, Peter, this is Y/n.”
“Uh, yeah, we know each other.” Peter pipes up, giving Y/n the shortest, most awkward smile it seems he could muster. Y/n’s face stays blank.
“Yeah, I meant what is he doing here?”
Tony doesn’t seem at all phased by the rude undertones of Y/n’s question.
“Peter is gonna work as my intern for a little while, I’m training him.”
Y/n’s eyebrows furrow.
“For what-“
“Hey, quit interrupting, will you?” Tony dismisses him with the wave of his hand, turning around so he’s fully facing Peter. And Y/n lingers there, processing. He doesn’t like feeling like a shadow, not in his own home especially, but that’s the feeling that begins to overtake him.
Intern…?
He tries understanding what that means- there’s many possibilities. Assistant, maybe. But when he looks between his dad and his classmate one last time, seeing that he’s been nearly forgotten in the room (aside from the short glances from Peter’s end) he turns around to retreat, fists clenched.
His dad has had interns before, Peter likely won’t be much different. Possibly.
***
It’s been 5 weeks.
And multiple times, for each of those weeks, Peter has been somewhere mixed into the tangle of Tony Stark’s extensive schedule, far more entangled than Y/n has been for the past few years.
He shows up to dinner, trains at the Avenger’s tower. He comes knocking on the door randomly asking for life advice, or something- he’s everywhere.
It wasn’t even until week 4 that Y/n discovered the truth behind his sudden presence, when he saw the suit for the first time.
He has his own suit, god can you believe it?
Y/n watches on as Tony seems to easily bring Peter under his wing- hating how he has to avoid the burning green envy that burns his ears. How has Tony managed to take on the father figure role to Peter, when he barely manages that role with his own son?
‘It shouldn’t hurt this bad,’ y/n will think to himself, ‘you’re independent, relying on him will only make it harder in the long run.’
But he couldn’t help the hardened glare that arose every time he saw his dad, his own dad, bonding with someone else the way he had been wanting for what- 16 years?
Even now, sitting at the table, while the teen stares into the bowl of cereal in front of him, it’s just so irking to think about.
His spoon scrapes the edges of the bowl, gathering the now soggy cheerios into a cluster in its silver dip. Then, they get lost in his mouth. Rinse and repeat- he does it over and over while staring a blazing hole into the wall.
What is Peter doing that he can’t?
“Mr. Stark-“
Speak of the devil.
Y/n’s grip on the spoon tightens.
Peter comes stumbling into the room, out of breathe as if he sprinted all the way here. He doesn’t even knock anymore, Y/n thinks, he’s made himself at home.
“Kid? What’re you doing here?”
The nickname sends a shivering twitch through Y/n’s already sore muscles, tugging his face so he can’t control the annoyed look that comes through.
They’re talking to each other now, Peter trying to tell a story far too quickly for either of them to follow. Y/n blocks their voices out.
His chair scrapes against the floor, and he grabs his bag to leave.
“I’m going to school.” He says loudly, cutting off their conversation.
“Oh, I guess I gotta go too-“
“No,” Peter freezes, looking at Y/n curiously, “no, no stay here longer why don’t you? Practically your house.” Venom leaks from his words, the sarcasm so loud it makes Peter flinch.
“Y/n,” Tony groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Y/n’s stare only hardens.
“What?” He snaps, now looking at his father.
“Really?” Is all that Tony manages, before Y/n is rolling his eyes and spinning on his heel.
“(F/n) is waiting for me.” He grumbles, snatching his phone and stomping out of the room.
How does his dad not get it? Is he so blind he can’t even see his own blatant favoritism?
The look of exhaustion displayed on his face would make you think hes working day and night having to put up with Y/n’s attitude- yet he’s unaware he’s exactly what’s causing it.
Y/n doesn’t want to blame Peter, in the back of his mind he knows that it’s his dad’s fault. But it feels like his father is being stolen.
But can it really be theft if there wasn’t much of him in the first place?
Y/n knows that he’s picking all the fights, starting all the arguments just so that twisted part of his head gets some satisfaction.
It shouldn’t be working so well.
The young Stark doesn’t return home until it’s just about dark outside, his backpack hanging loosely off his shoulders.
