#and apparently. new brain guy. i do not feel so good mr stark !!!!! or however that line goes

[piplupod]

now why the hell is that what the brain decided to do !!!!!

[p---ink]

What’s On Your Mind?

Author’s Note: Hi :) Remember me? I’ve missed you guys, and Tumblr altogether. I felt absolutely guilty about not writing, but the writer’s block was strong on this one guys. And while I’ve had lots of ideas for stories I couldn't quite put them onto paper...or screen. Anyway, wanted to try something new. So this one is about a Thor! I dedicate this one to you @swaggysposts​ since I know you love Chris Hemsworth. Its pretty short, but still, tell me what you think, my love! 

Summary: Avenger reader has a crush on the god of thunder.

Warnings: some lite language and fluff. 

Word Count: 4.7k

Part Two   Part Three

“I’m sorry? Did I hear that right? You said you can what?” Mr. Stark asked, without a doubt forgetting that there were stranger things in the world. 

Clearing my voice, and speaking a bit louder I say, “I can read minds, sir.”

“That’s what I thought you said.” Stark voiced out loud placing a sleek pair of sunglasses on his face. He was still pretty skeptical of my claims, but another part of him was very anxious. Or would the word be embarrassed? Mortified? Yes that was definitely the perfect description.

Whatever the feeling was, I knew the cause was because he knew that if what I was saying was true, he would have to start groveling because of the dirty thoughts that raced through his mind when we first introduced ourselves.  

‘Forgive me for looking Pepper, but this girl has the ass of a professional volleyball player’ was what he thought as he opened the door for me on the way in.

“I can’t hear what you’re thinking though, because It only works through touch.” I lie, as I watch his worry fade away. I needed this job, and I couldn’t be disqualified because of harmless thoughts that we could all be guilty of sometimes. Besides it wasn’t Tony’s fault: these jeans did do wonders for my bottom. 

Something told me though, that if this Pepper weren’t in the picture, he’d have no problem saying what he thought of me out loud. And he was a handsome man, couldn’t be much older than 40, so maybe in another universe I’d consider him. Not this one though. 

“Hey Kid,” Stark started, interrupting my own inappropriate thoughts, “just saying ‘I can read minds’, wont be enough. You’ll have to prove it.”

“Of course! Sorry—” I was cut short by the sound of the thick glass doors of the conference room being slammed against the walls. 

A brown haired boy with deep chestnut eyes, that looked as frantic as the rest of his face, rushed out apology after apology as he took his seat next to the older man. 

Tony, who hadn’t spared the younger boy a glance, said, “Ah, perfect. Tell me what he’s thinking.”

‘Spiderling’ was the name he had assigned him through thought. As I concentrated on his confused features, he looked from me to Stark.

“What who’s thinking? Is Dad—I mean Mr. Stark, referring to me? How could she possibly do that? Oh God, he hasn’t said a word to me since I got here. He must be really upset because I’m late. Geez, I hope he doesn’t take Karen again. I’d rather he kill me.” I repeated, after relaying all of the boy’s thoughts as fast as he could think them. 

“Is she right?” Tony asked the boy. He felt both amazed and amused. Amazed with me, and amused by Spiderling for thinking of him as a dad. He would never let him live that one down. 

After swallowing his astonishment, and turning his attention from me, Spiderling answered “Yes.”

“Good. And at least we both agree on your punishment. I’d rather kill you, too. Saves me less trouble in the future.” Tony stated. He was punishing him because apparently this was the third time he’s been late to the interviews he was supposed to be in charge of. 

Spiderling let alarm overtake his features, but before he could say anything, Tony continued on with more questions. 

“Do you have any other skills, we should know about?”

“Well just a bit of hand to hand combat. But it still needs a lot of work. Other than that no—”

“How did this happen?” Spiderling interrupted, wonder getting the best of him.

“Kid,” Tony starts, but he goes ignored by Spiderling. 

“Were you bitten by some kind of radioactive insect like me? Or are you super smart like Mr. Stark? Or perhaps it was gamma radiation like Dr. Banner! Or maybe a super serum like Mr. Rogers!—”

“Don’t make me remove your batteries, junior!” Tony interrupted, then he looked to me. “I’m sorry. He’ll keep going if you don’t nip it in the bud early.”

But he didn’t have to tell me that. His own mind, like Spiderling’s, was racing a mile a minute. 

“No its fine really. He’s just curious.” I reply with a chuckle. “And to answer your question Spiderling: maybe I was born with it, or maybe its Maybeline.”

I began to grow embarrassed by their silence at my terrible joke, until Spiderling stifled a chuckle. “I get it!” He said between snickers. “Wait why’d you call me Spiderling?” He asked. ‘Is she picking on me?’ He thought. 

Needing to correct his thoughts to clear up any offense I say, “No! I would never pick on you, I just thought that was your name because Mr.—”

“Y/N, was it?” Tony interrupts, yet again. “I think you’d make an excellent addition to our team! When can you start?” 

“Really?” I ask gleaming, ignoring the fact that he wanted me to shut for outing what he really thought of his younger protégé. “I can start right away! Thank you so much for this opportunity!”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” He hurried. “F.R.I.DAY, will prepare your room, and Peter here will show you around.”

At that Peter hopped to his feet mind racing with thoughts of excitement on the hopes of a future friendship. “Follow me!” He said, grabbing my hand.

“Not so fast, champ. I need to speak with Ms. L/N alone for a moment.” Tony stated, nodding at Peter as he excused himself from the room. 

Tony cleared his throat, and relayed his thoughts, thoughts that were hard to separate from Peter’s louder ones earlier. “So Y/N,” He started towards me, leaning in close as he chose his words carefully. “I couldn’t help but notice, that you didn’t need to touch Parker nor I to read our thoughts. Care to explain?”

Flustered at being caught I stumble across my words as I try to explain, “Ah yes, well its rare, but sometimes I don’t need to touch the person.”

“Mmm.” Tony hummed, not believing a word I said, and I knew then the gig was up.

Cocking my head, and wearing a semi-sympathetic expression I say, “Don’t worry. I don’t even know who Pepper is.” 

And before Stark could protest, I ran to Peter’s side, so we could begin the tour around my new home. 

That was all a little over eight months ago. And so much had changed now. Peter’s hopes became true. We were the best of friends. His boy-like charm never grew old to me, and nor did my gifts to him.

“Cerulean” I’d say, when he’d think things like ‘What’s your favorite color?’. He always thought questions like that as a sort of game. I never got tired of playing along. 

It seemed to never click in his mind though that he could never scare or surprise me when he hid behind corners or couches, because I could hear his thoughts before he got the chance to. 

But besides the little stunts he’d try to pull by hiding his thoughts in order to frighten me, Peter was as transparent as they were. The boy was an open book, and he rarely kept a secret. It made us perfect friends, because he never seemed to get tired of me knowing every single detail about him. 

Though the other avengers treated me like family, Peter seemed to be the only one welcoming of my “gift”. 

If you asked Steve, he’d think something along the lines of “I’m too old for this shit” when I’d answer questions he hadn’t had the chance to ask. Then he’d immediately curse himself, for thinking a swear word when I’d tease him with one of the team’s inside jokes, like “language.”

Bucky tried his hardest to keep his thoughts in a vault, but it never worked. I knew exactly how many dead bodies he had under his belt, and where he kept his hidden stash of plums. 

Natasha, however, never tried to hide her kill count. She always made it a point to up the number by one as a threat to me, every time I accidentally crept inside her head. I always made it a point to keep my distance whenever she was deep in reflection.

Banner was interesting. His mind had two voices of course, and neither one of them gave a shit about whether I heard them or not. There were the deep thoughts that I struggled to understand most of the time, then others were one-word sentences only. They were louder than the rational side of his brain. 

“La, la, la, la, la”, was literally all that Sam would think whenever there was something he wanted to hide. Sometimes he’d do it just to piss me off, because he knew if I said to ‘knock it off’, he could accuse me of evading his thoughts in the first place. 

In truth, I never tried to read what they were thinking. I found the process invasive, and distracting from my own feelings. I worked hard to shut it all out, doing my best to make truth of that lie I told Stark all those months ago. But it was very draining, and took more energy than my body could exert. One person was easy enough to ignore, but more than ten, proved to be a task.

Most of my entire life I spent working in order to shut out all of the world around me. I avoided crowds whenever I could, blasted my music through my headphones whenever I couldn’t, and made sure to drug my body heavily with painkillers and vitamins whenever the last two weren’t options. 

It was so much work just to go out into the world. So much work until I met him. 

The son of Odin was the only person whose thoughts I would pay to hear. Coincidentally, he was also the only person who’s thoughts I couldn’t read. I could never hear him, I would only ever feel him. He radiated a rare intensity I had never felt before. His thoughts, or should I say feelings, even managed to drown out all of those around him. I had no choice but to focus on him whenever he was around. 

When I was with him, he literally clouded my brain. I didn’t have to work to shut him or the others out. He did it for me. 

I usually thought that was refreshing. But in the time I grew to know him, I found it mostly frustrating at times. 

You could say I liked him, but that would be putting it lightly. 

Liking someone for me, was a rare luxury. My crushes were always narrowed down to celebrities, and other people who didn’t know I existed. 

It was a pain to date people whose thoughts about you were always on display.

And if you thought dating was hard as a telepath, try having sex. Imagine being able to hear all of your partner’s most inner thoughts about the faces you make when you cum, or discovering that you have a small birthmark on your ass that you would otherwise know nothing about. 

Yeah, it wasn’t the greatest experience.  

I had never experienced the actual joys of feelings for someone, and wondering if they liked me back. Thor was my first. And chances are, he would never feel the same way. 

He was a literal god, and he lived up to that fact. I was just an average Midgardian, with a silly school-girl crush. It would never happen. 

Silly thing that Fate was. She had to make the only man I found irresistible, unattainable too. What a bitch. 

“Hey. Are you ready?” Natasha asked referring to our daily training. 

“Yes, what’s on the agenda today?” I ask, a bit confused that she isn’t in her workout attire. 

“Well you’ll h–”

“What? Why?” I squeak, before she can finish her thought…well before she can finish her sentence. According to her thoughts, I’d now be training with Odinson.

“I think you’ve graduated from me, kiddo. You can read my thoughts fast enough to predict as well as react to all of my oncoming moves.” Natasha relayed, a hint of sadness detectable through her words. Though she behaved like an older sister to me, she would miss throwing me around on the mat. “We’ll have to see how you do against someone whose actions you can’t predict, just in case that problem comes up out in the field.” She informed me while walking away, before I could confront her. 

“Can’t it be someone else?” I yell to her, but she doesn’t answer. 

“You wound me, Y/N.” That deep familiar voice bellowed from behind me. “And here I thought you enjoyed my company.”

Oh you have no idea, I thought to myself, as I spun on my feet to face him. I craned my neck to peer up at his eyes. One was a pretty hazel, while the other a deep blue. Cerulean. Funny how he’s the reason I’ve grown so fond of the color after all of these months.

“It’s not that I don’t like you. I just don’t think its fair is all. You know? With you being a god.”

“You’re worried you won’t be able to handle me? Do not fret. I wouldn’t dream of giving you more than you could handle.” He said, wiggling his brows suggestively, while flashing a smile. I suppose I failed to mention that he was a massive flirt that could put even Tony Stark to shame. “I promise to take it easy on you.” He furthered, smirking and winking his hazel orb.

“Why do I feel like your idea of taking it easy is vastly different from mine.” I say, trying to settle the butterflies. 

“Whatever you’ve heard about me is nonsense. I’m a merciful master.” He assured.  “We’ll just do some light work today: of course we’ll start with stretching, then 30 laps around the facility to build your stamina, a few hours of work on the machines to build your muscle—because my lady you are a dainty little thing, and then we’ll end the day with an hour or two of sparring.” 

At the sight of my dumbstruck face, Thor says, “I’m sorry that must be too light. How does 50 laps and three hours of sparring, sound?”

“Are you joking?”

“You’re right. I have some matters to attend to on Asgard, but I think we can squeeze in 75 laps, take it or leave it.”

Realizing how deathly serious he was, I quickly say, “I’ll leave it. Let’s get started.”  Deciding to address the subject of excessive training later, I turn to begin my stretches. 

Quiet. As usual. I was alone with my thoughts, which was something that only happened quite literally when I was alone. I couldn’t help but be immensely aware of his presence.

Moments like these i’d die to know what he was thinking. Especially when I could feel his stare. It burned worse than fire on my skin. 

Fire couldn’t compare to his actual touch, however. The same touch I now felt on my upper back.  For a man who weighed over 600 pounds, he was as stealthy as a cat when he wanted to be. His thick fingers against my spine raised goosebumps to my flesh. I would have jumped out of my body if he wasn’t there to keep me grounded. 

“My apologies. It was not my intention to startle you.” He informed, through a deep hearty chuckle. “I just needed to correct your form. Your time on the field will suffer if you continue with your training like this.” 

“Oh.” I replied, tensing a bit as one of his hands traveled around to my stomach and the other pushed against my spine to straighten my posture. My mind was hazy, and if I had even understood the words he spewed a moment ago, that status now changed.

“It all makes me wonder what the Lady Spider has been teaching you.” He continued, as if he didn’t notice the change in my demeanor. “Better.” 

When he stepped away from me, I released a small shaky breath. “What’s on your mind?” He asked. Maybe he did notice the change.

I mentally decided that I would ask him the months-long question I had always wondered about. “What’s on yours.” I state instead of ask, trying to resume my stretches.

“Pardon?” Thor asked. “Do you wonder about what is I ponder? Or is that your answer?

“Both.” I say without hesitation. “Why can’t I read your mind?”

“I’m afraid that’s by design, my lady.”

I stop stretching and turn around to ask, “How?” He had my full attention now. 

Shortly after he corrected my posture, Thor had propped himself up against one of the machines to properly examine my form while I stretched. I tried to ignore how awkward that made me feel. 

“Since an early age I’ve had to learn to guard my thoughts.” He stated. “My brother is the God of Mischief, and Loki often played games of the mind. Mother took notice of how much it was ailing me, and taught me a few useful tricks on how to keep him out. I guess I’ve always practiced them, even in his absence. I don’t know if I even know how to stop it.”

“Oh.” I breathed out. Trying to make sense of his words. 

While I was doing that, he asked,“May I ask why it is you wish to know? I thought you hated your gift.”

“I do. But I guess it still feels odd to not be able to use it on someone. I have no clue what you’re thinking let alone how you feel about me. It unsettles me.” I immediately regretted saying the last part as soon as it was out. 

His reaction did not aid my embarrassment. A thunderous laugh erupted from his throat. It was the kind of laugh that you could feel in your abs, and I knew this because his whole torso shook as it spread through his vocal cords. He was genuinely amused. 

His amusement prompted me to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“How I feel about you.” I think he mutter softly, before following a little louder to himself, “It’s weakened you.” 

“What did you say?” I never had to ask someone to repeat themselves unironically, until I met him. 

“Your ability I mean. It has impaired you.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I think the word is ‘spoiled’. Yes that seems to be the perfect descriptor.” He teased.

His words made me feel small and silly. Almost insignificant. “Excuse me?”

Sensing my irritation, he quickly told me, “I meant no disrespect. Its just most of your kind and some of mine are not awarded the same privileges that you have. We rely on body language and hidden meanings behind words to determine how someone feels. Well with the exception of me of course, because who would not adore me?” He joked. “But that’s beside the point. You have not yet learned how to read between the lines. Which is why I unsettle you.”

“I know how to read body language, I’m not an idiot.” I say a bit more sharply than I intended. My sense of inferiority getting the best of me.

“I’m not implying that you are, just that if it were not for your talent you would know have known what was on my mind ages ago.”

“That makes no sense. If I couldn’t read minds, i’d be in the same place I am now: unable to know what it is you think.”

“My dear, even if you could read my mind it would make no difference, for I’ve already made my feelings towards you painfully clear. One need not the aid of your capabilities.”

“Thor, could you stop the riddles—”

He ignored my pleas and kept going. “But just to be explicitly clear this time, since obviousness is lost on you—” 

“Stop insulting—”

“I shall tell you how I feel about you.” He stepped and leaned in closer, as if what he was about to say was a secret meant for only my ears.  “Listen closely because I will say this but once, so be wary not to misunderstand: I desire you.” He explained, words dripping with the utmost sincerity. 

My brain started racing. And I suddenly realized just how close he was. “You desire me?” I repeated to myself.

“Yes. I desire you.” He stated again, anticipating my uncertainty. 

If my heart wasn’t beating fast before, it surely was now. My poor ribcage wasn’t built for this.

“A-A-as a friend right?” I stutter out. “Because we aren’t, we aren’t close, like the rest of the team? Yes,” I breathe out. “That has to be what you mean.” I say that last part more to myself than to him. Clearly I’ve misunderstood his words, even though he warned me not to.

“While I would value a companionship, I’m afraid that is not all I mean when I say I desire you.”

“Eerr” Words are hard to form all of the sudden. Stammering out sounds is all that I can do. 

The air around us stilled, and it was pregnant with silence. He gave me a moment to think before asking, “Would you like further explanation.”

“Yes please.” I rush out quickly. “I think that will clear things up a bit more.”

“Right it would. Well If you wish to know what’s on my brain when you’re near, I shall tell you.” His words are teasingly slow, and he knows this.

"But I doubt,” He continues, “i’ll be able to properly convey just how bad I long to be in your presence when you are gone. Just how much I battle myself when it comes to finding any excuse to touch you. As you know, I lost one of those battles today. I don’t know if you can handle, just how much I imagine your warm embrace to be. How tender I’ve imagined your lips to feel. I just know them to be softer than rose petals and sweeter than nectar.”

“In fact,” He started. I could almost physically see the lightbulb go off over his head. And then, he began ridding us of the rest of our space, extending his long arm to snake around my waist, and pulling me against his chest at a speed faster than lighting. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to put that theory to test.”

It was like a lucid dream. I was only allowed to watch everything play out before me, without the luxury of making any actions myself. It took great focus on my part to even will my head to move. My nod was so subtle I was unsure if he could even see it. But the God of Thunder had more than enough to go off on.

He joined the hand around my waist with his other, and shortly after I could feel my feet rise from the ground. My hands that were previously glued to his chest, found their place behind his neck to support the rest of my body. His head met me the rest of the way, before he blanketed his lips over mine.  

He released one of the hands around my waist, to bring it up to my face. His fingers, now fastened to my jaw, slightly parted my lips allowing him to further explore my mouth with his. As massaged my tongue with his own, I could feel his eyelashes dance across my cheeks. That’s how close he was.

Most beards are scratchy and rough, but his felt like silk against my skin. His lips were even softer, and were like velvet in comparison. 

I inhaled the scent of rain on freshly cut grass. It reminded me of dewy meadows and Irish springs. His touch was firm, but he managed to hold me with care, like a bull who had trained for years with the sole purpose of entering a china shop. 

He tasted like what summer felt like, if you could make sense of it. The kiss had the same intensity behind severe thunderstorms. Beautiful but deadly. I found myself teetering on the edge of a cliff: desperate to chase this thrill, but also wary of whether or not it was worth dying for. 

I mentally decided that I could expire in his arms, and be perfectly content with that decision.

I got more into it. I thought that if this was a dream I’d take full advantage of it. Surely dream Thor would be fine with me taking over the kiss. It felt only natural. 

I decided it was time for my tongue to do the exploring. My lips needed to memorize the feel of his. My hands wanted to study every strand of hair that lived on the nape of his neck. That was only fair right?

I was enjoying his embrace so much, that I mistook the spinning in my head for shock from kissing a god, instead of the telltale signs of an impending headache. The lack of air in my lungs was because he took my breath away in a figurative sense, instead of the literal physical sense it actually was. The ache that spread throughout my body wasn’t because of the suffocating grip he had to keep me pressed to his chest, but because our bodies were on the brink of fusing into one. 

On second thought, maybe dying in his arms is more painful than I previously thought. 

I tapped out, and he immediately released me, placing me gently on the ground. I struggled for air, but it was like he didn’t miss a beat. Not a drop of sweat in sight on his gorgeous face. Instead, I could see a bright smile forming. 

“Are my thoughts clear enough, now?” He asked, breaking out into smirk.

But I had no time to acknowledge his joke, for I could feel reality setting back in. And reality is, I was a flustered fuck. 

“I’m sorry.” I stammered. “I must be holding you from your business on Asgard!”

“What? No—”

But he had no time to argue, for in a flash I was already gathering my gym bag and heading for the door.

“What about your training?” I heard him yell.

“I’m sorry! Maybe another time!” And after that, I practically sprinted to get out of earshot before he could protest or stop me. 

I raced passed Peter who was on his way into the gym. “Y/N! Are you okay?” I heard him yell. But what was strange is that I couldn’t hear him think it, despite being more than enough distance away from Thor.

“I’m fine.” I yelled back, hoping he wouldn’t follow. Maybe Peter’s mouth was faster than his thoughts.

No. That wasn’t it, because as I raced through the tower, everyone’s minds were silent, even though they were chatting casually with one another. That never happened. 

I burst through the nearest lady’s room, desperate to calm my nerves, when I saw Natasha applying red lipstick.  The action by itself wasn’t disturbing, but the expression she wore was.

“Don’t tell the others.” She voiced, in a threatening tone.

“Don’t tell the others what?” I asked confused. Maybe she’d be able to take my mind off of things. 

She looked at me like I had grown two heads, much like the first day we met when I proved that I could read her thoughts. “I know you read them. But this is different Y/N, the guys will never let me live this one down.”

“Nat, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the date.”

“You’re going on a date?” No wonder she was so panicked. The woman was more comfortable with killing than she was with being vulnerable.

“Yes—What is wrong with you?” She half-yelled, interrupting herself as if she just realized something was wrong.

I had, had enough with trying to not think about him, because the task was damn near impossible so I decided to just say it. “Thor admitted his feelings for me. And then we kissed!” I cried. 

Oh, Nat mouthed, taking a more comfortable position against the bathroom sink. She leaned against its counter, and crossed her arms,“And now you can’t take your mind off of him.”