He walks the long halls of his home, past the doors that could either be a guest bathroom or a weapon closet. Even if there’s more entryways than doors, his father opting for large empty frames, he walks the length of it with no specific destination in mind.
He isn’t too sure where he’s headed anyways, considering he’s passed the way to his bedroom already.
Through half lidded eyes he guides himself through this maze of a house, bitter jealousy bubbling in his lungs. It’s such a haunting thought, a looming presence, and he wishes he could push it down the drain but it seems that he can’t.
“Stupid, stupid Peter…” he mumbles, hand grazing the wall beside him.
Ned’s voice still rings in his ears, breathy from how he had been exercising for most of the class.
“You don’t know what he looks like- what if he’s like seriously burnt?”
“I wouldn’t care, I would still love him for the person he is on the inside.”
Of course it caught their attention- Peter’s little crush on Liz wasn’t hard for most to notice.
“Peter knows Spider-Man!”
How horrible.
Across the room, Y/n’s head snapped to where the pair was on the gym floor- Peter’s jaw slacked. It didn’t matter how much he tried to quickly say otherwise- Flash already had slid down the climbing rope with another remark slick on the edge of his tongue.
And Y/n watched on, eye twitching, feeling how his friends slapped his arm in amusement.
“I can’t tell if he’s for real or not-“ F/n mumbled from next to him. Y/n’s eyes never tore away from the scene playing out ahead, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.
“Yeah,” and his eyes squeezed shut, “me neither.”
Y/n’s fists curl together, knuckles scraping the wall for a moment before he’s pulling away.
It’s so frustrating.
He’s walking further down the corridor, eyes sliding open just in time to catch a door left slightly ajar- and he pauses.
He’s passed the door many times, no doubt, but this time it’s different. There’s something pulling him inside, an unknown source that’s too intriguing to walk past.
Slowly, he pushes open the door. And there it is.
Old bins and cabinets with junk gadgets shoved inside- worn blueprints from his fathers old work. One eyebrow raises, cogs turning and grinding in his head.
There’s some things still in tact, some that have been broken apart and scattered about. Y/n kneels down to observe closer.
He feels the smooth surface of a metal clasp against his fingertips, grazing the jumbled objects.
This is his answer.
The backpack slides off his shoulders, thumping on the ground beside him. This room is one that his father doesn’t visit much anymore, now much more caught up in other things such as the Avengers, Peter, the scattered piles of paperwork that seem to constantly consume him.
And in the corner, there’s a bend in the wall partially hidden by a cabinet- if you were to tuck something inside, no one could see from the door frame.
Y/n already feels his mind blooming with ideas as he skims over the various parts and pieces in front of him.
If he can’t live up to his fathers standards, his fathers name,
then he’ll make his own.
***
Multiple nights pass, weeks go by and Y/n finds himself spending the time after dinner until midnight cooped up in Tony’s old gear room.
He likes to think it’s a family trait, something tying him to the Stark name, also known as his skill for parts. He can take a few glances at both his own notes as well as the old blueprints and suddenly have the necessary concept for a retractable weapon, built to strike out of an arm piece. And when he’s done, he simply drags it all into his tucked in corner- hidden until night falls again the next day.
Time not spent at school, occasionally in his room, or in his new lab- is now spent taking full advantage of the gym on the higher floors.
The Avengers don’t question it, barely even using it at the same time as him anyways. He’s planned it so no one is around to see the training he does, the work put in to not only muscle- but also skill.
He doesn’t have a vigilante name just yet- but perhaps that’s the fun in it. He’s totally anonymous.
And as the firm punching bag jerks beneath his incoming fist, he feels the creeping joy of power.
Y/n puts lots of thought into the first strike against the city- building an elaborate yet somewhat reckless attack plan, a formula.
No citizen will get hurt- it’s only the churning, growing need for revenge he wants so badly to be satisfied. Among the jumbled emotions, and new discoveries, he knows what he wants, and he knows just who he wants to be.
Y/n Stark may never be the millionaire superhero his father is- but he will be something. Something that no one will ever expect.
***
“A new vigilante seems to be on the loose, unidentified. They’ve struck many times already, but police have noticed that, interestingly enough, among the pattern of crime scenes none of the main public areas or citizens have been hit. Could this be the work of an Anti-hero, perhaps? Down at the Avengers Tow-“
The anchorman’s voice is cut off, mid sentence, and Tony holds the remote firmly.