It was my turn to look at her like she was a lunatic. “How did you know that? Are you a mind-reader too?”

Song for the Chapter: Waiting For You by the Aces:  Pretty Self-explanatory lyrics. Think of the song from Thor’s POV

part II

A/N: If you made it this far, don’t be afraid to tell me what you think :)

[avengers-age-of-fanfics]

just for you, honeybee (3/?)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, steve rogers x reader (platonic)

word count: 3,986

authors note: part three!!!! I'm honestly so happy with how this is turning out so please leave feedback and lmk how I'm doing! thank you all so much :)

warnings: swearing, super soldier serum injection, needles, drinking

summary: dating back to 1943, you, james barnes, and steve rogers were best friends, including bucky being your boyfriend. when you get a notice that bucky died in the war, you make it your mission to find closure for yourself and protect steve as he is the only remaining piece of bucky you have left. once you are offered the super soldier serum, you and steve must make your way through world war 2 - and the unknown future hardships to come.

recap: You picked at your nails, anxiety swallowing you whole, “and what if you don’t make it back, either?”

“I will.”

-

It had only taken you 5 days to make up your mind: either go with Steve as he finishes out his mission with the army or wait in Brooklyn upon his return. “Well,” you always bit back, “if you return.”

You did not want to stay in Brooklyn and wait for Steve to come back. You had done that with Bucky and after learning his tragic death, you needed to go with Steve. You didn’t care who you had to fight – you were protecting Steve Rogers and looking after him, just like James would have wanted.

Peggy Carter immediately welcomed you and seemed somewhat relieved when you had met with them outside your apartment complex, bags packed and ready to go. She had given you a soft smile and a nod, making you feel more at calm with your decision. However, before you left, you needed to say goodbye – just in case.

Dressed in a tie-neck floral dress, you headed across the street to where Grover was, selling newspapers once again in the early morning. However, when he wasn’t on the sidewalk, he was in your apartment, holding you as you cried for Bucky. Grover had helped you open Bucky’s files and put on his dog tags; he was there while Steve was sorting out your arrangements with Peggy. He had your snot stains on his nicest shirts that you always apologized for, and he had carefully placed the dog tags over your head; Grover was certainly one of your rocks when Steve needed to grieve on his own, which you understood.

Noticing your approaching figure, Grover stood up and shooed people away from his stand, meeting you halfway. He noticed your solemn look, “you goin’ with Mr. America?”

With a nod, you wrapped your arms around the older man’s neck, his chubby arms meeting your waist in a split second, “I have to, Grove. I needta’ keep my promise to James, and watch after Stevie.”

Grover tightened his grip around you and squeezed, much like a father would, “sure that super soldier can’t do it himself? Looks more than capable.”

You shook your head against his neck, “I promised – I promised James; you know that.”

Grover pulled away, resting his hands on your shoulders, “I know you did, kid…but that don’t mean it still pains me to see ya go…Come back here, the both of you, in one piece – ya hear me?”

With a nod, you squeezed Grover’s hand on your shoulder and went back to where Steve and Peggy were standing by an army truck, your bags already in the trunk. As the two looked back at you, you gave a curt nod, “I’m ready.”

Steve helped you into the backseat as Peggy headed up front, starting the truck up once you were all piled in. As you rode off, away from Brooklyn, you looked back to your home, and gave a sad wave to Grover who was already back to selling newspapers – but you saw him wiping his cheeks. Tears flooded your eyes as you imagined you and Bucky finding a nice white picket house in Brooklyn once he came back like he promised. Turning back around, you wiped your eyes, looking forward to the road, a hand wrapped around Bucky’s dog tags.

Only a little while into the car ride, you leaned forward, asking the two soldiers a question, “where exactly are we headed?”

Steve turned around towards you, “first, Camp Lehigh where we’ll get you some ID so they know you’re with Peggy and me. Then, London, where Colonel Phillips got a lead on Schmidt’s new hideout.”

You looked down at your nails, picking at the skin surrounding them, “can I be of help in any way? And, uh… who is Schmidt?”

Peggy glanced back at you for a quick moment, “how are your fighting skills, y/n?”

Steve gave her a glare, “no, absolutely not.”

The driver looked back once more, expecting an answer. You glanced at Steve, “I’ve got experience with guns and hand-on-hand combat.”

Steve shook his head, “that’s nice but I’m not letting you do what I think Peggy is insinuating.”

Peggy elbowed him before she answered you, “there’s a chance your skills may come in handy, Miss y/n, but it won’t be an easy feat.”

You nodded to her, “I’d like to be of any service I can, Agent Carter.”

Steve grumbled, “am I just invisible to you two?” That finally got a giggle out of you and Steve glanced back, squeezing your hand, before turning towards the front.

You waited a few moments before you tapped Steve’s shoulder, getting his attention, “hmm?”

With a head tilt, you asked again, “who is this Schmidt guy? Never got an answer earlier.”

Steve seemed a bit tense when you asked before answering you, “he’s a confidant to Hitler and closely affiliated with Hydra. Once we take down Schmidt, we get closer to taking down Hitler.”

Your eyes had widened during his short summary, “so you really been killin’ Nazis, Stevie?”

He huffed, “been trying too – mostly taking over Hydra bases. Buck was more the killing Nazi type.”

With a slight smile, you squeezed Steve’s hand, “sounds like our James.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for some mindless chatter over Peggy’s radio.

By the time you three got to Camp Lehigh, getting your identification was nothing out of the ordinary; however, being looked at with either such sorrow or surprise was a shock. You had assumed people knew about Bucky, but you never thought Bucky had told everyone about the girl from home, nor that they knew what she looked like. Tears flooded your eyes very quickly at the image of Bucky boasting about his Brooklyn girl and everything about her, and apparently, his words got all the way back to New Jersey.

Even when you got to the London Bunker, more dejected looks were given your way. Some sick part of you wished he hadn’t made you such a big deal, but if he were still alive, you’d be flustered. With subtle hands, you quietly put Bucky’s dog talks within your new army greens officer uniform. While you definitely were not an officer, Peggy had no problem lending you one of hers, telling you that if someone had a problem with it, take it up with her.

You clearly remembered her conversation as she dragged you into her tent, quickly shoveling through a trunk of hers, “are you alright wearing one of these? I have a few different sizes – whatever fits you.”

You accepted a green skirt of hers with a nod, along with a tan-colored blouse and a green jacket. Thankfully, it had no medals on it so you didn’t exactly feel as if you were impersonating a soldier.

You looked towards Peggy as she made her leave, “thank you, Agent Carter…You truly did not have to do this but – but I appreciate it.”

Peggy gave a soft smile as she opened the tent, “anything for Barnes’ girl.”

Right when she left, you sobbed for a good 20 minutes. You remember mumbling to yourself, “I hope I still am your best girl, Jamie.”

Over the next few days, you had quickly grown accustomed to the troops' fast pace and overall serious atmosphere, along with their Colonel. You would never admit it to the man, but Colonel Phillips scared you when you two had first met; you wondered if he had ever laughed in his entire life. And you definitely wouldn’t tell him this either, but you knew he was a big softie underneath that whole ‘I’m Colonel Phillips and you have to be intimidated by me’ attitude. Once you had arrived in London, you made it your mission to make the Colonel laugh, whether it be at your expense or someone else’s – but it took your mind off James; well, as much as it could.

One man who admired your mission and seemed to play along with it was Mr. Howard Stark; when the two of you weren’t messing around, history was being made, and changing the world for the better was your first priority.

Besides his cocky attitude, Howard had truly become one of your favorite people – besides Captain America himself, of course. When Steve had introduced you to the team focused on finding Schmidt and the rest of Hydra, Howard had taken to you liking a father hen, showing you his new tech and his favorite, the new vibranium shield he made for Cap. He was so ecstatic about showing a new face his greatest creation and how indestructible it was; as he told you, everyone else did not seem as impressed and he needed someone with a brain like yours to comprehend what he made.

While nobody else knew, he had also shown you the last remaining vial of the super-soldier serum Dr. Erskine had made and thus, what Howard had been trying to recreate. He had almost been successful but told you he did not want to use Erskine’s last vial on someone, in case it ever came to that. Instead, he wanted to try his own, one that would not affect one’s looks physically but included all the enhancements. Now that got you intrigued; you loved Steve, truly, but if you ever got the chance to take Stark’s serum and wanted a husband in the future, you did not want to look so…bulky.

The two of you worked closely together, using Stark brainpower and L/N design skills and expert eye to create the new symbol for Captain America.

With a pretty decent paint job on your part, both you and Howard took a step back from the upheld shield, looking over the new red, white and blue design, fit with a silver star. Tears filled your eyes but you refused to let them fall as Howard rested a hand on your back – your Stevie would be carrying that shield proudly very shortly.

Howard pulled you into a quick side hug, “Sergeant Barnes would be proud of you, kid. Look at you, designing Captain America’s new shield!”

With a soft laugh, you wiped your eyes, “I hope he would be.”

Before Howard stepped away to give you some space, you grabbed onto his arm, eyes darting towards the suitcase underneath his desk, “can I ask you something, Howard?”

Howard crossed his arms, “what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours, kiddo?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “listen, I know you’re gonna say no, but I just… I need to get this out.”

Howard noticed your serious tone and pulled you against a corner of the huge bunker that had been your home for the past couple of days, surrounded by books that you had read in record time, “go on, kid.”

You fumbled over your words, nails scratching against your skin, “do you think – do you think I could take the serum? Your recreation, of course – I saw your successful attempts and I want to take it. I’ve thought it over, truly, and it’s what I want. Ever since James – ever since James died, I’ve felt so lost and useless; I want to do something, something that James would be proud of. And I know you’re gonna say no, but Howard, I really need to do this, so please-“

Howard interrupted you, hand held up calmly, “let’s talk to Colonel Phillips, okay?”

Your eyes grew wide, “real-really? No immediate reprimanding?”

He looked at you with soft eyes, “I know what you’re feeling, y/n, and it’s not a good feeling. While I wish there was another solution other than you taking the serum, I – I’m not opposed to it. Maybe we need a sidekick.”

You gave a slight smile as he grinned back, “thank you, Howie.” He pinched your arm in response to his nickname, narrowing his eyes playfully.

The moment you asked Colonel Phillips for a private meeting with you, him, Howard, and Peggy, he already seemed on edge. Woke up on the wrong side of the cot, sour coffee, you weren’t sure – but you were sure that he was not going to be happy with your idea.

As expected, the meeting with Colonel Phillips was not exactly great; he may have thrown a fit and yelled at you for even suggesting such a thing. Okay, ouch, that stung – you genuinely thought it was a good idea.

You had interrupted during such fit, “sir, may I remind you that Steve Rogers had no prior fighting experience yet he got the super-soldier serum? I have the skills – well, some skills - the will to fight, and the…”

You stopped.

“I have a purpose, just like Steve,” you began once more, “Hydra took away the most important person in my life and I’ll be damned to hell if I’m not gonna do anything to stop them. So please, sir, let me do this.”

Peggy Carter stood beside Colonel Phillips, her lips twitching up in a slight smile, “you remind me of him. Of Barnes.” The Colonel grumbled.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, “I guess he rubbed off on me.”

Peggy looked to Colonel Phillips as he was deep in thought, until he spoke, “you talk to Rogers about this?”

You shook your head, “no, sir.”

Colonel Phillips crossed his arms, “I suggest you bring it to his attention before we make a final decision, l/n. Then, if we decide yes, we’re going to need to change the plan just a tad bit.”

With a nod, you stood up and walked out of the meeting room, hoping to find Steve around the corner somewhere; on your way out, you already heard Colonel Phillips grumbling about how it would be nice to have another super-soldier.

One of the Howling Commandos spoke up during your search for Steve, “he’s over at Crocker’s Folly. Bar right across the street from here, kid.” You thanked him and walked out of the site, spotting a very beat-down bar just across the street, surprisingly still standing.

Heading over, you had honestly no idea how to bring up the idea of you taking the serum to Steve; it definitely was no normal conversation. You knew he would say no, but you wanted to take it and be of use during the war and avenge Bucky in any way you could. Once inside, you heard a radio in the distance of the bar, unsure of what song was playing. Following the sound, broken glass and among other things crunched under your footsteps, letting Steve know someone was there.

Sitting at a table with a bottle of liquor and a glass by himself, your best friend turned around and glanced at you, pulling up a chair. You gave a small smile, finding the seat right across from him, “are you okay?”

Steve shrugged, “that Dr. Erskine said the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing… which means uh.. –“

“You can’t get drunk.”

Steve shot you a look, “when you’d get so smart?”

You kicked his foot with a chuckle, “when I started hangin’ out with Howard.”

He gave a sad smile as tears flooded his eyes, “I am so sorry, y/n.”

You choked back a sob, eyes filling with tears, “it wasn’t your fault, Stevie. I know that you did everything you could.”

Steve’s eyes were brimmed red, “how are you – how are you staying so strong?”

Clearing your throat of the sob making its way up, you licked your lips, “I feel like I’ve cried too many tears, Steve. I want to cry more, my god I do, but I know he wouldn’t want that.”

Steve nodded, “’m sorry to bring him up, I just…” he mumbled, “I’m going to kill Schmidt and all of Hydra if it’s the last thing ‘m gonna do, y/n.” His hand had curled into a fist and you felt the anger radiating off of him.

You grasped his hand, softly uncurling it, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something, pertaining Schmidt.”

Steve let out a grumble, taking one last sip of his drink, “everything okay?”

You nodded, “I – I’m okay. But Howard…he has a remaining vial of the serum from Dr. Erskine and has even recreated it himself. I talked to Peggy and Colonel Phillips and I’m going to take it, the recreation.”

Steve’s eyes shot up to yours, “Y/N, I can’t – I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous and I promised –“

“Steve,” you stopped him, “I know you promised Bucky that you would look out for me. I promised him that about you, too. But I want to do this. It’s my decision and I’m hoping you’ll let me do this for myself and Buck.”

The man across from you looked down at his glass for a long while before he looked you in the eyes with a grin, “’gonna pretend I can get drunk and forget why I even agreed.”

A small smile formed on your lips as you reached over, squeezing his hand, “thank you, Stevie. Now c’mon, we got a serum to inject and plans to tweak.”

When the two of you reached the bunker once again, you nodded to Howard and he let out a breath. He was not exactly looking forward to this, injecting you with the serum, but it’s what you wanted. Word quickly got to Colonel Phillips who seemed a bit relieved himself, glad there were no tantrums thrown – much like his.

Down the many halls of the bunker, Howard, Peggy, and a few nurses prepared an operation room, a bed centered in the middle of the room as lights displayed it. Once you were injected, you would need a few moments to recollect yourself – both of them knew this.

You, Colonel Phillips, and Steve stood outside the operation room, looking in as Howard laid out the serum and sedation if needed. The Colonel spoke up first, looking down at you, “you certain about this? There’s no guarantee you’ll live.”

You nodded, “I’m aware, Colonel. But I’ve thought it through and it’s what I want.”

Steve looked to you as the Colonel looked on, “you yell for me if you need me, okay? I’m right outside.” You gave him a small smile before you headed inside per Howard’s direction.

Steve stopped you once more, “and y/n?”

You turned around to look at him as he continued, “you’re a good person. Maybe not a perfect soldier yet, but a good person.”

You smiled at Steve, “looks like I’ll need you as my teacher once I become your sidekick, Stevie.” You both let out a chuckle.

Nurses stood behind the two tables surrounding the cot you were instructed to lay on, taking off your shirt and tossing it into Peggy’s arms, letting out a whistle, immediately calming your nerves. You flashed her a smile which she returned.

Bright lights shining onto your body – now only clad in a bra and some army green cargo pants – your gaze shifted to Howard. He looked albeit nervous but once he caught your eye, all nerves disappeared, “how ya feelin’ kid?”

You chuckled, “like I’m about to be turned into a super-soldier.”

Howard’s shoulders shook with a slight laugh, “that’s nuts – it’s almost as if I’m administering said serum. I’m gonna inject you with some penicillin, okay?”

You nodded your head, looking towards the window where you saw Steve looking way too tense. With a smile, you gave him a thumbs up in which he chuckled at, shaking his head. Beside him stood the Colonel who looked nervous himself, but with a blow-kiss, you saw him roll his eyes and turn back into your stern Colonel Phillips.

Howard spoke up, grabbing your attention, “now, y/n, your transformation will be a bit different from Steve’s, but the outcome should be the same – just no outer physical changes, as I mentioned. No need for nerves. You ready?”

You nodded, and with a deep breath, you felt the sharp needle penetrate your skin, injecting you with the serum. As the serum coursed through your veins, your skin felt as if it were on fire, your breaths growing quicker and sweat already forming on your skin. Howard noticed your breaths, “deep breaths, kid, don’t rush the process. You got this. How ya feelin’?”

You grunted, “burning – hot but cold. Freezer burn.”

Howard grew pale, somehow making sense of your words, “okay, y/n, you gotta fight this. Don’t let the serum override your body – you gotta let it combine with your cells. C’mon, kid!” Peggy’s grip tightened on your shirt as she looked on, whispering words of encouragement.

Outside, Steve and Colonel Phillips began pacing, the Colonel glaring through the window, telling himself that he could telepathically communicate with you and force you to live through this. Steve bit his thumb, growing more and more anxious by the second.

Your body had now started to sweat profusely, the shine adding itself to your figure as you breathed heavier, a gasp and a sharp scream leaving your lips. Steve immediately ran in, holding your hand, “y/n, come on, please! Fight this – don’t give up, please. I – I need you, we all do.”

In a split second, your eyes opened, meeting Steve’s for a split second before you let out another yell, eyes squeezing shut once more, “Steve! It hurts – it hurts!”

Your whole body felt as if it were on fire yet hypothermic, your chest feeling so heavy that it was difficult to breathe. Every cell in your body felt as if it were being torn apart and being put back together again; you talked to yourself in your head, “how the hell did Steve do this?”

Steve ran a hand over your now-damp hair, “I know, I know, but you got this, y/n. Once you beat this, we’ll go and kill those sonsabitches at Hydra, you hear me? You gotta beat this.”

Over time, which honestly felt like hours, your body slowly started to welcome the serum and new changes within your body, your breathing returning to normal and sweat disappearing onto the cot below you, body returning to normal temperature. With only a slightly bloody nose, you felt…good. Resting against the cot, you let out a sigh, eyes fluttering.

Howard hooked an IV up to your arm, returning the liquids you had sweat out, pushing your shoulder lightly, “’gotta talk to me, kid.”

You grumbled, “’m tired…but feel like I could run a marathon.”

Steve’s hand squeezed yours as he let out a laugh, looking up to the ceiling, “that’s your girl, Barnes. You did great, y/n – you did great.”

Eyes still shut, you hummed, “mmm…do I have abs of steel now?”

Steve chuckled, “would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

You nodded your head, a dopey smile on your face. Steve continued, “I wouldn’t want to fight you in the ring, bug.”

Slowly but surely, you opened your eyes, adjusting to the way your body felt and sensed everything around you. With a grunt, you rubbed your eyes, glancing at your hands – hmm, they looked the same?

Howard noticed your confusion, “Remember what I said, kid? No outer physical changes, but you got all the upgrades Rogers has. Better looking, obviously,” you let out a soft laugh, “just not as bulky.”

With a hum, you sat up, fighting off Steve and Howard’s mother hen tendencies, “’mentioned that earlier…bulky. ‘m fine, by the way – stop worryin’.”

Slowly getting off the cot, you walked around the room, stretching your legs and your whole body. Everything felt different but good; it’s like your senses and every cell within your body were heightened. “It felt cold,” you mentioned to Howard, “the serum.”

He nodded, “as opposed to the vita-rays, we had to keep it in cold storage. Easier that way.”

You hummed, and while turning around in the small room, your eyes met Steve’s once more, “well Captain, what now?”

-

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PARTY FAVOURS | A MYSTERIOUS INTERLUDE

first time reader click here

This is a scrapped chapter. Originally, I was planning to 1) give Reader a longer, more intense destructive streak before her ending up with Tony. I planned three or so chapters that involved an abusive Quentin Beck, but, ultimately decided that to be too cliché. 2) I had planned to write at least 30% of the fanfic in Tony's/third person POV. This chapter would have been number 11/12 - Tony would have rejected her advances in the lab & she would have got hooked on Beck's charming facade.

Why am I publishing this? It seems like a waste if effort to shelf it, plus, it's Tony's POV. You can skip it since it has no relation/bearing on the current story. Just a tiny "what might have been" tidbit.

It was a moment's notice. One second, they're standing in a group, laughing, soaking in the warmth from the fireplace, chattering amongst themselves, telling tall tales and sipping their liquor. It all goes black briefly, and then they are surrounded by darkness - it's nearly impenetrable, so thick that their voices echo in it.

Tony's body was encompassed by the nanotech suit immediately after his eyes and his brain adjusted to the rapid change of surroundings. His teammates, too, had their skills honed on an instinctive level - the faint thump of Mjölnir in Thor's hands, the golden-green glow of his brother's magic, whirring of Barnes' prosthetic arm. Steve's shield stayed tucked behind the living room couch but his enhanced physique and readiness to fight 24/7 has him covering the unenhanced Clint and Natasha in mere seconds.

Tony was mostly angry rather than afraid. The team was having a good time at his party and the chance encounters of weird shit like this had been reduced to nearly zero percent possibility thanks to Friday's screening process: supervillains, Hydra agents and the likes strictly prohibited on Stark-owned premises.

It was a strange coincidence Banner had to take a break to check up on one of his experiments not even five minutes before the rest of the team was experiencing the strange change in scenery. Speaking of Strange, the sorcerer also was nowhere to be seen - Tony distinctively remembered seeing Stephen ten feet away from the bar, engaged in a hearty debate with the lead of SI's Medical Engineering department.

"This is not magic," Wanda piped up from behind him, confused. "I don't feel anything on the usual frequency. It sounds more like Friday humming in the walls, like electricity."