Around him, on the expensive couches sit the Avengers themselves, but their faces are dulled by distress, their knuckles tense from a firm grip.
“We gotta find this guy,” Bruce sighs, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. Beside him, Natasha agrees.
“If we don’t catch them soon, people will start doubting us.” She says it like it’s so simple, lips pressed into a thin line. Steve groans.
“They aren’t gonna start doubting us-“ he tries, but no one seems to believe him.
“Oh really? Sounds like you’ve got some superstar solution then, huh?” Tony, always packed full of sarcasm, looks absolutely exasperated. He’s been looking tirelessly for this new ‘vigilante’ of the sorts - they don’t even seem to have a name. They work quickly and precisely, yet go at it with a powerful vengeance. Their skill- it’s almost something he wants to respect.
The group begins to speak again, switching between civil turn taking and overlapping words. They don’t even notice the figure standing by the door.
Y/n peaks his head around the door frame, watching these strong, powerful superheroes stressing over him. Oh, they just have no clue.
As they’re still talking, planning unknowingly within earshot of their own enemy- Y/n takes his notes. He listens, until finally he slips past the door and walks quietly down the hall as the sick, strong feeling of triumph sinks into his stomach.
He’s got them.
***
The rumbling fill of chaos echoes from all around- machines jittering, codes breaking, and a light flickers down the hall.
Y/n stands at the center of the room, looking around at one of his father’s many warehouses from all around- this one being stationed north of his own home state- Maine, USA.
His dad brought him here only a few times as a kid, once or twice perhaps. He always hated it- still does, actually, hence the small bombs scattered across the place.
It would be funny, to think that not even the Avengers have caught on to his pattern- but that may be jinxing it. Plus, he knows the common traits of each area he’s hit so far, the places holding the unjust power. This stop, though, he’s been waiting to finally hit.
“Stark Enterprises” - a sign once strung together in big letters, now laying at Y/n’s feet broken into pieces. The boy crouches down, picking up a chunk from the “E” and crushes it in his hands.
Under his mask, he grins.
His suit, not quite as advanced as those made by his father, fits him well. The sleeves are tighter, snugly wrapped around his biceps with streaks of purple running through the black material. Padding, like thin layers of armor, protect his torso and the pants are the most loose- cargo, with big pockets.
A mask is what pulls the whole thing together, though, concealing the entirety of his head underneath its black and purple coloring.
Littering his hands, and even weaved into the material all across, are the gadgets he’s spent so many hours on. Rings sealed into the gloves have enough sharp metal twisted together inside that when activated, spread into blades. In the pocket around his waist band- is a button, the button, that with one push turns this warehouse into a cloud of orange and yellow.
Y/n is still watching the crumbling sign fall from his palm, like grains of sand, when the door caves in behind him.
“Put your hands up, tough guy, we caught you.”
Captain America, confident as ever, bursts in at the front of the group with his shield held high. Behind him, Tony, Peter, Natasha and even Bruce waltz right in after him. For a second- a glimmer of pride washes through Y/n’s body, they brought 5 to a fight against 1- he must be special.
“Yeah, times up buddy.”
Seeing his father, dressed in the famous Ironman suit, reminds Y/n of the whole reason this started- and another twisted feeling knots itself in his stomach.
The moment he’s been waiting for.
They can’t see him as he smirks underneath the mask, deciding to toy with them just a bit. He doesn’t speak- no one’s heard his voice when spoken through the filtered material yet. It seems they’ll be the first.
Y/n’s head cocks to the side, and raises an eyebrow- something the Avengers can see through the imprint of his mask. A challenge.
Bruce’s battle cry cuts through the air- and suddenly the Hulk is charging. It startles Y/n for a moment, but quickly he steps to the side and lets the green giant crush the ground beside him. As Hulk gets back up, snarling and growling, Y/n is already grabbing a long beam, bent from where it fell with the rest of the Stark Enterprise’s sign, and strikes Hulk right in the gut.
The giant man stumbles slightly, yet still stomps forward. But Y/n isn’t in front of him.
“Hulk!” Natasha yells out, watching from across the room as Y/n comes from behind, mid air, wielding the same beam from before. Hulk is barely able to tilt his head an inch before the metal is crashing down into the area just below his head, and bruising his neck.
He’s out within a few seconds, stumbling around clumsily while black dots tease his vision. Then, he falls to the floor.
“Well shit.” Steve mutters, bending his knees like a bull preparing to charge. He should’ve known sending in Hulk with no preparations would be a bad an idea.
“Sending the big one in first, huh?” Y/n looks at them cockily, “do you see me as a threat, Ironman?”
Tony raises an eyebrow, “oh look at that, he can talk.” He doesn’t even skip a beat as his suit begins to whir, the arm unfolding so a mini blaster pokes out from the forearm.
The vigilante barely has time to react as strings of energy are thrown his way, jumping and dodging each of them narrowly. Tony doesn’t wait for him to regain his footing though, flying straight towards his figure.
Steve eyes Natasha, gesturing for her to move. The woman obliges, creeping around the fight so Y/n’s back is in front of her.
Ironman grabs Y/n by the shoulders, pushing down with such strong force that the latter is forced back a few steps. He holds the metal sleeves with a firm grip, and at first Tony doesn’t notice as the boy’s rings begin to scrape against the surface. Sparks fly like the touch of a welding torch, grazing the edges of Tony’s mask just in time for him to realize mini blades are beginning to prod at his suit. Y/n doesn’t hesitate to take the opportunity and shove the man away from him.
Natasha watches closely, seeing how Y/n stumbles from the impact. She jumps at him.
Y/n extends his arm in her direction, not even turning all the way around, and his rings grow from small blades to a sharp spiral of metal pointing right at Black Widow’s chest.
She freezes, he smirks.
Of course, it’s not his intention for someone to die. That’s not what he does. This, well, is simply defense.
“How about we get right to the point.” He says, slipping his free hand into one of the pouches around his waist band. Out with it comes a cylinder- black and sleek with some sort of dial built in, a bright red button on top.
Steve feels his stomach drop.
“Pick a number.”
Tony, seemingly unaware of the detonator to have just been introduced, rolls his eyes, he’s growing impatient.
“Alright, fine, 5- you wanna quit it with the games now?”
Big mistake.
Without skipping a step, Y/n is scrolling through digits on the small screen built into the detonator. It’s almost too quick for any of the Avengers to realize what he’s doing- and it’s far too late by the time they do.
“Alright, then.” Y/n presses the button.
Steve goes to lunge forward, tries to make a grab for the device, but he waited too long. The whole room rattles, and the section just to the left of them suddenly bursts. Bombs.
Y/n watches with a special glint in his covered eyes as everyone stumbles, yet his feet stay firmly planted in the ground. They’re startled, bits of the wall flying around and clattering against the floor. Peter snaps his head towards Y/n in shock.
“Who’s next?”
“Oh my god.” Peter mumbles, wide eyed. It’s the sound of his voice, his first time saying a word, that catches Y/n’s attention right away.
His teeth grind together, thumb smoothing over the button’s smooth surface. His mind mumbles, Do it again.
Staring into the large white panels of Peter’s mask, his guard is left fallen for just a moment too long. Tony sends one more blast his way.
A jolt of pain seers through Y/n’s thigh. The energy was strong enough to surpass the material of his pants, leaving a heavy ache in the area. Y/n glares.
“You asshole,” he grunts, spinning the dial with his thumb before slamming down the button.
Above them, part of the ceiling crumbles.
Bits of concrete come tumbling down, Peter and Natasha diving for cover. But Y/n is no where near finished.
“How many bombs are there-“ Peter asks to no one in particular. His question is soon to be answered.
“Let’s not wait to find out,” Steve grunts, sprinting to where his opponent stands at the opposite side of the room. Y/n feels the previous feeling of confidence, the smooth and cocky facade, slipping away. He wants to win.
Each of Captain America’s hits clang against metal couplets clasped to Y/n’s wrist- chaos ensues around them. Tony firing shots, Peter surrounding the fight, Natasha running for a hit at close combat- and hulk just starting to stir from his little nap.
But Y/n doesn’t let up- not until it’s too late.
A fiery blaze heads straight for him, straight for his face. It’s beginning to sizzle against his ears, he can feel it coming. But he doesn’t react in time, trying to defend himself from too many things at once.
The blast, coming from his own father’s hand, hits him.
His mask begins to spark, edges curling into themselves as slowly, Y/n feels the right side of his face being revealed.