Good to know, Tony thought. It was nice having someone who was familiar with the undiscovered side of science - after all, Tony had always considered anything 'magical' to be science he had not personally understood yet. Wanda's most redeeming quality in Tony's eyes was the fact that more often than not she seemed to be as clueless as everyone else when it came to her powers and didn't act so high and mighty as some other people. Cloaked people, and horned people, for example.

"The fuck, man? I was hoping, just one evening, one normal evening with my beer and wings," Clint whined. Tony could hear Natasha huffing in annoyed agreement.

"Mr. Stark, what are we going to do?" His very own spider-child, on the other hand, sounded distraught. Peter's voice has this funny thing it does when the boy is upset but tries to hide it: it quivers on the vowels, wobbles slightly.

Tony had to blindly grope the air for a moment before his arm found Peter's shoulder. The boy was shivering and took the offered comfort eagerly, folding into the older man.

"Okay, whoever is pulling this stunt, my advice is: don't," Tony sighed, 12 000% Done With This Shit™, exclaiming loudly. "If that's a prank, stop it or speak up. If you got beef, then you got some nerve doing this in my tower. Show yourself."

He could feel the fine hairs on his neck stand up as the team tensed next to him, readily gearing up to pounce. Peter was vibrating in Tony's arms and the billionaire suddenly remembered the curious side-effects of Peter's powers, the spidey-sense. It must have been going absolutely haywire - the kid nearly hyperventilated himself into a heart attack.

"Stark, I must apologise for the uncomfortable circumstances. Believe me, it was a necessity - you always demand attention, whereas I need people to pay attention to me for a moment. Don't worry, you'll get yours when the time is due."

The voice was vaguely familiar. Male, slightly nasal but quiet and creeping. Insinuating. It lacked the usual boisterous bravado of a mid-grade bad guy, Tony had to take an educated guess that the owner of the mysterious voice was well-off, white. Privileged. No hint of desperation in it, as if the man was pitying everybody.

"The fuck? Q, is that you?"

Oh shit, Tony realized in muted horror. She must've been hanging around somewhere in their vicinity - which wasn't unusual, the girl usually orbited around Barnes, Wanda, Peter or Bruce. All of whom were present at the party. Tony had forgotten about her, to his shame, somehow having had automatically assumed she trotted out of the room on Bruce's heels. His science bro and her acted like conjoined twins when it came to their scientific ventures.

"Stop talking," The man growled, the voice suddenly coming from a very different direction. Tony heard a distinctively feminine yelp, albeit muffled. Peter violently jerked in Tony's arms. The engineer put the superstrength of his suit to use, holding the teenager down.

"Aw, hell no!" She yelled, the indignant shrieking followed by the sound of a moist palm slapping something glass...y? "What the fuck? I am asking you again. Are you... Oh my God, are you wearing a fishbowl on your head? Ow, motherfu-" The rest of the sentence is muffled, garbled. Whoever this "Q" was, she obviously knew him and he had silenced her. And, apparently, Q had an uncanny choice of headwear.

Tony was sure the rest of the team had followed his lead on doing a spit-take. They've fought enough supervillains with more than questionable fashion sense but a fishbowl? That was new.

"Be quiet, baby. It's for your own good. I don't want to hurt you if I can help it," The Fishbowl chastised her.

Tony's confusion once again returned to irritation at the frivolous way the villain addressed his science buddy. Peter's friend would have been more accurate but Tony had put her into the 'science bro' category not too long ago. They were close, as much as they could be, with the age gap and totally different interests and... The immense amount of guilt Tony felt for his attraction towards the girl. He was a dirty old man and she was barely an adult.

Every damn day Tony did his best to avoid making a shiny, big, new problem. Yet her brains and her wit and the uncanny ability to pull anybody into a conversation had a firm hold on his attention.

"Leave her alone," Stark angrily declared, powering up a repulsor. "What do you want? Party crashing isn't allowed in my tower anymore."

"What I want, Stark, is for you to give credit where it's due," The man answered simply, giving Tony just enough time to shove Peter behind him towards Natasha and take a tentative step forward.

The soft glow emanating from the repulsor illuminated barely two inches around his hand. The darkness surrounding it seemed to swallow the light. Tony moved on quiet feet towards the voice, easily avoiding furniture. His memory was good and he knew his tower, his home, better than anyone else.

"Did I hear that correctly, you're accusing me of plagiarism?" Tony tried for indignant, hoping to provoke the man into an inevitable, drawn-out speech where he lists all the wrongs Tony ever did him, giving the team precious time to regroup and form some semblance of a plan.

"Yes," Q simply answered, pausing for a second. "I hope you enjoy your next adventure. It certainly will show you the potential of my creation."

Tony shared a muted sound of confusion with the rest of the team.

"Q, I am very disappointed," To Tony's horror, th girl stared talking again. She sounded somewhat breathless, and closer to him than before. "Stop it with the dick measuring contest, you're a grown ass man. Go work for OsCorp, or Hammer, drink your sorrows away." She sounded so tired. And even closer to him.

"This is not a dick measuring contest!" Q roared suddenly and wow, that man was unstable. "This was my life's work, my creation, he insulted, berated and threw away!"

"I get it, I really get the whole 'being discarded and thrown away' thing," She replied, somewhat sarcastically. "But you know what? I'll be damned and I'll be fucked if I give some piece of shit any more of my undivided attention. They don't want me? Fine, they can fuck off and take their complaints with them." Her speech was periodically interrupted by shuffling noises.

Tony didn't dare to interrupt, seeing now the possibility of Q being actually calmed down by a teenager (probably) quoting some teen drama TV show.

"But going full Joker? You're a brilliant man, Quen, I wouldn't even look at you twice if not for your brains and your baby blues, however I don't fuck with the bad guys. That shit kills," The hand that rested on the wrist cuff of Tony's suit unmistakably belonged to her. She had the remnants of some sort of wire around it, sleek and quicksilver-shiny, irritating the tender skin under it. "And I want to live. You've gone and pissed off an entire crew of supers and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think, Quen," There was genuine sadness in her voice.

Tony stood silent in confusion.

Whoever this Quen was, they obviously shared a close relationship. Tony's brain ran through the list of her friends, her relatives - there was nobody named Q, Quen or even remotely similar. Natasha had mentioned a possible boyfriend at some point but the man sounded too old for that, he was at least thirty. Or maybe? Tony wouldn't put it completely past the girl, if judging by the blatant way she flirted with Bruce. With himself.

"Baby, this is not about you. I don't want to hurt you," Quen replied, a hysterical edge to his voice. Something began flickering in the distance, attracting Tony's attention to the shape of a man with a round sort of helmet and a red, billowing cape (hello, 2012-Thor!).

"Too late, Quen. You've tied me up and you went on to attack my friends. I've already told you that if you yell at me one more time, I will leave you. So I guess this is it," Her voice broke at the end, pitiful sniffles following the statement.

Tony watched the exchange, mildly uncomfortable and very concerned. The man yelled at her? That was absolutely unacceptable, however, what else could one expect from a maniac with a flair for the dramatic?

The girl bodily placed herself in front of Tony, standing, doing nothing but rubbing her wrists. It was then that the engineer noticed Q nearing them, the shape becoming distinctively closer. And - yep, there it was - the fishbowl on his head. It completely obscured him, making his face invisible, unrecognisable.

The man seemed rather fixated on the girl standing in front of Tony. He floated in front of her, ignoring Tony, taking her bound hands in his own. A brief click and a hiss later, her wrists were released and the contraption fell freely to the floor where it landed with an oddly heavy thud. Tony hoped there was no lead in that thing - supervillains were dangerous but lead poisoning was cancerous and fatal.

"Baby..." Quen timidly touched her face with a leather-bound glove. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry." Tony took the chance to examine the man's costume. If anything, it looked somewhat steampunk-y? There was a lot of bronze, and the chest brace had some sort of glowing lines on it. Power storage units?

She stared up, towards the man's hidden face. "M'sorry, Quen," She mumbled, going in for a hug. Or that's what Tony thought. The majestic cape that billowed behind Quen was unceremoniously yanked from his body as the girl ducked, covering herself with it, yelling: "TONY, NOW, SHOOT, SHOOT!"

Tony did just that, shot Quen flat in the chest and the man stumbled backwards, tripping on the cape - such a stupid, unexpected thing. But Tony knew, his girl was clever and resourceful. Pride swelled in his chest as he shot the man again, Rogers running out from behind him blindly, body-slamming Quen into the ground for good measure. Two hundred pounds of supersoldier later, the battle was over before it even started.

"No!" The villain shouted as Steve pressed and popped the hilarious glass contraption on his head. The accessory was no match for the Captain's super strength. Tony immediately recognised the man as his former employee, Quentin Beck, and it clicked for him. It was totally a personal vendetta.

"This stuff is tough, plexiglass, maybe," The Captain remarked, pointing at the scattered shards around Beck's head. "It appears to be augmented too, some kind of tech, I don't know. You're good at this, Tony," Steve chuckled humorlessly, roughly turning Beck around and securing his hands with a pair of vibranium-reinforced handcuffs. God only knew where he'd gotten those from.

"Good at what? Making enemies?" Stark couldn't resist the self-depricating joke.

"Stop it, Tony," Natasha's gently admonishing voice interrupted Steve's incoming lecture. Tony, for once, was thankful that the Widow interrupted. He was in no mood to listen to another one of Steve's speeches.

"Who do you work for?" That deadly gleam in Natasha's eyes was terrifying and Beck was only a man.

"I don't work for anyone but myself, thanks to Stark," He spat venomously.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow in Tony's direction.

"Fired him years ago, this guy was going nuts. Brilliant but crazier than a bag of cats," Tony replied, feigning nonchalance. He could feel a mild headache begin to gnaw at his skull. "We worked on a project together, he got upset that I refused to weaponize it. We had a falling out. End of story." With that, Tony stood up, retracing his suit to only leave the gauntlets on his hands, gathered the various pieces of tech the good captain had removed from Beck's persona and made way towards the nearest table.

Or where he thought it was. All of them were still surrounded by the uncanny darkness. The anxiety that Tony forcefully shut down reared it's ugly head as soon as he lost physical touch with his teammates. He stumbled, his foot catching onto something on the ground.

"Ow, motherfucker!"

"Buttercup, I haven't fucked your mother nor I plan to," He snarked back automatically, flooded with relief at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Hope so. She'd probably bite your dick off if you try," A hand was groping his calf and then she stood up in front of him, still clutching the ridiculous cape. It appeared to be a source of light, which was very strange. The girl looked positively demonic, illuminated by red light, face scrunched up, eyes puffy, and clothing in disarray.

"You good?" Tony managed to choke out, confusion and worry and anxiety making his chest tight.

"Balmy. My boyfriend is a homicidal maniac with an inferiority complex," She sassed, an edge of panic to her voice. "Oh, and he tried to kill one of my best friends. I am fine and dandy."

"Your boyfriend?" That was the only thing Tony heard. Bat-shit crazy Beck, his babygirl's boyfriend? There was no way in Hell he'd allow such a thing...

"My ex-boyfriend, I guess," She sighed, removing the cape from her persona. Refusing to meet his eyes, fiddling with the hem of her top. "Here," The girl abruptly thrust the cape at him. "This is a funny thing, it's like a hologram but you can actually touch it. You should, uh, probably disinfect it, or something. I've been on-uh, around it many times," It was so unlike her, the fumbling, the embarrassment, Tony wanted to wheel her straight to medical to check if she's gotten concussed again.

Then his brain caught up and all he saw was red. Figuratively and literally - the cape was still in his face, loosely hanging from her outstretched hand. She must've seen the look on his face.

The step she took back was quick and worrying. "Forget I said that, I don't know why I said that. Oh, god."

"What were you thinking?" Tony inhaled a solid lungful, prepared to make his opinion very clear. "Getting involved with a lunatic! For a second I actually thought you were smart, there isn't a chance you missed that the guy is short of a few marbles," His voice was quiet, the one of a calm fury. His words cut deeply and he could see the hurt, the shame in her eyes, on her face. Tony knew he'd regret it later however his brain insisted it was a necessary evil. He continued ranting until he ran out of breath. "Not to mention he's, what, twice your age? And he yells at you and tells you to shut up? It didn't ring any alarm bells in that pretty little head of yours?"

"Tony, stop," Steve's hand landed on the engineer's shoulder and he simply shrugged it off, staring at the quivering girl in front of him.

She was crying, silently, few tears pooling in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, leaving ugly streaks in her make-up. Tony expected her to sass him, to argue back, to yell obscenities like she usually did when something or someone upset her but he was met with hurt, stunned silence. His worst fear came true when she looked away, shrugging.

He'd seen this sort of dejected shrug the time her father drugged her and... She just took it. She expected it, even, his outrage, his disappointment. Being hurt and mistreated was the norm for her, Tony realized belatedly. There were too many parallels between them both that made him uncomfortable deep inside. His chest felt tight, regret washing over him like a tsunami wave.

"I'm turning on the lights, close your eyes for maximum comfort," Strange's voice announced suddenly, causing everybody to jump and shudder. Tony complied begrudgingly. The sudden influx of light was painful even from behind closed eyelids. His headache became a full-on dull throb.

"What happened?" "Are you okay?" "Is everybody alive?" Resonated across the room. Tony spied several small drones smoking and crackling next to the exit door, Stephen Strange closing a portal he must've used to evacuate the civilians.

The puddle of red holographic cape on the floor. And her hastily retreating back. Damn.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[monaisme]

One Week Later - Chapter Three

This is the sequel to my one-shot, “The Battle”

“Well, if I didn’t think the man was an asshat before...” Mr. Stark growled as he disconnected from the call and sat back on the couch next to a freshly wakened Peter. “Seriously! He told me to call when we were ready and now he’s all ‘call Wong—I’m busy.’ He’s the keeper of the freakin’ Time Stone and he can’t bother to find a few minutes between balancing chakras and making avocado paste to follow through on a promise?!”

Peter could sympathize with Mr. Stark’s frustration, but was definitely less vocal about it. He’d hoped he’d get a chance to see Dr. Strange specifically so he could thank the man for at least getting him back to Earth after the whole ‘thing,’ but he guessed he’d have to wait until they got back to New York.

Mr. Stark, it seemed, was just getting started though. “I mean, he just hung up! I don’t even have Wong’s number! How am I supposed to—?”

 FRIDAY popped in from the device in his hand, “Boss, may I remind you that I can easily—?”

“Not now, FRI!” He gesticulated wildly, “I want to vent and you’re messing with my flow!”

“Tony, be kind.” Ms. Potts—um, Mrs. Stark chastised her husband from the adjoining bedroom where she was packing up her and Mr. Stark’s belongings. “All the wizards have been playing travel agent while everyone gets sorted and you know this.  He can take a break if he wants to. We’ll just call Wong like he asked and be done.”

Mr. Stark scowled at the suggestion. “But Pep, I wanted to talk to him before we left. You know this!” He whined. “An entire universe knows we’re here, and we’ve just kicked some serious ass! We need to coordinate as soon as we get back, make sure that we have a plan in place for the next—”

“You’ll do no such thing, buster! You know that Bruce and Steve will have returned the stones by the time we’ve returned, so stop being difficult. He’s signed on to do the whole ‘Avengers’ thing...” She popped her head out the door and gave him a pointed look. “Whereas you, Anthony Edward Stark, are retired. You have other priorities in your life now.”

They shared a significant look then, and if Peter had been paying attention, he’d have probably noticed it but—well, Peter’s brain was still warring between finding the motivation to get up off the couch versus never getting up again.

He knew what Mr. Stark had said earlier was true, and appreciated the fact that he was fully in Peter’s corner; but now that he was calmer... uh, visibly calmer, he had to start figuring stuff out, asap.

Once Mr. Stark got ahold of Wong, who Peter thought he might have met at some point during his recovery, they’d be on their way. He’d only slept lightly for an hour or so, and Mrs. Stark didn’t need long to finish gathering up the personal items they’d been able to collect thanks to the very wizards Mr. Stark was still muttering about. It looked like it was only a small suitcase for the two of them, and Peter had—yeah. He took a steadying breath as he realized, Peter had nothing to grab. All he possessed were the sweats and t-shirt Mr. Stark had given him to wear after his time in the med bay.

He didn’t even have shoes to wear... home?

Reality wasn’t holding back from soundly smacked Peter in the face.

“Wong! Ol’ buddy! Tony Stark, here!” Mr. Stark boomed from beside him. “Your roommate, Dr. Strange, has volunteered you for Stark family relocation duty.” Mr. Stark looked at his watch, “What are you doing in about an hour?”

Peter could have heard the reply if he’d wanted to, but he was drawn to another phone, Mrs. Stark’s, ringing quietly in the bedroom.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the woman answered with a whisper. “How are you?”

Whoever answered was quiet—just quiet enough that Peter couldn’t hear anything in return over Mr. Stark’s conversation, and he knew he had no business being curious but—

“Perfect!” Mr. Stark grew louder, forcing Peter’s attention back to their plans. “Now, do you serve lunch on this trip or is it just a bag of peanuts and...” Mr. Stark stopped talking. From what Peter could hear, it seemed that Wong didn’t share Mr. Stark’s sense of humour. “Yes, Wong, I’m sorry.” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and smirked at the boy. “Yes, I und... no.” Was Mr. Stark getting flustered? “Of course I can be respectful of... yes. I know—I know. Wait, what?—C’mon, you know I was only— But—No, Wong! C’mon—“ A defeated sigh, “Do I have to?—But?—okay! I KNOW!” Mr. Stark pinched his nose, huffed in frustration and then calmed. “Thank you, Wong. We’ll see you in a bit.”

FRIDAY disconnected the call when Mr. Stark turned his attention to Peter. “Kid, I hope you appreciate what I’m about to have to do for you.”

Having no clue what the man was talking about, Peter nodded. “Okay, sir.”

Mr. Stark glared.

“I mean Mr. Stark.” Peter really was trying to keep his struggling from being too obvious, but was apparently failing. “I’m sorry. I’m just...” Peter trailed off as he started fidgeting with his fingers. He couldn’t figure out his place and it left him feeling off kilter. His default setting in those moments had always been hyper-politeness—even if Mr. Stark didn’t like it.

Peter would just have to try harder.

Mr. Stark pulled him close and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, but said nothing. It was kind of nice and maybe would have given him a chance to catch his breath, except that—

“Alright, dear heart, I’ll see you in a few days.” Mrs. Stark blew a kiss over the phone line, and disconnected from her own call.

Peter’s mind drifted to the bedroom for just a second, wondered who Mrs. Stark would be speaking to like that, and then was forced to come back to Mr. Stark.

“—get that this is a weird time for you, kiddo, but we’ll get home and get you settled in at the tower in no time at all. Happy’s already pulling your stuff from storage and we’ll set up the room next to May’s so you’re close by—we can wait on all that ‘other stuff’ while we get things figured out, but you can make that call once you’re ready. Does that work for you?”

Peter nodded.

Mrs. Stark exited the bedroom, her phone still in hand. “Any luck with Wong?” She asked. “I couldn’t hear the drama over my own call.” She wiggled her phone in the air. “But things are set, right?”

Mr. Stark smiled at her, “You’ll be pleased to know that everything is under control. I’ll grab our bag and we’ll be off once he gets here.” He side-hugged Peter, then finally got up off the couch. “I will, however, take a minute to see if I can grab a quick meet-up with T’challa seeing as our departure timeline has moved up.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He was leaving?

Peter didn’t notice as Mr. Stark stared down at Peter, saw something, and then crouched down to meet his eyes. “Unless... are you going to be good here with Pepper?”

He hadn’t meant to convey his hesitance at being left with Mrs. Stark. She’d been nothing but kind to him and he had no reason to be concerned—it was just that he hadn’t been away from Mr. Stark in the last days and hours and everything felt so damned raw—and it was written all over his face. “It’s fine, Mr. Stark, really!” He stared back and cursed the fact that he could feel himself tearing up. “I’m good.”

Mr. Stark crooked an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Okay,” he cried out at being called out. “I’m not good, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to go see Mr. King T’challa!”

Mr. Stark snorted at his response. “Kid, how many times am I going to have to remind you? You were literally spit out powerless into the middle of a battle for the universe after being dusted for five years and have only just started to find out how different things are. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m about ready to drop everything to make sure you’re okay, okay?”

Peter cringed and wished he’d stop bringing it up... like REALLY wished he’d stop. The constant reminder made him feel—well, he didn’t know how he felt, but it wasn’t fantastic, so he rolled his eyes and tried to play it off. “I get that, Mr. Stark. Honest. I just—“ he didn’t know how to say that he had to start figuring stuff out and that him being coddled wasn’t gonna help when all was said and done.  Peter looked over to Mrs. Stark, who was watching with interest. “Look, Mrs. Stark is right here and I’m pretty sure she can keep me from setting the room on fire while you’re gone, and...” Beyond that, he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Mr. Stark thought for a couple of seconds, then chuckled. “I’m being a bit of a helicopter parent, aren’t I?”

Rubbing the unfallen tears from his eyes, Peter just shrugged. “I guess?” He answered, but quickly qualified the answer, “But I know you’ve gone through stuff, too, so we’ve just gotta-- I don’t know, figure it out as we go?”

Mr. Stark just stared at him, like he was trying to figure something out, but not saying a word. 

“Mr. Stark, you’ll be back soon, right?”

He nodded.

“Then we’ll be fine.” Peter looked over to Mrs. Stark, “Mrs. Stark can finish up with whatever she needs to do and I’ll see if I can find something to occupy myself for a bit. There’s a tonne of windows so I can check out all the scenery I’ve missed while laid up, and this suite has enough artwork to fill a wing at a museum! There’s stuff to do. You have to be back before Mr. Wong gets here anyways, so I know you won’t get distracted, right?”

Mr. Stark continued assessing. “You know that’s really sad, don’t you? Contenting yourself with looking out windows and checking out the pictures in the bathroom…”

Peter smiled back at him. “Just because I like science and building stuff doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate something beautiful, Mr. Stark. I’m a well rounded sorta’ guy.” He brushed his knuckles against an invisible lapel. “Trust me. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t know what it was, but something shifted and Mr. Stark seemed satisfied. “Alright, but if you decide you need me, you get Pepper to call me, okay?”