His hand meets the wall, holding him up as he recovers from the impact. They haven’t seen him yet.
He hears Steve’s heavy breathing from behind him, something so familiar it almost tricks his mind. Then, Tony’s voice.
“It only takes a few hits, huh? If I knew that’s all it took I wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”
More sarcasm, Y/n almost laughs.
“Who are you.” Natasha doesn’t even make it sound like a question, her voice strong and firm.
Silence ensues, just for a moment, Y/n’s head is swimming.
Yet, over all the thoughts and noise, one thing screams loudest over the rest.
“Do. It.”
“Don’t you recognize me?” Y/n’s voice, no longer protected by a filter, is raspy and hoarse. He slowly turns around, head peaking out of the shadows.
“You know me already…”
.
.
Holy shit.
A loud clang echoes through the now dead silent room, the red white and silver shield rolling across the floor.
“…Y/n?”
Tony’s helmet folds into itself, revealing a sweaty face with wide eyes and a slack jaw.
A bitter smile is what he receives.
“Dad.”
Tony looks around, dumbfounded.
“I-“ he stutters, nearly speechless, “what- what the hell are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Y/n steps forward, voice dry yet dripping with venom.
Tony chokes, “being an absolute moron, that’s what-“
Y/n barks out a rough, quick laugh. “Ooh, rough.” He rasps. Steve steps forward, putting a hand onto Tony’s shoulder and pulling him back. It’s like a warning, silent communication because next, he’s the one to step forward.
“Y/n…” the words die on the tip of his tongue, throat running dry, but he still tries, “what- I mean, why?”
Y/n has begun to pace slightly, taking slow steps around the shocked group. He peels the mask away from his face.
“Yknow, most people tend to turn to the worst of their options when in a dark time,” he says smoothly, feeling each and every set of eyes watching while he walks. Hulk watches through blurred vision, completely disoriented.
“I mean, hate to give you the classic origin story and everything, but…”
“Hold on,” the thoughts are almost visible, loud and heavy in Tony’s head, “is this about something I did?”
So he’s finally getting it.
“What could Tony have possibly done?” Asks Natasha, and Y/n looks at his father directly.
“You don’t care, ok, that’s what-“ his voice is breathy, and he scowls, “You can’t even talk to your own kid, Stark. It’s like you don’t realize what I am, to you- what you are to me!” Anger rises with each word that shoots like poison from Y/n’s mouth.
Tony gets defensive, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s not true, I know damn well you’re my kid-“
“Oh really? Cause you seem to have it a bit mixed up.” Y/n’s eyes flicker to Peter’s frame, and everyone tenses.
“Is…is this about Peter?”
At the mention of his name, Peter tears off his mask, a concerned, heavy look on his face.
“I, Y/n it’s not like that-“ he tries, only to be interrupted.
“Yknow,” Y/n’s voice sounds so pained, “I always thought maybe you aren’t too upfront with your affection. For years, ok, I would wake up, go to school, come back, and go to bed all without saying more than a few words to you. Years, dad.” A lump is forming in his throat, but it’s too late to turn back now. “But then, out of nowhere, someone else comes into the picture and suddenly you’re taking him to lunch, you’re picking him up from school, basically spending way more time with him, than with me.”
Bold, bitter, and wavering- Y/n doesn’t stop. Even as his father, his classmate, the people he’d grown up with thinking were like family, just watch with feeling burning in their eyes.
“Y/n,”
“You made it look so easy with him.”
“Hey, kid, c’mon-“
“Are you serious?!” Y/n yells in disbelief. “Are you gonna tell me I’m wrong? Is that it? I’m just exaggerating, or what-“
Tony straightens his posture, swallowing hard.
Y/n’s face almost crumbles from the way his fathers face wavers. But he just doesn’t stop.
“You can be the greatest hero in the world,” Y/n breathes, sweat sparkling around the frame of his face, “you can put on a face for the interviews, and train Peter to perfection,” a step closer, “but don’t forget that I’ve always been here too.”
Y/n’s voice sounds so dark, unfamiliar and breaking, it’s gone raspy from the pounding drum of his heart beat.
Ringing silence once more. 6 melting souls standing in the waste of their own troubles.
Y/n feels budding tears threatening to spill.
“And now look what we’ve done.”
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