Peter nodded in agreement.

“Like if you miss me or feel sick or remember a joke you wanted to tell me, got it? No reason is a stupid reason if you need me here.”

Peter blinked back tears again at the obvious affection. “I’ve got it, Mr. Stark, but you should get going. You’ve only got forty-five minutes before Mr. Wong shows up.” He took a deep breath, then held it in.

“Right. Wong. Can’t wait for him to get here.” Mr. Stark replied dryly. “It’ll be great.”

Peter snorted. He almost wished he’d paid more attention to the call. “Yeah, it will be.”

“Well then,” Mr. Stark straightened up, and everyone politely ignored the popping and cracking of his back and knees. “I’m going to dash off really fast and then be right back.” He gave Mrs. Stark a quick peck on the cheek. “Take care of my spider for me, honey. He’s great entertainment when you’re looking for a distraction during a board meeting.” He gave Peter a wink, and then stepped toward the door.

Peter stood up and moved to stand beside Mrs. Potts.

Mr. Stark put a hand on the doorknob, stopped, and looked back over his shoulder at Peter and his wife. “Seriously, call for anything.”

With that declaration, Mr. Stark finally left the room.

The two of them simply stared at the door.

It took less than a minute for the silence to become awkward.   

“So, how’s the shoulder feeling, Peter?” Mrs. Stark questioned politely.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt uncomfortable? “Oh,” Peter scrunched his forehead in thought as he cautiously moved his arm. “Um, wow.” He moved it a little more. “I think it’s better?!” He couldn’t hide his surprise as he stared back at her. “I wonder when that happened?”

Mrs. Stark smiled softly at him, “I don’t know, but I’m glad to know that you’re not in any pain.” She sat beside him on the couch and placed a tender hand on his arm. “It was hard for everyone to see you suffering— especially Tony so…”

“Yeah,” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck in discomfort. He didn’t like thinking about bothering other people when he was hurt, and this had been a situation he couldn’t work around. “Um, thanks, I guess?”

She smiled so kindly at him, but Peter didn’t know what to say, so the silence descended upon the pair once again.  

Then Mrs. Stark clapped her hands together, startling Peter in the process. 

“Art!” She blurted out. “You said that you wanted to look at some of the works in the suite, and it just so happens that Queen Ramonda gave me a little tour of the place before leaving us to settle in.” She was practically beaming. “I can give you some information on the pieces and maybe we can get to know each other a little… if you’d like?” 

Peter wanted to decline. The urge to mindlessly meander as he tried to figure out what his next steps were was almost physical. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to be alone until Mr. Stark had gone.

But Mrs. Stark looked almost hopeful.  

He smiled at her and hoped it didn’t look too fake, “I don’t want to take you away from whatever you have to do, Mrs. Stark.”

Her grin widened even more, if that was possible. “Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “We just need to grab our bags and we’re done—and I love doing stuff like this!” She stepped towards an incredible sculpture Peter hadn’t noticed before. “Did you know that before I completely flipped my life around and decided to go the Business Admin track at university, I planned to be an Art History major.”

Peter tried really hard to reconcile the Pepper Potts that ran Stark Industries and the Pepper Potts that would have spent her days walking the halls of art museums. 

“You can’t picture it, can you?”

The question brought him up short. “I don’t think I can.” He answered honestly, “But that doesn’t mean anything. I mean really, to know me, would you ever imagine that I run around Queens in a unitard and a mask?”  

She laughed out loud at the description, “Well, when you put it that way…”  

Peter laughed along too, quieter but sincere. 

When they’d both settled again, the quiet felt less tense, but Mrs. Stark still wouldn’t allow it to remain. “Do you really like art?” She asked, feeling less forced than the first time.

Peter didn’t think before he answered. “Yeah, I do. I was really looking forward to the field trip that day—my friend, MJ,” he blushed at the mention of her name. “She was going to show me a new photo exhibit that the museum had just opened up, and I was really excited to see it—plus Uncle Ben used to take me there when I was a kid.” He added, unprompted. “He needed to make sure my brain didn’t jam up with cogs and gears, he’d say.” He chuckled quietly, “But then…” Peter shrugged, the words no longer coming to him.

This time, the quiet served a purpose and so it was left to sit—until Peter was ready. 

“So, tell me about the statue.” Peter piped up as he walked towards it. “And I have to ask, because it’s me—Am I allowed to touch this? ‘Cuz it’s screaming for me to—”

Mrs. Stark took the cue, gladly it seemed. Heavy stuff was over for now and it was time to move on.

“Queen Ramonda didn’t say either way, but this bust dates back to the 1600s so I’d wager a guess that we’ll just be looking with our eyes today. Alright, Peter?” She put a firm hand on Peter’s back, but gave a teasing wink.

Peter slumped in mock defeat. “Fine,” he pretend-grumped and then spent the next twenty minutes really looking at each piece of art with snippets of information being shared by Mrs. Stark. “MJ would definitely love this.” He decided. “She says everything you need to know about a civilization is demonstrated by how it treats its artists.” He smiled. “I wish I had my phone so I could take some pics to show her how—“ He stopped talking. “Oh.” He was growing tired of fading off into new realizations.

Mrs. Stark noticed his shift in mood and moved closer to him, “Peter? Are you alright?”

Peter stopped himself from answering immediately and focussed on the painting in front of him. He was trying to wrap his brain around another ‘something’ that he hadn’t considered and needed to not have another stupid breakdown in front in front of someone he didn’t really know. Seriously, Mr. Stark was bad enough—but to do it in front of his wife? He let out a torturous scream... in his head, which synced up to the actual heavy sigh he released. “Mrs. Stark? How do I find out if someone was snapped?” He tried not to sound so lost and pathetic but it couldn’t be helped. “I mean, the last time I saw Ned and MJ, I was jumping off of a school bus and heading towards that stupid space donut and now it’s been five years so who knows where they could be?”      

She stepped closer still and put an arm around his shoulder. “There’s a registry, Peter. I can check it for you right now or we can check together when we get home, if you’d like... but maybe Tony already knows?” Mrs. Stark gave his shoulder a squeeze. “He was a little...” she seemed to search for a word before she continued, “hyper-focussed when he got back from Titan and anything that impacted the people in his inner circle was at the top of his agenda.” She turned to face him, keeping the contact. “That included you, so...”

Peter couldn’t make the decision. He simply couldn’t, and tried to let Mrs. Potts know, but all he could croak out was, “I... I...”

She enveloped the boy in a hug once she saw the impending panic, and he was remarkably okay with it, even as he tentatively returned the embrace.

“I know you don’t know me as well as the others, Peter, but I’ve gotten to know you through Tony and May—and I want you to know that I’m here for you, too, alright?”

He nodded into her shoulder.

“Doing all of this now, or in hour or even a day—it doesn’t change anything. It can wait until you’re ready. Okay? I know you’re physically all better now, but you’re still allowed to take time.”

He breathed in a calming breath, and exhaled.

“You have so many people in your corner, sweetie. You’ll get through this.”

He nodded again and stepped back from her after a second’s hesitation. “Um, thanks, Mrs. Stark. Sorry about that.” He chuckled nervously and dragged his hand through his hair.  

“That’s not something to apologize for, Peter. Not ever.” She lightly scolded. “Now, did you want to look at another painting? Or did—“

“I’d like to look!” Peter suddenly blurted and then realized how crazy he must have sounded. “I mean, um... would it be alright if I used your phone to take a look? – If it’s not too much trouble. I just... I’d... I really want to know. That’s all... I think.”

“That’s not a problem at all.” She collected her phone from the coffee table where she’d discarded it before their impromptu art tour and tapped at the screen. “I haven’t been on the app since before so I’m not sure if or how it’s been organized, but there is a search function.” She swiped the screen, tapped an icon, and handed the phone over. “It looks like we have another ten or so minutes before Tony gets back, and Wong should be shortly after, so...”

Peter took the phone and stared wide-eyed at the screen.

“Do you want me to look for you?”

Peter shook his head. “I think I’m okay. I think it’s just... I just did the whole ‘tell me now’ thing with May and that didn’t work out so well for me, ya’ know? And here I am doing it again like an idiot. I can’t help but think—” He cut himself off.

“I can understand your hesitancy.” Mrs. Stark offered. “You’re in control here, though, so just say the word...”

The screen darkened in warning of the pending lock screen. He swiped his thumb across the gorilla glass and it lit up again. He thought about it for a second then looked up at Mrs. Stark. “Would it be okay if I did this alone?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I’ll just step out while you—“She moved toward the suite door.

“No!” He called out to her. “Please don’t leave—just, can you maybe just hang out in the other room?” He blushed at his neediness. “I don’t want to be ALONE alone—just a little alone. And this should only take a second, right?” He tried to explain, and failed.

“I completely get it.” She pointed toward the bedroom she’d shared with Mr. Stark. “I’ll sneak in there and wait until you decide you’re ready. Does that work?” She asked.

“Yeah, um, thanks.”

She didn’t say anything else, just stepped into the bedroom and smiled at him in encouragement as she closed the door behind her.

And Peter was left holding the phone, with a search screen glaring back at him.

It wasn’t a big deal, right?

He tried to convince himself as he sat himself down on the couch.

Of course it wasn’t.

Not at all.

Which was why he held his breath as he first typed in “Edward Leeds.”

A couple thousand “Edward Leeds” suddenly filled the screen, primarily out of the UK. Of course it couldn’t be that easy he thought, and Peter was almost overwhelmed—until he caught sight of the ‘refine search’ field at the top of the new screen.

He remembered the day he’d met his best friend, and how insistent the boy was that Edward was a loser name—that Ned was where it was at and he’d be forever known only by that... ‘but don’t tell my mom, okay?’ Peter chuckled as he typed exactly that under “Nicknames” and pressed ‘go.’

Three hundred seven “Edward ‘Ned’ Leeds” popped up that time, which was definitely a more manageable number, even if it still sucked. Peter wasn’t shocked to see that most of them were still scattered through the UK, but with the list not going on forever, he could see all of those other Neds scattered through Australia, Canada, and even parts of Africa and South America. The twenty-eight US Neds were scattered throughout the country—but he only had his eye out for one Edward ‘Ned’ Leeds of New York, specifically Queens—and the one word beside his name in red: BLIPPED.

It was like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and with the knowledge that he wasn’t going to be alone when he got back home, he frantically typed in “Michelle Jones.” He had to remind himself that she also had a nickname so he wouldn’t freak out completely when the kazillion Michelle Jones filled the screen. He hit ‘refine search’ once more and typed in the two letters—‘m’ and ‘j.’

0 results showing.

Peter entered her name again, hated himself just a little for not knowing her middle name—if she even had a middle name—and hit ‘go.’ He refined the search again. Hit ‘go’ again.’

0 results showing.

“shit.”

“Language, kid. My virgin ears can’t handle that kind of potty talk.”

Peter did NOT jump a couple of feet of the couch and let loose a high pitched scream of terror when the unexpected voice came from behind him.

The door to the bedroom flew open and slammed against the wall as Mrs. Stark rushed into the living room calling out, “Peter! What’s wrong?!”

Mr. Stark’s laughter told her everything she needed to know and before a chest clutching Peter had even turned completely to glare at the man, Mrs. Potts was smacking him on the arm. “Tony, you jerk! Be good!”  

“Hey!” He exclaimed as he tried to get away from his wife’s mock fury, “I didn’t know he hadn’t heard me come in!” He dodged another playful swat. “C’mon, Pep! Give me a break!”

She stopped her attack on Mr. Stark after giving him what Peter could only describe as a death stare and immediately turned her attention to Peter. "Are you okay, honey?" she asked.

Peter shook his head even as he tried to catch his breath. "Geez, Mr. Stark! Give a man some warning next time!"

Still trying to get his giggles under control, Mr. Stark defended himself. "You've got your Peter-tingle, kid. I figured you knew I was there!"

Mr. Stark was not endearing himself to the boy in this moment. "It's my spider-sense, Mr. Stark—Peter-tingle is stupid. I don't care what Aunt May says about it, and anyways, it only works when someone is trying to hurt or kill me. You don't count as that... even though I was about a second away from dying from a heart attack." Peter breathed deep, trying to calm his heart. "Geez. Not cool, man. Not cool at all."

Mr. Stark jumped over the back of the couch and landed with a bounce beside Peter. "Aw, kid. I am sorry, but you were just sitting there and I was so excited to tell you about my visit with T'challa-- but... yeah, I guess you were a million miles away then?

Peter couldn't speak for a few seconds, as his mind re-focussed on the phone in his hand. "Um, no. Not that far-- just in Queens, I guess?"

Mr. Stark looked confused. "Queens?"

"Yeah," he answered back. "I was checking to see who'd been snapped and who hadn't, and, yeah..."

The sadness reflecting in Mr. Stark's face told Peter that he knew. "Peter, you could have asked." He sighed. "We just keep messing up, huh?" He sidled up closer to Peter and slung his arm around him again. "Well, Ned was snapped, but I guess you've seen that, right?"

Peter nodded 'yes.'

"Don't panic about him," Mr. Stark assured him. "He's safe and sound with his family and is waiting for you to call him when you get home."

"How...?"

"Happy does more than empty storage lockers, buddy. I promise you, Ned and his family are fine and your Guy in the Chair is ready and waiting for your return."

"Thank goodness." Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "But did you check up on MJ, too? Where is she? Is she safe, too?"

"Well, your friend MJ, she obviously didn't get snapped," Mr. Stark gestured the phone in Peter's hand, "And by the time we were in communication with people there at the tower, she had already tried to set up camp in the lobby and was going to wait for me to get back... well, for you to get back, but that didn't work out so..."

Peter couldn't hide his confusion.

"Don't worry. She’s good, I promise. We set her up in a suite, too. Her mom had been snapped, but her step-dad was still in the picture so she decided she needed to bail, but fast. I guess he was a real winner so..."

Peter snorted at the understatement. "You could say that."

Mr. Stark did his crooked eyebrow thing and Peter knew he needed to explain. "Let's just say that Spider-Man had to make a visit or two to the apartment when MJ's mom was working overnight shifts.

Mr. Stark almost growled at that information. "Well then I don't feel nearly so bad about hiding her away until she could head off to college."

"Good. You shouldn't-- but college?"

"Of course college. MJ's smart as a whip, and I wasn't gonna let that brain rot at some community college because her low-life step dad was drinking away her college fund."

Peter smiled bigger than he could remember at that, "You sent her to college?"

"You know, you could just call her when you get back, you know. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you. Besides, she may seem tough as nails, but that kid gets homesick just like the rest of them."

Peter flushed and fiddled with the phone he kept forgetting he still held. "Um, yeah, I'm pretty sure that twenty-three year old MJ is not waiting for a call from me."

"C'mon, Pete, maybe she's spent the last five years living a different life than you all had planned, but you were still one of her best friends and that doesn't change."

Peter smiled again, a little more tentative. "You don't think she'll think it's weird?"

And Mr. Stark laughed again. "It's MJ, of course she'll think it's weird, but if you think she'll give two craps about that, then you didn't know her nearly as well as you say you did."

Peter knew he was right, and was just about to say so when there was a knock at the door and Mr. Wong was hollering through it. "Let's go, Stark, I left something simmering on the stove back at the Sanctum Sanctorum."

Mrs. Stark was the one to actually open the door to the man, and Peter stood up to introduce himself to the man-- or at least he thought he would. Mr. Wong focussed completely on the man still sitting on the couch, "Stark."

Mr. Stark lifted himself off the couch and turned to face him. "Wong."

The men simply stared at each other, assessing, when Mr. Stark finally spoke. “Look, Wong, I shouldn’t have been so glib about the whole,” Mr. Stark waved his hands in the air, “thing, and I’m sorry. Let’s just call it good and be done, okay?”

Wong stared, but said nothing.

“Really?”

A dead stare.

“Ugh. Fine.”

Peter watched Mr. Stark work himself up to do... something. Whatever it was, it had to be awful for Mr. Stark’s reaction.

"Oh, great and powerful Wong..." and then Mr. Stark stopped. He huffed and put his hands on his hips. "Are you really going to make me say this?"

Mr. Wong stared back, "You know my conditions."

"Fine."

Was Mr. Stark sulking?

He started again, "Oh, great and powerful Wong..." and then he stomped his foot. "Look, I said I was sorry. I won't be so--"

"You'd have been done by now if you stopped delaying, Stark. I'm waiting."

Peter looked to the door where Mrs. Stark was still standing. She was looking just as confused as Peter felt.

Mr. Stark took a deep breath and started once more. "Oh, great and powerful Wong." He paused, but only to clear his throat. "It must have been cold there in my shadow, to never have sunlight on your face. You were content to let me shine, that's your way. You always walked a step behind. So I was the one with all the glory, while you were the one with all the strength. A beautiful face without a name...”

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing and side-stepped cautiously away from the men and closer to Mrs. Stark, whose mouth was hanging open in disbelief. “Um, Mrs. Stark, is Mr. Stark quoting Bette Midler lyrics?”

She could only nod.

“Okay,” he squeaked back. “Just wanted to make sure we were seeing the same thing.”

It took a minute for him to make his way through all the lyrics, but just as Mr. Stark rattled off the last lines of the song, Mr. Wong folded his arms and smiled in sick satisfaction. “Perfect. I’m sure Mr. Master of the Mystic Arts will appreciate your cooperation while he’s matching socks for the next month.”

Mr. Stark sputtered in disbelief, but before he could say an actual word, Mr. Wong turned to Peter, bowed, and smiled. “Ah, young Mr. Parker. It is a pleasure to finally meet you now that you are awake.”

Peter bowed back shyly, but Mr. Stark had finally found his words. “Wait a minute here. You said that I’d offended you and that you’d only forgive me if I quoted—“ He blustered a little more, “You said it was soothing!”

Mr. Wong laughed stiffly. “I know what I said! But I’d already bet Stephen that I could get you to quote a song from an 80s soundtrack and I really wanted to get out of laundry.”

“And making dinner, maybe? Is he actually watching that pot on the stove, too?” Mr. Stark snarked back.

“Nah. We’re ordering pizza tonight. I just wanted you to hurry, is all.” Wong turned his attention back to Peter. “And I can imagine you want to get home, too.”

Peter, who was quietly chuckling at the interaction, nodded. “Yes, please, Mr. Wong,” he answered back politely. “If it’s not a problem?”

“It’s just Wong, kid, and because you asked so nicely,” he made a point to stare accusingly at Mr. Stark and then looked back to Peter, “I’ll get right to it.” He addressed the room. “Do you have everything you need? Polite or not, I’m not coming back for a toothbrush.”

“I’m all set, Mr. Wong, but, I guess, um...” Peter stood patiently while Mr. And Mrs. Stark took the hint and rushed into the bedroom to do a quick once over and grab the already packed suitcase. It was barely a minute before they were back and ready to go.

Wong nodded in satisfaction. “Alright then, let’s go.”

Peter watched in fascination as Mr. Wong placed a weird ring on his left hand and started making a circular motion with his right. In only seconds, sparks flew and a circle formed, then grew larger, and larger—and then large enough that they’d all be able to step through without even needing to duck their heads. “How does this work? Do you come through with us?” Peter asked.

Mr. Wong smiled again and shook his head. “No, I’ll head back to the Sanctum and replay my memories for Stephen after you’ve all stepped through, so get a move on.” He gave a teasing wink then gestured to the circle, still sparking. “There’s nothing special to it, Peter. Whenever you’re ready.”

Peter’s capacity for boldness had apparently fled and he stared timidly at the circle.

Mrs. Stark stepped up, pulled her phone from Peter’s hand and then grabbed hold of it. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I think I could go for pizza, too. What do you say, Peter?”

He appreciated the anchor, grabbed onto it. “Sure, Mrs. Stark. That sounds great.” He turned to Mr. Wong one last time. “Thank you for doing this, Mr. Wong. I’m grateful—and I guess for all the things you and the other wizards did for everyone.”

Wong snorted. “We’re sorcerers, Peter, and don’t let this guy tell you anything different.” He thumbed over at the waiting Mr. Stark. “And you’re welcome. Now go, kick your feet up, and order that pizza. We’ll see each other again.”

Peter grinned back at the man—sorcerer. “If you say so—take care.” And he and Mrs. Stark stepped through what Peter figured had to be some sort of portal. “Mr. Stark?” Peter called back, “Are you coming?”

“One sec, Pete,” Mr. Stark replied and turned back to Mr. Wong saying something that Peter couldn’t hear for the distortion between the two locations.

But if he could have heard, he’d have heard Mr. Stark give a tentative thank you for the show— that it would be something Peter could laugh about for a while.

And Wong’s reply. “He’ll need the happy memories, Stark. Help him make them.”  

[fanficsaremylifeline]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Ned Leeds & Peter Parker Characters: Peter Parker, Harley Keener, May Parker (Spider-Man), Happy Hogan, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Ned Leeds, J. Jonah Jameson Summary:

Things really couldn't be better: Harley, who Peter met at MIT, was finally his boyfriend and, just like Peter, he also got a place for his practical semester in NYC. Things are a little weird, when that place just happens to be at SI as well, because apparently Harley and Tony are similarly close as Peter is with his Irondad. To keep things from getting too mixed up, they decide to keep their relationship to themselves. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

***

“Come on Pete, get up!”, Harley called and almost immediately a pillow hit Peter in the head.

“I'm up”, he groaned, but before he could open his eyes, another pillow hit him right in the face. “What the fuck, dude?”

“Good, you're awake”, Harley grinned, that damn shit-eating grin. “Come on, get dressed I'd like to get going.”

“What's your rush?” Begrudgingly, Peter rolled over, just enough so his feet would dangle out of the bed. “We're on holiday, you... you...” Damnit, Peter couldn't even think of an insult.

“Wow, your intelligence is really sexy”, Harley deadpanned and, with the shake of his head he tossed a bundle of clothes on the bed. “You're not getting into my car naked”, he made clear.

“You wish, Keener”, he grinned back, before he got himself dressed.

The last few weeks have been pretty fun. Peter had seen Harley in a few lectures; with them both majoring in engineering, it was natural that they had to sit through a few of the same profs. It wasn't until a house party that they properly met, though. Even though he did not want to go, Ned somehow convinced Peter to come along. College parties were however quite annoying, since Peter couldn't get drunk. Thank you, spider-metabolism... So, as usually when Ned dragged him somewhere people were drinking, Peter ended up on the couch in the corner, earplugs in so the noise and music wouldn't hurt his brain too much, all that with his homework.

“You're seriously doing homework? At a party?”

Peter looked up to find Harley standing in front of him.

“Didn't want to come in the first place if I'm being honest”, he just shrugged and, as Harley sat himself down besides Peter it seemed as if their conversation was gonna be a little more than just small talk, so he closed his book.

“Anyway I can lighten up your night then?”, he grinned over and Peter couldn't help the flush and the awkward smile spreading over his face.

“I think it already has.”

Oh fuck, that was cheesy. Thankfully, Harley didn't seem to think so, as his cheeks blushed ever so slightly.

Shit, was Peter supposed to continue flirting with that quite gorgeous guy? As good as he might be at saving the world or engineering, he was downright horrible at flirting. But, thanks to his lucky star or guardian angel, Peter didn't have to.

“It's not really my thing, either. But there's this really nice bar just around the corner.”

That was Peter being asked out, right? “Sounds good”, he grinned.

“Great”, Harley smiled back and got up. “Come on, then. My treat.”

And ever since then they were... Peter wasn't sure. Yes, they went out a lot, but Peter wasn't certain if it were actually dates. They haven't had the talk yet, so for now Peter was gonna go with the step between friends with benefits and actual boyfriends. They probably should talk about it...

“Come on, you can have breakfast in the car, traffic's gonna be a bitch and I would like to reach New York today.”

“Yes sir”, Peter grumbled and pulled his shirt over his head.

“That you could have left off”, Harley smirked.

“Tough”, Peter shot back and grabbed his bag. “We going or what?”

Not that Peter or Harley knew too much about the other, but Peter had found out that Harley moved to New York. Which was pretty nice. It meant on the one hand that Peter had a a lift back home. But what was even better, was that they both had an internship for their practical semester there. Apparently, Harley's boss was an old friend who had offered him a job. Great for Harley and great for Peter, giving him more than enough chances to hang out. Or were they more than that? They had barely left Massachusetts, when Peter couldn't hold the curiosity in any longer.

“Are we dating?”, he blurted out, turning to Harley with wide eyes.

“Uhm, I think so”, he answered. “Are we?”

“I mean...” By now Peter was blushing redder than his spider-suit. “I kinda hope so”, he eventually got out and couldn't help the awkward grin.

“Well, Peter, I gotta say, your timing is horrible.”

“What? Why?” Damnit, Peter thought Harley felt the same way!

“Because I would have liked to seal you officially being my boyfriend by kissing you which is a little hard to do, while we're on the fucking highway and I have to focus on the road.”

“Awww!”, Peter squealed and leaned over just enough to put a peck on Harley's cheek. “You think that's enough for now?”

“For now”, Harley smiled. “I still might pull over at the next motorway station, just to make sure...”

.

“My house is that one over there”, Peter gestured at the Parker's apartment building.

“Right then.” As they came to a hold in front of the door, Harley smiled over.

“Thank you so very much for the lift.”

“Anything for my boyfriend”, Harley beamed.

“I kinda feel compelled to ask you to come upstairs with me, join me for a cup of coffee. It would include meeting my aunt, though.”

“Next time, ok?”

“Sure thing.” Peter was honestly a little glad. Aunt May will like Harley, there was not a doubt in his mind, but Aunt May wasn't the only one Harley had to meet. How in the hell was Peter gonna break him being family with the Starks and the Avengers? Hell, how is Peter going to break to Harley, his boyfriend, that he's Spider-Man? “It's not like we need to hurry, is it? We've got our entire semester here in NY together, there's no need to rush into anything.”

“Yeah”, Harley smiled, and what a beautiful smile that was. “Oh hey, since I'm pretty new in town, you perhaps know any nice places this city has to offer?” And like that, the sweet, beautiful smile turned into a flirty grin.

“Depends, what'd you want to do?”

“Well you know, there's this guy... We've been going out for a while, but now we made it official and a native New Yorker like you might have an idea where I could take him.”

“Oh really?”, Peter grinned back, “well he surely is a lucky guy.”

“Tell me about it, he really hit the jackpot.” And there was that damn shit-eating grin again.

Well, there was only one way to get rid of it. Peter cupped Harley's face and pulled him in for a kiss. A fantastic, time-stopping, world-ending, hair-raising kiss.

“Message me when you got to your place, ok?”, Peter mumbled.

“Promise”, he nodded and, after one, maybe two (ok, four) more pecks, Peter got out and waved after the car, until it disappeared in traffic.

That was his boyfriend. HIS BOYFRIEND! Peter skipped up the stairs and almost ripped their apartment door out of its hinges in excitement.

“Pete, honey!” May gracefully played over the almost needed reparations and welcomed him with open arms and Peter flung himself right into his aunt's embrace, thusly starting quite the amalgamation of I-love-yous, I-missed-you, I-missed-you-more, and oh so many hugs. All that only ended, when a harrumph interrupted them.

“Happy”, Peter grinned, when he identified the voice behind him and turned to hug him right away.

“Pete, it's great to see you”, he laughed. “Had a good drive?”

“Oh, yes”, Peter nodded, trying his hardest not to grin like the love-sick idiot he was. It as the absolutely perfect drive, and damn, he was so smitten and infatuated, he just wanted to call Harley right away, even if he only had seen him like ten minutes ago.

“Seems like it. I'm really happy your friend could give you a lift”, May smiled. “Didn't he want to come upstairs?”

“He still has a bit to drive. Don't worry, you'll meet him soon enough.” Mostly, because I can't wait to see him again...

“Right. Before you tell us some more, you might want to call Tony”, Happy suggested. “He's still a little pissed he didn't get to pick you up.”

“Well, I won't want to let him wait then”, Peter grinned and made for the privacy of his room, before opening up facetime and calling his favourite Stark.

“PETEY!”, Morgan squealed as she answered his call. “Are you in New York again?”

“Hi Mo”, he beamed back, “yeah, I just arrived and wanted to check in with my favourite Avenger.”

“But Daddy says I can't be an Avenger”, she moped.

“We just don't tell Dad.”

“What won't you tell Dad?” Tony's voice came from the off somewhere. Leaving Morgan no chance to explain and talk her and Peter's way out of it, he continued right away: “would you please tell Mr Parker that if he doesn't even bother to call his boss, he can kiss his internship goodbye.”

“You got that?”, she asked, her eyebrow raised in all the Stark-fashion.

“Yeah”, he snorted, “please tell Mr Stark that I love him too, but if he's that difficult before I've even started, I might just call up Reed Richards. Or maybe I'll just send an application to... OsCorp”, he added with a chirp.

“Oh, you little sh...” Tony jumped in front of the camera, ready to disinherit and cuss Peter out, when he remembered his daughter next to him. “You are a horrible person.”

“Mo, didn't he get his hot chocolate today?”, Peter asked her, completely ignoring the fake-angry Ironman. “You know that he gets cranky when he doesn't get his hot choc.”

“I'm not responsible for him”, Morgan made clear.

“We both know he can't look after himself”, Peter sighed. “Don't worry, darling, I'm back for the next half year, so you're not alone with him any more.”

“Thank you, you're the best!”

“You know I can hear you”, Tony deadpanned, looking from one to the other.

“Good, so you remembered your aids”, Peter snorted, before he could stop himself.

Morgan burst out laughing and Tony's face just dropped.

“Right then, sweetie, I think I'd better go”, Peter gulped. “So Mr Stark, let me just say beforehand that I am so honoured that you accepted my application and I cannot wait to start my internship in two weeks. Mo, our plans for tomorrow are still on?”

“Sure are”, she giggled, while Tony was still caught in his dumbfounded shock. “Can't wait!”

“Me neither. Alright, get our old man to bed, alright?”

“See you tomorrow! Love you!” With that she shot some kissy-faces towards the camera, and Peter parroted.

“Love you, too.”

And, before Tony could react, Peter waved and hung up on the call.

.

Tony: You're a little shit, Parker.

Peter: Yeah...

Tony: At least you know...

Tony: Glad to have you back in reach though. See you tomorrow?

Peter: I'll come over after breakfast

Tony: Good. I love you, kiddo

Peter: I love you, too <3

.

Harley: Hey Peter :) So, driving through New York is a nightmare!!! I'm finally at my place, though and everything's alright :)

Peter: then I'm happy :D

Harley: things at home good?

Peter: yeah, my aunt's happy to have me home again and I am, too

Peter: how're things at your new place?

Harley: it's all good

Harley: my friend's a bit overeager, there was probably no need for me to pack anything...

Peter: so you rushing me out of bed this morning... that WASN'T overeager?

Harley: That was a 4/10

Peter: 4? Dude, what's your scale like?

Harley: dude? That how you talk to your boyfriend?

Peter: yeah ;)

Peter: Dude, but like romantically :)

Harley: aww! * heart eyes *

*

What a lovely day for a swing towards the compound. The sun was shining, the March air was cool, but thankfully, there was this nice heater installed.

Since the door was for losers, Peter happily scaled the compound's wall and, instead of climbing onto the balcony and make at least a bit of a proper entrance, he knocked on Morgan's window.

“HIIII!”, she squealed as she let him inside. Peter had barely made it in, when she already tackle-hugged him, all but pushing Peter back out of the window.

“Hey Mo”, he laughed, once he found his balance. “I missed you so much.” He leaned down, just enough to put a kiss on her head.

“I missed you more. Come on, Daddy will be really happy to see you!” She grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him out into the living room. “DAAAAADDYYYY!” Wow. That cry could wake the dead.

“Honey, what have we said about the indoor voi... Oh, would you look at that.” Tony walked up to them and, as soon as he saw Peter, he stopped in his movements, crossed his arms in front of his chest. All that of course with the signature raised eyebrow.

“Good morning, sir”, Peter smiled, trying his all to sound nice and proper. “There is no need to worry, there was only a masked man climbing into your eight-year-old daughter's bedroom.”

“Peter. Stop creeping me out and get over here.” Tony rolled his eyes and held his arms out. Letting go of Morgan's hand, Peter was in his arms in two big strides. “Missed you, kiddo.”

“I better enjoy it as long as that feeling lasts, because that might sound a little differently in like four months.”

“I don't think it'll take that long”, Tony scoffed and put his arm around Peter, giving Morgan another free arm to hold on to.

“Daddy's only kidding”, Morgan made clear as she looked up with big eyes. “We'll never ever get tired of you.”

“Aww!” Peter had known it as soon as he met her, but in moments like these it was even more clear: there was nothing he wouldn't do for that girl. “I love you too, honey.”

“Good. Now, there's a lot to do. You need to tell us all about MIT and oh! I gotta show you!” Before Peter really knew it, she pulled him out of Tony's hold and into the kitchen. “LOOK!”

Excitedly, she pointed at the fridge, where right next to the picture of Peter at his graduation her current report card was pinned on. Since she was the daughter of Tony and Pepper it wasn't all that surprising to see her acing everything, Peter was still so incredibly proud.

“Oh wow! Straight As, that's amazing!” He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her up and spun her around, getting out all the squeals, just lighting up his everything. Thanks to Peter's super-strength, he actually could still properly spin her and throw her around and Morgan loved it to no end.

“Please don't kill my daughter”, Tony called over from the living room.

“You never let me do anything fun”, Peter moaned, walking back over with Morgan giggling as he dangled her off his back.

“I know, I'm such a monster.”

“Dad, can we go and say hi to Mummy?”

“You can go and say hi, if Pete wants to. Just don't make too much drama, and kiddo, you gotta change first.”

Yeah, Tony might have a point there. Wouldn't want to let all of SI know about that secret identity...

So, a few minutes later, Peter and Morgan skipped towards the SI offices, as Morgan caught him up on all the gossip in the building. At least all the gossip a third-grader could gather up. That was mostly limited to the ongoing cookie-war between Bucky and Thor. It didn't seem like the decision who was truly the best baking Avenger was made any time soon. Nobody in the building was complaining though, there were more than enough delicious baked goods for everybody.

“And promise you won't tell Daddy, but Uncle Rhodey let me fly a bit with him.”

“No.” With wide eyes, he turned to her. “Really? You got to fly with Uncle Rhodey?”

“It was sooo cool!”, she beamed up, “we did two rounds around the compound and we even flew a loop!”

“Omigod, I want to do that, too! I never flew with Uncle Rhodey.”

“But you can almost fly yourself”, she shrugged and pulled him along the corridor.

“I guess... I can't do loops though.”

“You'll have to negotiate with Uncle Rhodey.” And with that she burst into her Mum's office, pulling Peter behind her. “Hi Mum! Look who's here!”

“Pete, so good to see you”, she smiled and got up to greet him properly with a hug. “You good?”

“Very much so. And you?”

“Me too. I'm actually working on your paperwork right now”, Pepper grinned.

“Huh... Getting serious.”

“It is. But for now enjoy that bit of break you have. I assume that you'll spend that time either with the little Miss here or in the lab with Tony.”

“Yes he is”, Morgan answered instead of him.

“You heard her Highness”, Peter chuckled.

“And we wanted to come say hello to you, and I already told him about the cookie war, so we'll go to the Avengers now and get cookies, and then Peter can say hello to them.”

“Sounds good, but Dad said he's gonna cook dinner, so we might wanna go easy on the cookies”, Peter threw in.

“You're boring”, Morgan decided.

“But he's right”, Pepper made clear. “You can go and say hi to Uncle Thor and them, but leave the cookies for dessert.”

“Fine”, the girl moaned.

“Bring some for the rest of us, too, ok?”

“Sure thing”, Peter grinned, held his hand out and together they skipped through the compound, enjoying plenty of hugs, and maybe one too many cookies, before making their way back to the penthouse.

“You're just in time”, Tony greeted them.

“We got dessert.” Proudly, Morgan held the baggie of cookies out to Tony, as they made their way into the dining room.

“That is amazing”, Tony goggled and shot his daughter the widest smile. “You're the best.”

“I know”, she grinned.

“Yep, that's my girl alright”, he chuckled and handed Peter a stack of plates.

“Five plates? I know Happy's on a date, but is Rhodey eating with us?”

“No, there's someone else you got to meet. Remember, I told you about the kid with the potatogun?”

“Yeah”, Peter nodded.

“Well, he's here for an internship as well. 'bout your age, also at MIT and well, it's high-time you two met”, Tony explained, as he put the forks and knives down.

“Cool”, Peter nodded. He was always down to meet nerds like himself. And, if Tony liked the guy enough to invite him to eat together, he was probably a cool guy Peter could get along with.

“Ah, speak of the devil”, Tony smiled, as the elevator door pinged.

Who walked into the room was not anybody Peter had expected though. “Pete, meet Harley. Harley, that's Peter”, Tony introduced them and Peter caught his face falling a little too late. It wasn't just any Harley, it was Peter's Harley. His boyfriend. Who Tony didn't know about.

“Uhm hi”, he grinned awkwardly at Harley, who clearly fought hard against the blush.

“Hi Peter.” He bit down a grin as he held his hand out. “It's so nice to meet you.”

“Likewise”, Peter all but giggled as he shook the outstretched hand.

“Guys, can we eat? I'm hungry!”, Morgan moaned, thankfully interrupting the awkwardness.

“How? You just had cookies.”

“Seriously? You go and eat all the cookies, while I'm slaving in the kitchen for you kids?” With the most dramatic expression he could muster up, Tony clutched his chest. “That is how you thank me?”

“I will always be hungry enough for your food”, she beamed up at him and, when Peter finally managed to break eye contact with Harley, he could see Tony melting right there in front of them. It was delightful.

Or well, it would be, if he didn't feel Harley's eyes on him, especially once they got themselves seated, with his boyfriend right opposite Peter. Thankfully, Morgan was giddy enough to pull all the attention toward herself and away from the boyfriends, looking everywhere but the other.

This was so weird. In the initial surprise of finding out that the potatogunkid, Peter had heart so much about, was his boyfriend, it didn't even occur to either one to tell the truth. But the longer that it lasted, the more Peter's insecurity grew.. Weren't they going to tell the truth? Peter was not sure if it was something he wanted right now, given that their relationship was really new. Like 24 hours new.

“I gotta say, I'm surprised you two haven't met yet”, Tony commented when he eventually got a word in.

Neither seemed to be sure how to continue with that, as they both just looked at Tony with wide eyes.

“What?”, Tony shot back. “If you two knew each other it would have come up; Peter's told me so much about his group of friends, I feel like I know everything about Tommy and Jacob and Brianna and the oh so pretty and intelligent Allison...” He shot Peter some eyebrow-wiggles, leaving him to turn beet-red and looking everywhere except for Harley.

“Oh, Allison Lopez?”, Harley grinned, “that's your taste?”

Shit, couldn't Peter just turn invisible? Yes, he might have had a bit of a crush on her, but that was two semesters ago and as good of friends they were, there wasn't anything going on between him and Allison.

Tony however didn't seem to understand that. “I still don't get what keeps you from going out with her.”

“Neither can I”, Harley continued with that infuriating smirk. “I mean she is so nice and smart and yeah, she's really beautiful.”

“Please Keener, what do you know, you're gay”, Tony scoffed.

“Oh you are?”, Peter shot over and Harley just rolled his eyes. Whether at Tony or Peter, he wasn't sure.

“I can still appreciate beautiful women”, he ignored Peter as he addressed Tony. “For example I can tell that your wife is so out of your league.”

Oh damn. Yup, Peter definitely knew why he was into that guy. “Harley, I like you”, he grinned over.

In return he got the most exasperated of all the deadpans: “Gee, thanks.” Knowing him like he did, Peter was pretty damn sure that Harley fought tooth and nail to keep from retorting something along the lines of 'yeah, you made that clear the other night'. Thankfully, to a) keep from scarring Morgan for life and b) keep Tony from having a heart attack, Harley bit any remarks back.

“Yeah, he's really funny”, Morgan giggled, earning her Tony's signature move: the pointing at her with his eyebrows raised.

“Young lady, he is not. Harley Keener is nothing but a scullion, a rampallian, a fustilarian!”

“What's that?”

While Pepper explained Shakespearean insults to Morgan, Peter excused himself with a nod and made straight for the bathroom. He was just one enhanced man, how the hell was he supposed to deal with all this by himself?

.

Peter: SOS!!!

Ned: what's going on? bombthreat? Doc Ock? alien invasion?

Peter: it's so much worse...

Ned: WHAT IS IT?

Peter: so, last night me and Harley... we made it official

Ned: finally! I'm really happy for you but in what world is that a SOS-situation?

Peter: that friend he told us about, who he got an internship with and stuff?

Ned: yeah?

Peter: Tony. Stark.

Ned: Uff... that couldn't have been fun to explain

Peter: Yeah... we kinda didn't?

Peter: And now I maybe might be hiding in the bathroom because it's so weird

.

Harley: Are you hiding from me right now?

Peter: And why would I do that?

.

Peter: And of course, Harley knows I'm hiding from him

Ned: I know this sucks dude but I'm not sure how to help you

Peter: I don't either!!!

.

Harley: Because you didn't want to tell me that you're family with freaking Ironman?

Peter: Well, neither did you

Harley: Fair enough

Harley: Still no need to hide though, is there?

.

Ned: kay, listen man: you're gonna go in there, pretend everything's cool and as soon as you got the chance you and Harley talk about how you wanna play this

Ned: got it?

Peter: yes sir

Peter: thanks, you're the best guy in a chair any superhero can have! <3 <3 <3

.

When he got back into the dining room, Harley greeted Peter with the damnedest smirk, though that was to be expected. What wasn't to be expected, was that there didn't seem to be a single cookie left for him.

“Morgan Hope Stark. Where is my cookie?” He turned to the girl who just did not have a poker face. A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth and her eyes went wide, when she answered: “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, is this how you want to play it?”, he shot back and glared at her with narrowed eyes. “Pepper, do I have permission to execute 'Operation Truthserum'?”

“No, no, Mummy no!”, she squealed, already shying back, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“You do have my permission”, Pepper nodded and within seconds, Peter grabbed her by the waist, hoisted her over his shoulder and made for the couch, all that accompanied by a steady high-pitched squeal. The worst – for Morgan – was yet to come though. Once she landed on the cushions, the tickle attack started.

“STOP IT PETEY!”, she giggled.

“Will you tell me what happened to my cookie?”

“It wasn't me!”, she made clear looking up with wide eyes.

“Then who was it?”

“I can't say”, she admitted, “I promised!”

“Well, we should always keep the promises we make”, Peter admitted and dropped next to her on the couch. “Then I guess I just have to go to bed without another cookie, because someone over there”, he gestured towards the general direction of the table, “doesn't like me.”

“Oh no!” Morgan seemed to be truly perturbed by the idea that someone might not like Peter, especially since they were all a family. “I think you being sad is worse than breaking a promise”, she eventually decided. “It was Harley. He took your cookie, saying that he was gonna be the better intern anyways.”

“No.” With all the dramatics he could muster up, Peter feigned surprised shock. In reality, he had expected it to be Harley, his revenge for Peter hiding himself away. “How mean! Dad was right, he really is a scullion!”

“Maybe now you can prank him too?”, Morgan suggested, grinning somehow devilishly and adorably at the same time.

“Oh definitely. You gonna help me?”

“Yes!”

“Awesome. Means we already know what we'll do tomorrow.”

“Great, you're still alive”, Tony chuckled, as he made his way over to the couch. “The tortured screams of my beloved offspring suddenly stopped; thought I should make sure that you didn't take down my house or killed each other.” He dropped down between the two, putting an arm around each. “Happy to see you didn't.”

“Not on my first day back”, Peter shrugged and leaned into the hug.

“Thanks, I really appreciate that”, Tony deadpanned. “If you want to, though, we can get more cookies.”

“That's alright”, Peter grinned and winked at Morgan. “I've got something better.”

Looking from Morgan to Peter, Tony remarked: “I don't like that look on your faces one bit.”

“It's ok, daddy”, Morgan assured him, “since you didn't take his cookie, you're not in danger.”

“Oh for the love of Peggy Carter, please tell me you and Harley aren't gonna start a whole rivalry.”

“Because you would never do something like that, would you?”, Peter grinned. “Mr America told me what went on in the early days of the Avengers.”

“Of course he did.” With a scoff, Tony rolled his eyes.

“Why?”, Morgan asked looking from Tony to Peter, “what happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Don't worry”, Peter hissed over Tony's lap to the girl, “I'll tell you later.”

“You will do no such thing”, he made clear, “you're not here to be some irresponsible idiot terrorizing me, my family or my company.”

“You're right, Mr Stark, I'm a responsible young adult, here to do an responsible job and be responsible doing so.”

“Say responsible one more time and I might actually believe you”, came the deadpan response.

Well, then Peter'd give Tony exactly what he asked for. “I will be responsible, conscientious, reliable, dependable, unfailing, trustwor...”

“Yeah, yeah, you proofed your point”, Tony waved him off. “You need a lift home or are you sleeping over?”

“He's sleeping here”, Morgan decided.

“Works for me”, Peter shrugged, “May and Happy are having a date night, I don't need to be a part of that.”

“I know, right?”, Morgan rolled her eyes, “date nights are so gross.”

“I'll remind you of that exact sentence in about 8 years”, Tony made clear and turned to Peter before Mo could argue some more. “Your room's like you left it, at least it should be, I asked Dum-E to clean and I've honestly been too scared to check what he's done to it.”

“That's ok, Pete can sleep in my room.”

“Did you ask your Mum if that's okay?”

“I'm asking you now”, she beamed up.

“Yeah, but you know that Mum is the boss in this house.”

“Fine”, she moaned, jumped off the couch and trotted over to the dinning room.

“I know you don't really have a choice, but you cool with sleeping crammed into a children's princess bed?”

“Two words”, he grinned back. “Makeshift bunk-beds.”

“Oh fuck no”, Tony groaned, “the last time you made beds for you two, it ended with a crash and you dislocating your shoulder.”

Right, Tony might have a point in opposing this idea. Peter making webbing-hammocks was super fun, until one of the supporting webs dissolved too quickly and down they fell. Morgan landed on top of Peter, thusly landing soft enough to break the fall and not getting hurt. Peter wasn't so lucky, but once his shoulder was popped back into place, everything was alright again. And the 'no creating bunk-beds-rule' was put into place.

“Besides”, Tony continued, “I will ground you, no hesitation.”

Yeah, Peter did not doubt that for a second. No matter he was a twenty-one year old fifth-semester student, being grounded was definitely a possibility.

“Mummy said yes!” Squealing loudly and excitedly, Morgan skipped back towards them, followed by Pepper and Harley, albeit a little slower. “You can stay in my room!”

“If it keeps either one from sleeping, that will have been the last time though”, Tony made clear and Harley looked like he had to bite down hard to keep from bursting out laughing as did Pepper.

“Promise, daddy”, Morgan nodded.

“Yeah, dad”, Peter grinned, “we promise.”

“I'll hold you to that”, Tony made clear and waved at the two. “Right then, go and get ready. It's bedtime soon.”

“Sure thing. I'll just go to my room, get my PJs and brush my teeth and I'll be right back up”, he promised the girl and made for the elevator. The doors were just about to close, when a hand stopped it from doing so. Harley's hand. With a grin he walked in and leaned against the wall right opposite Peter.

“So, Peter was it?”, he grinned and, as soon as the doors were closed, he leaned in.

“Wait”, Peter just about managed to get out and looked up at the camera. “FRI, please don't tell anybody what you're about to witness and delete any and all footage of what's about to happen.”

“Of course, Peter.”

He turned back to his wide-eyed boyfriend, who clearly was not yet used to FRIDAY. But that could matter another time. With his hands on Harley's shoulders, Peter leaned in and pressed their lips together.

“Man, I've been wanting to do this all evening...”

“Me too”, Peter nodded, once they broke apart. And just in time at that, with a ding the elevator doors opened.

“Oh would you look at that, your room is right next to mine, what a good thing to know”, Harley smirked and Peter couldn't help his cheeks blushing. Since unfortunately (or in all honesty not very much so) Harley followed Peter into his room, the blush did not die down. “Nice”, he whistled appreciatively, as he took in the pictures of Peter's friends and family, the posters of StarWars and funny science puns. “Kinda looks like your dorm room.”

“I know. Guess that's what you'd call my own personal style”, Peter shrugged, before diving into his closet in search of PJs.

“So”, Harley cleared his throat as he made himself comfortable on Peter's bed. “You're close with Tony. As am I. Something we both decided to keep from each other but well, guess we're even.”

“Fair enough.”

“Why'd you never tell him about me, though?”, he moped. “You told him about Allison...”

“Because”, Peter scoffed as he turned back around to him, “that one date me and Allison have been on was about nine months ago and he still keeps on pestering me about her.”

“Ok yeah, I'll give you that.”

“Another question though: Why are we keeping us from Tony now?” Peter sat himself on the bed just opposite Harley, who scooted close enough for their feet to touch.

“I don't know.”

“I mean, I don't wanna go up to him and say: oh by the way, me and Harley have been doing it for the last month or so and as of yesterday we're actually a couple”, Peter summarized their relationship.

“Yeah, me neither. The mechanic can get intense.”

“As can the Avengers.”

“Besides, since we're working together, things should be kinda professional, right?”

“So you think we should keep this to ourselves?”

“Maybe yes, at least for now”, Harley nodded. “Just until we've figured all this out, you know with working and even kinda living together.”

“Right then. Dating in secret.” Thusly keeping it from Peter's entire extended family. But Harley was right, it was the best thing to do for the time being. Navigating a new relationship was always hard, having Ironman and the Avengers watching your every move while doing so would just make everything so much more challenging.

“If you're not comfortable with that, I get it. We can come clean.” Harley offered him a smile, a beautiful smile and grabbed Peter's hand.

“No, I agree, for now we have enough to figure out on our own. I appreciate it though.”

“Anything for my boyfriend”, Harley grinned and leaned in and Peter was more than happy to close the last bit of distance. And then an arm wrapped itself around his waist and pulled him closer. And before Peter knew it, he and Harley were tangled up on the bed, his hand in Harley's hair, Harley's arms holding him close. It was wonderful and perfect. Until Harley's hand made it's way under Peter's shirt.

“No”, he mumbled, “that's a bad idea.”

“Feels definitely too nice to be a bad idea”, Harley chuckled.

“Amazing is the word I'd have gone with”, Peter grinned leaning back. “That's the issue though. It's kind of like...”

“Like doing it at your dad's”, Harley finished the train of thought.

“Yeah. And I think it wouldn't be as bad, if I didn't have Morgan waiting up there.”

“I do get that”, Harley nodded, “laying in bed with your innocent pseudo-kid-sister after mind-blowing sex with your boyfriend...”

“Someone's having a high opinion of himself”, Peter scoffed as he untangled himself from Harley.

“Oh, but that's not my opinion”, he smirked, rolling onto his stomach and watching every little move of Peter's as he changed into his PJs. “That is something I will forever remember being whispered into my ear.”

Fine, Harley might have a point. Peter wasn't going to give him the satisfaction though and remained as stoic as he could.

“Mhm, gotta say, I do love this show”, Harley commented just before Peter pulled the sleep-shirt over his head. “Who'd've thought that a nerd like you'd be so fit?”

“Well thanks. Not sure what has gone wrong though that you only get that now.” His eyebrow raised, Peter turned back to Harley.

That damn smirk just wouldn't disappear, ever; Peter probably had to resign himself to the fact that his boyfriend would look at him like that all the time from now on until... Well, time would tell. All he had to do now was to find a way to keep from blushing like an idiot every time Harley shot him that infuriatingly sexy grin. “You know, some people have a painting, a movie or something they enjoy so much, they can watch it over and over and over again.” He walked all the way up to Peter and brushed his hands over the now dressed chest and Peter cursed himself for jumping under his boyfriend's touch. “I too have a work of art I like to admire.”

“Shut up”, Peter mumbled, not sure what else to say to that.

“Make me.”

That Peter would. “Sleep well and I'll see you tomorrow”, he mumbled between kisses.

“Yeah, you too.”

*

“Maybe you could web him to the ceiling?”, Morgan suggested, as they sat over a nice cheerio-breakfast.

“But he doesn't know I'm Spider-Man”, Peter shrugged and with one big sip finished the rest of his hot chocolate.

“It would be such a funny way to tell him, though.”

She might have a point there, if only because Peter should probably tell Harley about his alter ego. As long as they had only been fooling around, it wasn't really anything he even considered. Now that they were dating though... There were already so many secrets surrounding their relationship, they probably shouldn't have any secrets between the two of them.

“How about for now we find a revenge plan that doesn't involve superpowers?”

“You're boring.” With Tony-levels of dramatics, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Ok, I promise we can do your idea once Harley found out about it.”

“Found out about what?” Harley walked into the kitchen, eyeing him curiously. A bit of a flirty glint in his eyes mixed with plenty of curiosity, he sat himself opposite Peter.

Fuck. With the heat, the blush rose in Peter's face and he just locked eyes with Morgan, who just shrugged.

“Idagit idagis idaga sidigedigret.”

“Idagi knodogow”, Morgan answered, “whaddagat doddogo yagidou wagidant toddogo tagitell hidagim?”

“You guys seriously have a secret language?”

“Are you actually surprised?”, Peter shot over before turning back to Morgan. “Widage cadagan juddugust pragitend nodogothidaging hadagappidagened adigand stadigay quidagiet. Thadigat coddogool?”

“Toddogotagidally.”

With a self-satisfied grin, Peter and Morgan nodded at each other before turning to Harley. “So, what's up?”, Peter beamed at his boyfriend, who looked like he wasn't sure he really wanted to be here and witness whatever was happening between the pseudo-siblings. “You doing alright?”

“Yeah. Not sure you are, but from what I've seen it doesn't seem too unusual.”

“No, not really”, Peter nodded in agreement. “Well, me and Morgan were just gonna head over and get some more cookies, since for some unexplainable reasons I never got one last night.”

Harley met Peter's challenging stare head-on as he smirked: “yeah, that is indeed weird.”

“Whoever did that will have to pay dearly”, Peter made clear, blushing ever so slightly, when Harley bit his lip. “Oh that poor soul.” And here Peter was, caught and losing himself in Harley's eyes, shining brighter than the biggest arc reactor.

“Can we go get cookies now?”, Morgan, who Peter might have momentarily forgotten was sitting right beside them, interrupted them making eyes at each other.

“Yes, definitely”, he nodded, happy to be interrupted just in time before things would become uncomfortably heated.

“Can I come too?”

Morgan just skipped over, grabbed Harley's hand and held her free one out to Peter. “Let's get ready to cookie!”

*

“Peter, can you come here for a moment?”

Oh, that couldn't be good. For about two weeks Peter and Harley's prank war had been going on and there was everything from cling wrap on the toilet to pink colour in the shampoo; from changing ringtones and contact names to putting all of Harley's furniture on the roof (thank you spider-strength!) there wasn't a prank they didn't go through with. And now Harley calling him into the common room? Peter's spider-sense didn't tingle, but that didn't mean anything.

“What's up?” Carefully, Peter put his head through the door, but Harley was doing was sitting on the couch.

“I need your brain”, he sighed, barely looking up. “As much as I hate to admit it, you're smarter than me.”

“Huh...” Something was up, Peter didn't need spider-senses to tell him that. “Why are you being nice?”

“You don't trust me?” With the fakest pained expression, Harley clutched his chest. “I am a nice person that currently needs your help!”

“Alright...” With every careful step, Peter took a good look around the room again. Nat and Wanda were sitting in the corner, biting down their grins at the scene in front of them. Well, those two weren't going to be any help... With as much distance between him and Harley as possible, Peter sat himself opposite on the couch. “What's up then?”

“This damn thing here.” What he held out to Peter looked like a remote. Spider-senses didn't pick anything up, so he carefully reached out for it and took it in his hand. At first glance nothing seemed to be wrong with it.

“What's broken about it then?”

“No idea”, Harley shrugged. “I can't figure it out...”

“Did you forget to change the batteries?”, Peter rolled his eyes.

“I'm not that dumb”, Harley made clear.

“You sure?” Peter was only riling him up and, extra slowly and showy, he checked the batteries. Well, wanted to.

Behind him loud cries and screams that could wake the dead had him jump; as he turned all he made out was a distinctly goblin-shaped figure. Without thinking about it, his instincts took over and within moments he jumped up on the ceiling and shot webs at everything that moved.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Pete, it's just me”, Clint groaned in a weird green get up with fake muscles, a purple unitard-thingy and hat; all that covered in webs.

“What the fuck, Clint?”, Peter yelled, “how do you get the idea to walk around dressed like THAT and not get webbed? Seriously, you're lucky I didn't punch you.”

“Wasn't my idea”, Clint defended himself and with his stuck arms he gestured vaguely towards the couch, where Peter only now remembered his boyfriend sitting. His boyfriend, who didn't know Peter was Spider-Man. His boyfriend who looked up at Peter, whiter than a sheet of paper and his jaw somewhere on the ground.

Oh fuck.

“Uhm, Harley? You alright?” Since there was clearly no greater threat than Harley breaking up with Peter for lying to him, Peter lowered himself on a web, until he and his hopefully still boyfriend were eye to eye.

“You... You... You're Spider-Man.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Ok...”, he nodded, though clearly it was anything but ok. “Ok”, he repeated shaking his head and got up off the couch.

“Harley?”

“Ok.” With a smile, that looked almost manic, he looked around the room, where not only Peter but also Nat, Wanda and the Clint Goblin were quite worried. “Ok!” And out the door he went.

“Right, this is not what I thought would happen when I agreed to prank you”, Clint made clear. “You can still unstick me, though.”

“Nah”, Peter, Nat and Wanda agreed. “You deserve this.”

“Someone should check on Harley, though...”

“I'm on it”, Peter nodded and, after shooting Clint one more middle finger for this fucking idiotic idea of dressing up as his arch-nemesis (Well, one of them. But thanks to Harry there was more than enough emotional baggage attached and Clint quite frankly should know so much fucking better), he headed out and for Harley's room.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter put his head through the ajar door to Harley's room, where his boyfriend was currently sitting on the bed, staring at the blank wall.

“I don't know”, he shrugged, still focusing on the wall in front of him. “I mean...”

“I'm really sorry.” With his apology, Peter slipped into the room and leaned against the now closed door. “I just... I've been planning the perfect way to tell you for these last two weeks, but I guess that didn't really work out...”

“Oh really?” Dripping with sarcasm, Harley rolled his eyes before finally turning to Peter. “You didn't plan on telling me by screaming bloody murder before jumping up and sticking yourself to the ceiling and webbing Hawkeye?”

“Believe it or not, but no I didn't...”

“I guess it explains, why none of my pranks really worked against you.”

“Sorry, super-hearing, strength and spider-senses do not really make for a levelled playing field.”

“No kidding”, Harley snorted.

Peter shuffled over and kneeled on the foot of the bed. “Can I somehow make this better or up to you?”

“Dude, I'm not mad”, Harley made clear, “not really at least. We've been dating for what, two weeks? It's not like I was about to propose to you. I'm just... surprised, that's all.”

“I get that. Anything you need to let out or ask or anything like that, just...” Peter held his arms out, “let it out.”

“I've seen Spider-Man naked.” As realization hit with Harley, Peter just burst out with laughter. “That's your take-away?”

“I feel like that's a big deal”, he nodded as the grin spread over his own face. “I mean, who can say that? I'm also the only one who gets to kiss Spider-Man, anytime I want to.”

“That is in fact a pretty big deal”, Peter smirked, “from what I've heard Spidey's an amazing kisser and incredible in bed.”

“As much as I'd love to argue that, they're true facts.” And with that, Harley leaned closer and pressed their lips together. “Omigod, I'm kissing Spider-Man”, he mumbled without breaking away.

“Seriously?”, Peter deadpanned, “do I have to expect that every time we kiss from now on? Because I don't know if...”

“Shut up, Spider-Man and let me kiss you.”

*

“WHERE IS HE?” Yelling at the top of his lungs, Peter stormed through the compound. Oh, he's done it, Harley's gone too far.

In the common room, he was only met with five pairs of eyes on him. “Who's he?”

“Harley”, Peter hissed, “where is he?”

“Last I heard he was in the lab with Stark”, Nat answered, eyeing him curiously. “And I'd assume that your prank war has reached its inevitable climax?”

“Let's just say, he's gonna pay.” Without an explanation or gracing the Avengers with another glance, Peter turned on his heel and stormed off towards the lab.

How the fuck did that damn idiot think it would be ok to mess with Peter's suit?

“HARLEY KEENER!”, he cried out, before he got even through the lab doors.

Just in time, he saw him diving behind Tony for safety, which was quite futile; not even Ironman could save Harley from Peter's wrath.

“Pete, please, I thought we agreed to keep your stupid rivalry out of my workshop”, Tony groaned.

Peter completely ignored Tony and stared right at where his boyfriend peeked out from behind him. “You've gone to far.”

“What did you do?” Peter was pretty sure, Tony didn't really want to know or even cared what Harley had done, but was that type of tired Dad, who just wanted some peace and quiet.

“He did THIS!” Ever since Peter had noticed the writing on the back of his spider-suit, he had worn a hoodie to hide it. Now he unzipped it and turned to Tony, so he too could read what all of New York now knew.

“Jar Jar Binks wasn't so bad”, Tony read and Peter heard Harley's failed attempt at hiding his giggles. “Pete, I'm with you on this one, a hundred percent, but please”, he pleaded, “even though he would deserve it, don't toss Harley to the Sinister Six.”

“You just wait, Keener”, Peter growled, “you'll regret the day, you decided to turn Spider-Man into the menace The Daily Bugle always said he was.” Not giving Harley the chance to ridicule him any more, Peter turned on his heel and stomped out.

“Please don't talk about yourself in the third person”, was the last thing he heard Tony groan, before the elevator doors closed.

There really was only one thing he could do. And, as much as Tony would hate it, Harley turning Peter into a fucking Jar Jar Binks stan was so much worse than anything Peter could come up with. But he'd need help for that, since Harley wasn't dumb enough to be alone with Peter.

Thankfully, there was the world's best sidekick.

“Hi Pepper”, he greeted her, when the elevator door to the penthouse opened, “is Morgan back from school yet?”

“Not yet, she has soccer training.”

“Right, it's Tuesday”, Peter remembered. Given that he was a currently employed worker at one of this country's most prestigious companies, he really was as clueless as they come.

“Can I help you out with what I'm assuming is your revenge plan to get back at Harley for what he pulled earlier? It's on twitter”, Pepper explained, before Peter could ask how she knew about it.

“Of fucking course it is.” With a groan, Peter fell on the couch.

“I'm sorry, kid.” Sitting next to him, she patted his shoulder. “This really must suck. Now, I usually don't condone these kind of things, but this whole prank war just has to end. So I'm gonna help you with one last stint and then it's all over, alright?”

“You'd really do that?”, he beamed over. Him and Pepper co-planning a prank? Screw intern at SI, that's what needed to be put on Peter's curriculum vitae!

“I guess you already know what you want to do, but need somebody to lure Harley wherever you need him to be.”

“Exactly.”

“Right then. What do you need from me?”

*

After Peter had stormed out of the lab, Tony decided it probably be best to just ignore the whole thing. As horrible as what Harley had done to Peter was, they were both adults and Tony was not gonna do that to himself and meddle with them. So back to work they went, until FRIDAY's voice ripped them away from it. “Harley, Pepper asks that you please come up to the penthouse, there is a form she needs you to sign.”

“Like right now?”

“Yes please, it'll only take a moment.”

“Fine”, he shrugged, put the screwdriver down and made for upstairs.

Three minutes passed, then five, then ten, but Harley didn't come back down. Damnit. This just screamed revenge. Did Tony really want to know what was going on? No, not really. Then why the fuck did he put down his tools and go up to the penthouse?

`

“Pep? Harley?”, he called out when he got into the empty living room.

“MHMMHM!” Those muffled cries came from just above him. And even though Tony knew exactly what he would see there, he still jumped a bit in surprise to find Harley, webbed to the ceiling, including a web covering up his mouth.

“Oh for fuck's sake”, Tony grumbled. “Where's Pete or my wife?”

“Over here”, Pepper called, as she and Peter carried a mattress over to put right under Harley.

“Just in case”, Peter explained, “I do plan on catching him once the webs dissolve.” Once they placed the mattress, Peter climbed up, hovering right by Harley's face. “Ok, this is a bit of a dick move, so I'll just take this off.” With careful movements, Peter dissolved the web over Harley's face.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, you absolute fucker”, Harley eventually groaned, once he could speak again.

“I hate to say this, but you do deserve it”, Tony shrugged. “And how the hell did Pete rope you in, darling?”

“I didn't have to”, Peter chirped from his place on the ceiling, “she offered her help.”

“My, my”, he grinned and put his arm around Pepper, who smiled right back.

“Look, I found some more pillows!”, Morgan giggled, as she skipped over. She literally could not have been home longer than maybe ten minutes, she still was in full soccer gear. Looks like they practised outside today, judging from the grass and dirt stains all over the light blue uniform. “Hi daddy!”, she beamed, as she went straight for the safety cushion on the ground. “Look, Pete, finally did my idea!”

“That was your idea? Wow, the women in my life are really a lot more devious than I previously though...”

“Yes”, she grinned proudly. “And now Harley has to promise that the pranking is over.”

“Peter did just as many pranks as me”, Harley protested, “so he should have to promise too.”

“Fine”, Peter shrugged, “I hereby promise that this was my last prank of this war.”

“Right, I promise not to avenge my being used as a candelabra.”

“Great”, Pepper smiled, “my work here is done. Honey, how about we let the kids be and get a cup of coffee?” She held her hand out and there was nothing in the world that could be nicer than to take it and let her pull him away from all this chaos and the wonderfulness that was a date with his wife.

*

What the fuck was Professor Smythe's problem? Seriously, he and Jameson's obsession with building robots that could end Peter was ridiculous. The current Spider-Slayer (oh, how much he HATED that name) was naturally too slick for Peter or his webs to stick, but he hadn't expected anything less. It also had some damn web-shooters, could climb up walls and some kind of energy beam or pulse gun, that could knock a statue off its pedestal. Peter definitely was not in the mood to find out what it could do to him.

Maybe he could fry the system? He had never tried it with any of the Slayers before, but that seemed to be the best thing to do to a) have a chance of defeating it and b) get it away from civilians. So that's what he did. Bungee-jumping off Brooklyn Bridge, the bot followed him right away. Coming out of the water again, Peter perched himself on the balustrade, waiting whether his hunch proofed right.

And of course it didn't. Well then, let the cat-and-mouse-games continue. Peter had to admit, his manoeuvrers did grow more and more dangerous, but there just had to be a twist or turn too fast for the damn thing, so it'd crash and hopefully break on the concrete.

“Mr Stark is calling”, KAREN announced just as Peter landed a quite formidable hit, if he dare say so himself.

“I'm kinda busy”, he hissed, ducking just in time to get one of these metallic legs to the stomach and webbed himself up a skyscraper; which exactly it was he didn't really have the chance to make out and besides, he really didn't care at the moment.

“I know”, came Tony's voice. “You need support?”

“Thanks”, he shot back, rolling his eyes that of course Tony had his tracker, location and what not pulled up. “I can handle it.”

“No doubts there. Just offering that you don't have to.”

“Appreciate it.” Perching himself on the roof's edge, he had just enough time for a short breather, when that Slayer crawled right up there. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Jameson or Smythe, whoever is in charge of this right now: Really? Another Slayer? Haven't you learned your lessons the last umpteen times?”

“Kiddo, don't engage with the villains, just beat them.” Peter could practically hear Tony rolling his eyes, but he wasn't going to let Ironman tell him how to fight his rogues and was happy to ignore him.

Since the Spider-Slayer didn't answer, Peter concluded that it couldn't hear, or speak. Because Jameson would not let himself get taunted like this without shooting back.

With one quite impressive jump, Peter landed right behind the thing and, before it could turn and defend itself, landed a wonderful hit, that almost send it flying off the roof. “Take that!”

“Seriously?”

“Shut up, Mr Stark, I have to concentrate.”

“Oh, so it's Mr Stark again?”

“Yes”, Peter just made clear, and jumped up just in time to avoid getting hit by one robotic arm, and landing right in the next one. And shit, that hurt. “Fuck!”, he cried out. “Don't do that, you dumb slayer, that's how people get hurt!”

“Who got hurt?” Great, now Harley got in the mix as well. Tony must have their conversation on speaker in the lab.

“Apparently Peter is. What the hell is going on?”

“I got it handled, damnit!”, he groaned and in all the frustration of being punched in front of an audience, he even got a few good hits in, leaving wonderful dents in the admittedly quite hard metal. “BAM!”

Peter's cocky joy about hitting that thing didn't last too long though. The bot turned, set up for a punch, but not fast enough for Peter's spider-senses. Turns out, his early warning system wasn't really alerting him to the punch though; in avoiding getting hit, Peter jumped right into that fucking energy beam, and before he really knew it happened, he found himself blasted off the roof and falling towards the busy streets with an unfortunately not all that manly scream.

“Kid, what the fuck?”

“What's going on?”

Somehow in his deathly panic, he could make out Tony and Harley's concerned voices over the speakers, but him saving his own life was more important right now. Shooting webs and swinging to the safety of a few rooftops over wasn't that difficult, though saying it wasn't a scaring shock would be a lie.

“FUCKING ANSWER ME!”, Tony cried out, and only now Peter remembered to maybe console his father figure and his boyfriend.

“I'm alright”, he assured them.

“Good, cause if you die, I'm gonna kill you”, Harley made clear.

No, Peter had other things to deal with right now; his distraught boyfriend could wait. “FRIDAY, please take care of Tony and Harley, but I'd much rather deal with this armed-to-the-teeth killer-robot that was especially designed to kill me, than with them being hysteric.”

“What do you mean, especially designed to kill you?”

“Talk to you later, bye!”, he chirped. “KAREN, hang up please and keep either from calling me.”

“Call ended.”

“Thanks, K, you're the best. Now. The Slayer. If we go to The Daily Bugle HQ, we could baseball that sonofabitch with the Jameson statue they have out front. Do you think that'd piss him sufficiently off?”

“I assume yes”, she answered, “but it would also aggravate Jameson a lot more.”

“K, I've literally done nothing to the man, and he's paying a mad scientist to build killer-robots. I don't think there's much more aggravation possible.”

“You might have a point”, she admitted.

“Thanks. Right then, let's flatten this thing!”

The hardest part about swinging to The Bugle was avoiding that damn impulse beam. It almost blasted Peter out of the sky twice, and thanks to that fucking gun, his landing in front of The Bugle was unfortunately not as much of a landing, as him being smacked against the building. Ouch. That was gonna be beautifully blue and purple.

“Jameson, now you might hear me”, Peter cried out, circling that damn thing. “I honestly believe in nothing less than doing what's right, which is helping out the people of New York. And if all I do for the rest of my days is stop car thieves or pick pockets, help elderly people over the street or help some poor tourists, that got lost in the city then I'm happy to do just that. I don't understand your hatred of me, but well, if you so clearly need to loathe me, let me at least give you a proper reason to do so.”

With all his strength, he ripped the statue of his nemesis out of its plinth and brought it down on the robot.

“You think that did it?”, he whispered, as he waited for that thing to move again.

“My scanners show no signs of any activity”, she reported. “It seems you have successfully destroyed the Spider-Slayer and given Jameson more than enough reasons to hate you.”

“Yeah, I'm already looking forward to tomorrows Bugle”, he scoffed and, after making sure that none of the civilians standing around were hurt, he took off again.

“I suggest that you make your way back to the compound. You have taken a few bad hits and even with your enhanced healing you'll take a while to completely recuperate.”

Sure, KAREN had a point, a very good point, since everything, really everything hurt like hell. But if he went back there now, he'd have Tony and Harley to deal with and that was nothing he was really in the mood for. Then again... “I assume if I don't do so, Tony will come and pick me up.”

“According to FRIDAY, he gives you thirty seconds to make your way to the compound or he will do exactly that.”

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-do”, he groaned. “The compound it is, then.”

“Oh, I'm gonna kill you!” Peter was barely through the doors, when both Tony and Harley stormed towards him.

“Back off”, he made clear. “I am not in the mood.”

Funnily enough, both shied back a bit. “But you will go to the medbay now, that is an order”, Tony made clear.

“Gladly”, Peter sighed and pulled his mask off. Judging from the way Harley gasped and Tony's face fell, he had quite the bruise there. In all honesty, Peter wasn't sure what was injured and what wasn't, everything just hurt. Not just physically, but... Smythe and JJJ really hated Peter. No, hate was probably not strong enough a word for it. Besides the point that Peter couldn't imagine hating anybody to that much a degree that you actually wanted them dead and did everything in your power to actually kill them, it was them hating Peter for no real reason. They didn't even know Spider-Man, all they knew was that he had superpowers. And it scared them so much that it didn't matter what he did; it didn't matter how often he saved New York or the world, they were gonna hate him.

“Impressive speech, kiddo”, Bruce praised him, as he gave Peter the once-over.

“Thanks”, he mumbled, but didn't manage more than a half-hearted smile.

“You know why you are so much more amazing than Jameson will ever be?”, Bruce remarked, as he got some lotion out of a cupboard. He didn't wait for Peter to ask why, he continued right away: “you let love lead your every move, your every decision. And that is so damn hard to do. Letting fear be your motivator, well, do that and you end up like Jameson, or Smythe... or me. Don't look so shocked”, he chuckled, “me and Hulk went through a lot of emotional turmoil, we hated each other like JJJ hates you. And for the longest time I ran from that exact fear. It took the idiots in this building to help me see that fear isn't the way to go and it was a damn long process. But you... You didn't need to learn that, did you? I know you went through so much shit in your quite short life, but still, you have the biggest heart, you fight for the little guy. And that's why Spider-Man is New York's favourite superhero.”

Peter was honestly floored. All he could do was look at Bruce Banner, the amazing scientist, his idol he looked up to so much, wide eyed and mouth gaping open. Thankfully, the doctor played over it, put a last bit of the lotion on Peter's shoulder, before motioning for him to put his shirt on again.

“Right then. Take it easy, alright? It unfortunately shows that that robot was designed to purposely hurt you. There are no severe injuries, but you're skin's more blue than white.”

“Yeah, I feel that.”

“I bet. So, doctor's orders are to be pampered for the next two days.”

“That I can do”, Peter grinned, probably somewhat crookedly since his face was kinda messed up.

“Good. And as usual, if Tony gets too much, I can always put you in a calm and quiet quarantine.”

“Thanks, you're the best.” It was more limping than walking, but Peter made his way out of the medbay. But, just before the door closed behind him, he turned one more time. “Oh, and Bruce?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Thanks. For the talk. Means the world.”

“Anytime, kid”, he smiled and waved after Peter, as he made his way to the penthouse, where he was already awaited by Tony, Pepper, Harley, Morgan and by now also May and Happy had arrived. Yup, Peter was definitely going to need Bruce's offer of quarantining him if he wanted only five minutes by himself.

“I'll live”, he greeted his distraught family. “Doctor's orders are to be pampered for the next two days”, he explained as he made his way to the couch and got to get off his feet.

And then the circus started. Immediately everybody crowded him, offered tea, hot chocolate, sweets and so much more. The only time they left his side was when he had to go to the bathroom and even then he had to argue for five minutes that he was able to make it there by himself. Eventually, he just got to lay on the couch with his head on May's lap. And, while his aunt's fingers brushed through his hair, Morgan read him some pirate story. The decision to sleep over at the compound was seconded by everybody present and, while everybody offered to stay with him in his room, Peter was not so much convinced by that. “I am 21 years old, I think I can spend the night. It's not like I've never been hurt before and I've already weathered much worse injuries with a lot less care.”

Not that anybody was happy about the statement, but they at least let him be. After three extra good-night-kisses from Morgan, May insisted on walking him to his room at least.

“I'm sorry”, she remarked as they walked along the corridor in silence.

“What for?”

“That there are people out there trying to harm you”, May sighed and pulled him a bit closer. “And I'm so incredibly proud how you're dealing with this.” When he looked over, he saw her smiling at him, albeit teary-eyed. “You don't vow revenge, you don't go after Jameson and fine, you did destroy his statue earlier, but you don't let the hatred consume you like it consumes him. That is pure Ben, right there. I just know he is sitting up there on a cloud and is so damn proud of the man you're turning out to be.”

“That's thanks to you both”, Peter made clear and leaned into the embrace. “I larb you.”

“Oh honey”, she laughed and put a kiss on his cheek. “I larb you, too.”

.

Harley: You already sleeping?

Peter: come over

.

“Hey.” Almost quietly, Harley slipped into Peter's room. “I'm not gonna ask how you're feeling, because I do not want to be shot the death glare to end all death glares”, he made clear as he made himself comfortable just beside Peter.

“Thanks”, he laughed, “I appreciate that. I do feel the need to ask you how you're doing, though. You've been suspiciously quiet and withdrawn ever since I've come out of the medbay.”

“Yeah... It's just... Until today I didn't get what you being Spider-Man actually means. Up until this afternoon it was just the fact that you've got superpowers and run around the city in spandex. It never occurred to me that you're actually putting yourself in harm's way, fighting supervillains and actually getting hurt.” Gently he stroked Peter's cheek, careful not to touch the bruise. “And the feeling to sit here, listening to you getting beaten up, thrown of a building all the while there's nothing I can do... It's just horrible.”

Peter scooted a little closer and grabbed Harley's hand. “I would love to say I understand, but I don't; I only know the other side. It's like... Being able to do things like that, I have the responsibility to use these powers, you know? Because if there's something happening that I could have stopped, but I didn't...”

“I get that”, Harley nodded and squeezed Peter's hand. The fact that that hurt like hell, Peter didn't try to let on, there was a more urgent matter to be dealt with. “It's so noble and one of the things that are really so damn amazing about you. It's just so horrible to helplessly sit back and have to watch while the guy you love does stuff like this.”

“The guy you what now?” All bruises, injuries and contusions were forgotten as Peter stared at his boyfriend with wide eyes. Did he mishear him or did Harley actually use the L-word?

The way Harley blushed, he probably heard the right thing. “Uhm yeah. The guy I love”, he repeated. “That's you, by the way”, he eventually remarked, when Peter just silently stared at him.

“That's me”, Peter parroted, as his stupidly slow brain tried to compute what was currently happening right in front of him.

“I'm happy to draw you a picture”, Harley snorted. “Yeah, so I have been thinking this for a while now, but today kinda made it clear for me. And if you don't feel like that or don't want to say anything that's cool, we can just...”

“Shut up, Keener.” Peter just cupped Harley's face and pulled him in for a kiss. A fantastic kiss; not even the pain in Peter's everything mattered. “I love you, too”, he smiled, once he broke away.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

How much longer they were lost in their embrace and kisses, Peter had no idea. He didn't care, either, because it was just too damn perfect.

“Stay here, please”, he eventually whispered, when the tiredness was close to take over.

“I wasn't planning on going anywhere”, Harley chuckled and safely enveloped in his boyfriend's arms who he loved and who loved him too, Peter fell asleep with the widest smile.

*

“So, Pete and Harley are awfully close”, Nat remarked and, if you didn't know her like Clint did, you'd easily miss the smirk she tried to hide as she took a sip from her coffee.

“Wait, they are?”, Steve asked.

“Oh, you sweet summer child”, Clint giggled, “yes, they are. Either their boning or they really, really want to.”

“Seriously, Cap, how you managed to land Barnes is really a mystery to me, given your perception of human emotions.”

“Hey”, he defended himself, “that's not fair.”

“Clint has a point, though”, Bucky snorted, “took you what, ninety years to ask me out?”

With Steve blushing in slight embarrassment, the rest of the Avengers started laughing. “Better late than never, right?”, Rogers eventually shrugged, and leaned over to press a kiss on Bucky's cheek.

“Good for you. Doubt Peter and Harley have a century to figure this out though”, Nat brought the conversation back to the topic at hand.

“So you think we should interfere?”

“Not interfere”, she made clear. “But how about a nudge in the right direction?”

*

“Ok, I need to ask you something.” Pepper had made it barely into bed, when Tony blurted out.

“What's up?”

“Is it my imagination or is there something going on between Harley and Peter?” Tony has had this thought for a while now, he'd almost call what they did flirting. And it freaked him out to no end.

“Welcome to the party”, Pepper chuckled as she settled into her pillows. “The Avengers have been gossiping about it for weeks. And so has half of SI.”

“Oh.” That was only slightly embarrassing. But then again, those two were his mentees, in this weird fatherly relationship romantic entanglements it wasn't exactly what he focused on when spending time with his pseudo-sons.

“But, before you go into action mode”, Pepper threw in, putting her hand over his, “let those two work through it themselves. If something really is there, they need to recognize it on their own and not because you or the Avengers told them about it.”

“Yeah, you're right.”

“I always am”, she smiled and, after a good-night-kiss, she snuggled to his side.

“Sleep well, honey.”

*

“Pete, just hear me out”, Clint tried to appease him, “Tasha says that this guy is really nice and definitely good enough for you.”

“Good for him”, Peter shot back, “but I don't need you to set me up on a surprise blind date!”

“Well, yeah, because if it weren't surprise you wouldn't have come”, he shrugged and pushed Peter onto a barstool. “Please, just give it a try. You can web my bow and arrow to the roof of the compound if it's a bust, alright?”

“Fine”, Peter groaned, if only to get this over with and to tell whoever was apparently perfect for Peter that unfortunately he was not interested; he just loved his boyfriend too much. At least Peter wouldn't have to worry about his boyfriend getting jealous or come to any false conclusions; Harley was so going to laugh at Peter, when he'd message him later.

“Great”, Clint chirped, “I'll leave you be then. He should be here any moment, and you can thank me later.” With a damn infuriating grin, Hawkeye all but skipped out of the bar, leaving Peter by himself. Awesome.

What was he supposed to tell this dude? He couldn't tell him that Peter already had a boyfriend, because then Nat'd know, then Clint'd know and then all the Avengers would know.

And the excuse that Peter just wasn't interested in dating at the moment wouldn't really count either, would it?

Well, if that stranger was as cool as Tasha had made him out to be, at least Peter'd have a fun evening, and maybe even make a new friend.

“Uhm, hey Peter.” Harley was the last person Peter expected to hear and the last person he wanted to see five minutes before he was supposed to be on a date.

Beet-red he turned to his boyfriend. “Harley, hey. What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, so funny story”, he harrumphed as he sat next to Peter. “A beer, please”, he ordered before turning to Peter, who already had a coke in front of him. (Why drink alcohol, when it didn't really do anything?) “So, please don't freak, but I kinda am supposed to be on a date right now...”

Oh fuck no.

“Did Nat by any chance set you up for that?”

“Oh what the fuck”, Harley's face fell. “Please don't tell me you're that friend of Clint's who would be just perfect for me?”

They stared at each other for a few moments, processing what was currently going on, before bursting into laughter.

“This is such a mess”, Peter eventually got out. “Against my will I'm being set up on a blind date. With my boyfriend.”

“How weird, I'm in the exact same situation”, Harley grinned and after thanking the bartender, took a generous sip from his beer. “At least I can get drunk to deal with it...”

“Yeah, stomaching that we're apparently the epitome of gossip and in dire need to be set up would be a lot easier with alcohol... Begs the question though: where do we go from here? Do we come out?”

“Honestly, when they're already being that... I don't know, intrusive when they think we're not even together, how you think they're gonna react when we actually are an official couple?”

Harley had a damn point. “Keeping things professional would get a lot harder, too.”

“Yeah. So what, tell them that their genius plan failed?”

“Maybe we should put it one step further”, Peter grinned, when THE idea hit him. “We just tell them that we were stood up, but thankfully had the other's company, making it clear that we didn't even think of each other romantically, you know?”

“Mhm, I gotta be honest though”, Harley grinned, “it's gonna be pretty hard spending tonight, not keeping on replaying what you look like underneath that nice shirt.”

“Dude”, Peter hissed and felt the blush get more and more intense.

“I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?”

“I can just get up and go, tell Clint that this was a disaster”, Peter made clear.

“It admittedly kinda is”, Harley shrugged. “Or at least it will be once we run back to them, tears streaming down about the horrible people that treated us so damn...”

“Atrocious? Grieveous? Heinous? Evil?”, Peter suggested with a smirk.

“Damnit, why you gotta be so smart”, he groaned, taking another sip. “It's seriously hot.”

“Well, thank you”, Peter grinned, “I do my best.”

*

“Well, hi there Peter. Harley. How was your evening?”

When walking into the common room the next day, they were met with way too many smug grins directed at them.

“Clint, you'll find your bow and quiver webbed to the roof”, Peter fake-smiled.

“What?” His face fell.

“Didn't you like him?”, Nat inquired.

“How should I know?”, Harley shot back, “he never showed up!”

“Yes, you two really picked some winners”, Peter scoffed, trying his all to stay in character. “At least Harley was there, so I didn't sit around all by myself.”

“WHAT?”, Clint cried out.

“Omigod, you're more clueless than Steve”, Bucky groaned, earning him a 'HEY!” and a box to the arm from his boyfriend.

“You literally went home together”, Nat recapped what she and Clint witnessed them doing. Of course they were camped out in front of the bar and followed them home.

“Harley and me? Yeah, once it was clear that nobody was gonna show up, Harley came by my place to play Mario Kart. At which, might I add, I sufficiently kicked his ass”, he added with the triumphant smirk, he's been wearing ever since last night. Admittedly, it wasn't the only thing they did; once May sent them to bed, there was a lot of making-out involved. That was nothing the Avengers needed to know, though.

“Pete, Harley. They set the two of you up”, Tony made clear, walking in behind the couple.

“Wait, what?” Wide-eyed they both turned to Tony and Peter just hoped to whoever was listening that they could manage to keep up the charade.

“You tried to set me and Peter up?” If he didn't know the ploy, Harley's weirded out tone would be downright insulting.

“Yeah”, Clint nodded, “is that so far-fetched?”

No, not at all, since they were actually in love.

“I honestly never considered it”, Peter lied, hopefully good enough that a bunch of super spies would believe him.

“Seriously?”, Wanda questioned him, “you two've been flirting pretty much ever since you arrived.”

“Oh, ok”, Harley shrugged, seemingly pulling off this whole indifference-towards-the-other-thing a lot easier than Peter. Huh. Interesting...

“You can't tell me you didn't notice.” Tasha didn't buy a word of it, Peter could see it in the way she glinted over at him.

“Guys, we're co-workers, literally. There's this thing called professionalism and I know most of you have never heard of it, but it does matter, especially, when our degrees are on the line, so no, we didn't consider anything.”

“Who the hell sits at MIT, worrying about their interns getting together? Besides, Tony and Pepper? Steve and Barnes? Wanda and Vision?”

“The only person in that group of people I'd call responsible is Pepper”, Peter made clear.

“Fair enough”, Steve shrugged, “but you see, it can work out.” He gestured between himself and Bucky, who was sprawled out over Steve's lap, shooting them two thumbs up.

“Ok, I'm really over this conversation”, Peter decided, since he could feel himself breaking any moment now. “Harley. Would you just go on a damn date with me so they all shut the fuck up?”

“Language!”

“I'm an adult and Morgan's not around, so I can fucking swear however the fuck much I fucking want to”, Peter shot back at his mentor, before turning to his boyfriend. “So, what do you say?”

“Fine, let's get this over with”, Harley rolled his eyes.

“And they say romance is dead”, Tony cooed, then shook his head. “You are both ridiculous.”

*

“I gotta admit, this is pretty nice”, Peter smiled, as Harley pulled back the chair for him. “Thanks.”

“You're absolutely welcome”, he beamed and sat himself right opposite him. “To be honest, the nicest part about this is the Avengers offering to pay, to make up for their meddling.”

“Definitely. I never would have come here otherwise, too scared of the pricetag and the fanciness.”

“So, this isn't a place you'd take your boyfriend to?”, Harley smirked.

“Definitely not”, Peter made clear. “I'll show you another time what I understand under the perfect date.”

“Can't wait.”

As they waited for their seriously overpriced food, Peter took the place in. He and Harley took down the average age by at least twenty years; there was only one more couple that looked to be around their age. How the fuck did Tony get the idea to send them here? With his metabolism, they were definitely going to have to stop by a taco truck or a burger place later, no way he could eat all he needed to here. He also couldn't wait to get out of this damn shirt. May forced it on him, since they obviously needed to look the part, but that tie felt like it was strangling Peter and he was in all honesty scared to move, so the shirt wouldn't crinkle.

“Do you want to get out of here?”, Harley whispered over, as Peter picked around in his salad.

“That would be totally impolite, though”, he hissed back.

“We could fake an emergency”, Harley shrugged. “Can't your spider-senses make something up?”

“That's not how this works”, Peter deadpanned. “Come on, we're doing this for the Avengers, remember?”

“Yeah, you're right. But just looking at you, I want to rip that damn shirt off you, and not for sexy reasons. You look seriously uncomfortable.”

“Lived through worse”, he shrugged. “Other note. Are we publicly dating as of tomorrow?”

“Now, I know the Avengers not as well as you do, but I think that if we were, there'd be an endless tirade of 'we told you so' and a constant need to be involved.”

“Apt assessment”, Peter nodded. “How do we keep that from happening, though?”

“Hm.” They sat in silence while pondering their options. “How about we tell them it went horribly, can't stand each other from now on and they might feel bad enough to leave us alone?”

That could actually work. Only issue... “Will you be able to pretend you can't stand me, even though you perpetually undress me in your mind?”, Peter smirked and got the expected deadpan in return. “Ha, ha.”

“I'm serious”, he continued, “you'll have to constantly suppress your yearning for my body, the admiration for me, my mind and that can't be easy.”

“Trust me, Peter darling, it's getting easier by the second.”

.

Harley: Made it home alright?

Peter: Yup, only had two burgers along the way

Peter: Seriously, that restaurant is nothing for people who are actually hungry

Harley: True that

Harley: I raided the entire snack cabinet here and am now sprawled out on the bed, surrounded by chocolate and cookies *heart eyes*

Peter: Nice!

Harley: Oh yeah. Different note, though. I was obviously anxiously awaited once I got back to the compound

Peter: And?

Harley: I told them that they suck, that you suck, that everything sucks and they very quickly left me alone

Peter: Meaning I can expect Tony to check in any moment now?

Harley: Probably, yeah

.

But there was nobody checking in. No message from Tony, nothing from Tasha, Clint or any of the Avengers. Which meant that they probably bought Harley's attitude, thinking that they somehow really messed up. Good, that's what they wanted to achieve.

There was absolutely no reason to feel so weird about it now. No need to feel weird about lying to his super family. No need to feel weird about going that much out of their way to keep their relationship a secret.

Why did the Avengers push all this so much? Why couldn't they just leave well enough alone, things were wonderful the way they had been! They all knew Peter well enough to be aware that he didn't really care for being the centre of attention, especially vis-a-vis his romantic life. It had been the same damn thing when he came out as bisexual. All of a sudden the Avengers ran around with rainbow-pins and love is love is love-shirts. They showed up at every pride parade, everything that was even slightly LGBTQIA+ themed, the Avengers got involved. Maybe it was a generational thing that they had to show their support in that intense a degree? Because Ned, MJ, Gwen, all the friends his age were a lot more chill about it.

So damn the Avengers' aggressive support, for forcing Peter to keep the guy he loved a secret. And damn the Avengers for making Peter dread seeing his boyfriend again.

*

“Heya kiddo”, Tony greeted Peter when he walked into the compound the next day.

“Morning”, he smiled back, dreadfully nervous what Tony was about to talk about.

“So, how you doing?”

“Freaking fantastic”, he deadpanned. “But I assume you already guessed such a thing.”

“Guilty as charged. You can still talk to me, if you want to.”

“Not really”, Peter shrugged. Tony's arm around his shoulder felt just wrong. Yes, he tried to be reassuring and shit, but he was currently here for Peter, for an issue that was non-existent. Because Peter currently lied to his father figure and boss. So much for keeping it professional...

“If that changes, you can always come to me.”

“Thanks”, he forced a smile, “means the world.”

“Anytime, bud. Only question remaining: can you two be civil?”

“Well, we are talking about the guy, who destroyed a statue out of spite”, Harley remarked, coming up behind them.

“Oh for reals? You're taking JJJ's side?”

“I ain't saying that.” In mock-defence, Harley raised his hands. “Just saying that that wasn't exactly civil, was it?”

“Don't worry”, Peter turned to Tony, “we got this handled.”

“Looks like it”, he gulped, probably making a mental note to get them to different departments.

Not just a mental note, as it turned out, but after lunch break, Harley didn't seem to be working in the chemical engineer's department. That was probably a good thing, given that it was becoming increasingly hard to voice all his snide remarks as if he meant them, and not as the flirty banter that it actually was. Fortunately, Harley seemed to feel the same way; Peter prided himself in knowing his boyfriend well enough to recognize the fights to keep the blush and grins down. Yes, them being separated was definitely a good call.

.

Peter: So, you left me.

Harley: I wouldn't exactly call it leaving, more like being forcibly removed from your general vicinity

Peter: good, it was getting hard to pretend I'm not really into you

Harley: awwww! <3

.

“Hi Pete!” Hunched over his work, Peter didn't notice Morgan until she stood right by his chair, squealing at him.

“Hey Mo”, he grinned back. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Daddy said you're not really well, so now I want to cheer you up.”

And Peter just melted. “That is so sweet of you! I've got a lot of work to do, though.”

“Can you show me?” There truly was nothing more powerful than Morgan Stark's puppy eyes. How anyone could ever say no to her was a mystery Peter'd probably never solve. “You know, then I can also be an intern.”

“Well, I can't argue with that logic.” While the co-workers he shared an office with were in the lab or on break, there was no reason why Morgan shouldn't be able to join Peter for a while. Besides, even though he wasn't as unwell as everyone thought he was, he could still do with a little distraction. So he motioned for the chair in the corner, and before he knew it, Morgan wheeled it over and sat next to him, looking all expectantly. “Alright, so my big topic is genetics, especially genes that have been changed.”

“You mean like yours?”, Morgan whispered after making sure that nobody was around to hear her.

“For example”, he nodded, “but there are so many reasons why genes are changing and sometimes that's really good, because it helps us to make medicine, but sometimes it's also really bad, because people change things so much that they're no longer what they used to be.”

“You mean like the Green Goblin?”

“Yeah.” Peter hoped to everything that Morgan didn't notice Peter flinching at the memory of his friend becoming his enemy. His friend, that Peter had put behind bars. His life really was fucked up.

“So what are you doing now?”

“All of that”, he gestured at the unholy amount of papers on his desk, “that's all results from tests. And now I get to compare all these numbers and hopefully find a pattern that shows me how certain types of influences change DNA.”

“Wow.” With big eyes she looked over all the data. “That's really a lot of stuff.”

“Yeah, I know. But I luckily got FRIDAY, she's helping me out with the math.”

“That's so nice of you, FRI!”, she beamed.

“Thank you, Morgan. I am happy to help in any way I can”, FRI answered.

“Me too”, Morgan made clear. “So can I help you?”

Well, Peter doubted they taught chemical engineering in primary school. Then again... “You actually can. Look here.” He held a piece of paper out to her. “You see some of the numbers FRI found are already marked. Can you read them out to me, so I can put them in the system?”

“You got it!”

Yes, FRIDAY could just automatically put the numbers down, but Peter couldn't say no to Morgan. Besides, Peter was more than happy about the company and that girl just took Peter's mind off his fucked up romantic life. With them working together, the afternoon just flew by and it was definitely more fun than asking FRI to take care of the numbers.

“Mr Parker, since Ms Stark is not yet eighteen, all employment must be signed off by her legal guardians. I don't remember doing that and since Pepper is in LA at the moment, I think she didn't either.”

The two hard-working engineers turned to find Tony leaning against the door-frame.

“Is that bad?”, Morgan asked, looking up at Peter, who just shrugged.

“Means that he won't pay you for your work. And that he could technically sue me for employing a minor. But I don't think he'll do that”, he smiled at Tony, the sweetest and fakest smile he had in him.

“Don't push your luck, Parker”, Tony grumbled. “Just wanted to know how much longer you're gonna work over-time for.” He nodded towards the clock and only now Peter realized the time.

“Well, me and my associate are on such a roll”, he just grinned back, “in our high of productivity we have forgotten the time.”

“And I'm reminding you of it. I assume you're staying here then?”

Peter just nodded.

“Alright then. Finish up, then wash up and get your butts upstairs. Dinner's ready.”

“We'll be right there”, Morgan promised.

“So, I assume her help was a little limited”, Tony remarked, once Morgan was in bed.

“A bit scared to say this to my boss, but redundant's the word I'd use.”

“Figured”, Tony scoffed. “She's so over the moon though for having been engineering genes, I guess, I might be able to play over it and maybe even appreciate it.”

“Appreciate?” Peter grinned over, “might just make it a regular thing then. It's definitely more fun.”

“Again Parker, might not want to push it.” Putting his arm around Peter, Tony looked down. “Slight change of topic, though. You do not have a choice, we're gonna talk this out now, because today was a nightmare.”

Ugh. Right, get the lying-extravaganza going. “What do you want me to say?”

“I just don't get how it could have gone that disastrous. You two hit it off from the day you met, and it's just...”

“And you're just blaming yourself because you pushed all this?” Peter regretted it the moment he said it. Not because it was a risky thing to say, because yes, Tony and the Avengers definitely regretted it. But because there was nothing to regret; all of this was just a fucking farce. “Ok, fine, it started of sucky, because that restaurant you guys sent us to? Who the fuck had the brilliant idea to invite us to a overly fancy restaurant where I'd never ever could eat enough to feel full? I got two burgers on the way home, because I was so damn hungry.”

“Right, that's on Cap”, Tony made clear, “he said he knew this really nice place, perfect for a first date.”

“How the hell does Steve of all people think he's the authority on date-spots?”

“Yeah, we probably shouldn't have let him take care of that”, Tony admitted.

He didn't push any more questions, but Peter felt the look Tony shot him and the almost desperate need to know what went so wrong.

“It was just awkward, because we didn't really know what to talk about. And then... I don't know. Engineering and you guys connect us, but take that away...”

“So what, now you don't like each other any more?”

Peter just shrugged. What the hell was he supposed to answer to that? Of course he liked Harley, he fucking loved him! “I don't know”, he eventually mumbled. “It's just all so weird.”

“You know, me and Pepper were broken up for a while. And it was so weird, because, well, she's the CEO of my company. Happy all of a sudden was her employee, not mine any more. That was so fucked-up, but we got it in the end. And I'm not saying you and Harley need to end up together and married with a wonderful daughter. But it's gonna go back to normal, I promise that.”

“Yeah?”

“Pete, if the mess that is me can get it sorted, then you can too. And now off to bed you go.”

“Yes dad”, he moaned and couldn't help but grin at the eye-roll.

“Just shut up and get out of here”, Tony made clear and, after a good-night-kiss on the forehead, he motioned for the elevator doors.

“Right then, sleep well.” And with a last wave, Peter disappeared in the elevator

.

Peter: Can you come over?

.

“As if you'd ever have to ask that”, Harley giggled as he slipped into Peter's room.

“Well, since you apparently don't like me anymore...”

“Shut up”, he rolled his eyes, kneeled on the bed and leaned over for a kiss.

“So, I just talked to Tony”, Peter explained once they broke away.

“Uh, that couldn't have been fun...”

“It really wasn't.” He recapped their talk, before sinking back into the cushions. “This sucks so much. I really don't want to lie to them any more, but this has gone so damn far...”

“I know. We don't need to figure it out tonight though, right?”

“We do not”, Peter agreed, and pulled Harley down into the cushions with him and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Now we just get to sleep.” And, with his head resting on Harley's chest, he drifted off into sleep in no time at all.

*

“PETER!”

“NED!”

Peter could have sworn that as he and Ned ran towards each other for the hug that reunited them after almost three months apart, time went into slow motion. Around them everything blurred away; they were no longer on the street but floating somewhere on cloud nine.

“I missed you so much”, Ned sighed, once they were enveloped in a tight hug.

“I missed you, too! And I'm so happy that you're home for a few days.”

“How come you never hug me like that?”, came Harley's grumbled question from somewhere behind Peter.

“Guess he loves me more than you”, Ned giggled as he let go off Peter.

“I shall neither confirm nor deny these accusations”, Peter made clear, held his now free hand out to Harley though.

“I guess that's alright”, Harley shrugged. “I mean, I did know that before we started dating.”

“That's a good boyfriend.” With a giggle, Peter pressed a kiss on Harley's cheek before turning to Ned again. “So, I'd say we'll go and get a coffee and you catch us up on all the MIT gossip.”

“Sounds good to me. So, first things first, Allison and Matt are officially a thing now”, Ned told as they went on their way.

“We gotta tell Tony, maybe he'll finally back off...”

“Back off what?”

“Tony thinks that I'm still sweet on Ali”, Peter explained with a shrug and an eye-roll.

“Aw, come on, that was like what, a year ago?”

“Tried telling him that... But he's capable of moving on, did try to set the two of us up after all.”

“I still don't get why you're not just telling them you're dating”, Ned shook his head. “I mean, clearly neither is embarrassed by being with the other and none of the Avengers are homophobic, they've made that abundantly clear... So what then?”

In all honesty, Peter wasn't so sure any more. All their fights started to gnaw on him, even though none of them were real. Started to feel real, though. Especially since it became easier and easier for them to slip into that animosity. Thanks to which their relationship felt more and more like a chore.

“We got it handled”, Harley eventually made clear.

Right, Harley seemed to had no such worries. Which in turn made Peter really insecure. Was he just too sensible? Was it all just a game for Harley? It couldn't be though, they were in love after all! They were, weren't they?

As hard as he tried, Peter just couldn't enjoy the day with Ned. His and Harley's relationship just hung over every talk, joke or story. And it sucked, majorly. Ned was his best friends for so many years; they had been through High School, the Vulture, Mysterio... And now Peter's bullshit relationship issues stood in the way of their reunion.

“Alright, Dudes, I'm gonna head out, I promised my Nan to come by for tea time.” What? Ned's gran had died two years ago. And the other one lived in Kentucky. “You can swing by tomorrow though, right?”

“Yeah, I can get it arranged”, Peter rolled his eyes as he went for the hug.

“You need to talk. Now”, Ned whispered his reasoning for leaving them be. “Don't fuck it up.”

“Alright”, Peter nodded. “Love you, dude.”

“Love you, too.”

With plenty of waving, Ned walked away and left Harley and Peter sit in the booth by themselves. Boy, this just had all the makings for a disaster. If that's where it headed, though, Peter was not gonna make a scene in a coffee shop. “What do you say, my place?”

“Sounds good to me”, Harley nodded, and before long they were sitting in the car, driving towards Peter's place. The entire ride was uncomfortably quiet, mostly the radio made any sounds. At least until they arrived in front of Peter's apartment building.

“So, you wanna tell me what's bothering you?”

No need to talk around it, Peter just had to get it out. “We kinda are”, he shrugged.

“That sounds... bad”, Harley gulped, glancing over. “What about us is wrong?”

“I feel like I don't really remember why we're not telling anybody about us.”

“Because the Avengers are a bunch of intense meddlers?”

“Yeah, but... I don't know, all that fighting and shit is getting way too easy but that damn pretending is still way to hard and it fucking sucks.”

“Wait, so let me get this straight: It's easier and harder to pretend at the same time?”

How the fuck could Peter make Harley understand his dilemma? “Well, should it be easy to fight with your boyfriend, when you're supposed to be in love?”

“Wait.” Harley turned to Peter. “Are you not in love with me any more?” Along with all the colour, his face dropped and it broke Peter's heart a little bit.

“Of course I am! Do you still love me?”

“How can you even ask me that?” If he didn't look hurt before, he did now.

“Because of what I've just said! If we love each other, do you really think we should keep this from everybody who is like a family to me? To you? If we do love each other, why do we act like we hate one another?”

“Well, I thought that us loving each other was only something to do with the two of us, not with everybody else”, Harley shot back.

“But us loving each other means us fighting, all the time?”

“Yeah, but we don't mean those fights.”

“Then why is it so damn easy for us to slip into that fucking belligerent shit?”, Peter cried out. Shit, he felt himself getting close to tears as all his emotions bubbled to the surface. “And why the absolute fuck doesn't it seem to bother you?”

It was silent in the car, as Harley worked through Peter's issues. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”, he eventually asked.

“I'm saying that with all that bullshit we're doing, seeing you feels like a fucking chore.” The moment he said it, Peter regretted it. “No wait, that came out so wrong.”

“Oh no, you were perfectly clear”, Harley pressed out between gritted teeth. “And I don't want to overwhelm you with too many duties, Spider-Man, so if you'd please get out of my car right now, you can go and recuperate from me.”

“No, Harley, please, I didn't mean it like...”

“Peter. Get out.” Staring straight out of the window, Harley grabbed the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white.

Without another word, Peter complied. He had barely closed the car door, when Harley drove off. The further Harley drove away, the more the knife stuck inside his chest seemed to turn. Even long after the car vanished in traffic Peter still stood in front of the door, staring in the direction in which the car had disappeared.

Was that it? Did their relationship just end?

As if in trance, Peter walked upstairs into their empty apartment. Right, not even May was here to tell Peter everything was going to be ok and talk him through all these fucking bullshit feelings. He couldn't go to the compound either, since the person he had issues with was living there. And Ned... Well, he had messaged.

.

Ned: Did you talk it out?

Peter: I think we just broke up

.

The moment he hit send, Peter switched off his phone. He wasn't gonna deal with this right now, he was just gonna take his mind of things. Because if he didn't, he was going to break down right here and now and bawl his eyes out until judgement day. Maybe there were a few robbers or such out on the prowl today, letting Peter get rid of all these emotions another way.

So, after barely arriving at home, Peter already climbed back out the window, and swung through the streets of Queens.

“SPIDER-MAN!”

Oh fucking hell. JJJ really was the last person Peter wanted to see or hear right now. He turned to face him, but was instead faced with another Spider-Slayer. And here Peter was, thinking his day couldn't go any worse. The bot that looked positively humanoid wore JJJ's face, probably another one of the mind-controlled ones. Sure, it was only a matter of time until he came for revenge for Peter's destruction of the Jameson statue. But did it have to be now?

“Dude, I'm not in the mood. Can we postpone this? How does next week sound to you?”

“I deserve my revenge, and you will face me”, JJJ made clear, and shot a web at Peter, who dodged it just in time.

“Great”, he rolled his eyes, “here we go then.” And the fight began. The Slayer was, once again, non-stick, shot webs, managed to climb every wall Peter did and had some weird gun out front. Peter had not yet figured out what that thing did, but probably wouldn't have to wait too long to find out. Hopefully he wouldn't feel the effects on himself.

“You can run all you want, Spider-Man”, JJJ yelled, “I will get you and finally rid the city of the horror that you are.”

“If we're talking horrors, might I remind you that only one of us has spent millions of dollars to build a killer machine?”

“Oh believe me”, he made clear, shooting a web that just missed Peter, “the public will be so grateful for this service.”

“Well, I do know a few that would disagree”, Peter shrugged, before jumping over another web coming at him and scaled the walls of the nearest skyscraper. Of course the Slayer was right on his heel.

Once on the roof, Peter and JJJ just circled themselves. “Just to make clear, you can't electrocute that, and dropping a statue on this very robot won't do too much either. You can't stick to it, web it, and sure, go ahead and punch until the metal warps, but it's not gonna do the trick.”

Peter didn't doubt it for a second. What kind of metal Smythe built this thing from was almost as hard as vibranium. To destroy this particular slayer, Peter'd need a lot more force. Well, they always could throw themselves off this roof. It would probably kill both, though. And then JJJ would have what he wanted. So focused on how to best throw the robot off a skyscraper without killing himself in the process, he didn't notice that gun-thingy directed right at him. Unfortunately his way of finding out that this particular gun launched a weird yellowy-greenish goo, was by it hitting Peter in the head. Ugh, it was disgusting! It didn't seem to do too much, though. Which couldn't be right, there was probably a lot of bullshit about to happen, but for now, he had more urgent matters to attend to.

“Dude, this is fucking disgusting! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh you'll see, Spider-Man”, JJJ laughed, momentarily a bit distracted and with all the rage Peter had to offer, he threw himself at the robot, leaving both of them falling towards the ground. All the rage about what happened with Harley, all the rage about lying, and all the rage he had towards JJJ and his fucking slaying robots provided more than enough strength to properly beat up on that thing as they pummelled towards their death.

“YOU'LL NEVER BREAK ME!”, he cried and let go; webbing himself to the next best wall and that just in time. The slayer didn't get that chance, with a loud crash it landed on the pavement and burst into a million little pieces. There was no need to go down there and check if it was still functioning; the parts were spread out all over the street. “KAREN, tell an ambulance to get here, I don't think anybody's hurt, but just to make sure.”

Peter pulled himself back up on that rooftop, where he just dropped to the ground. He didn't seem to be too hurt; there were probably a bunch of contusions, but not as bad as the last time he came face to face with a Slayer. Peter was pretty sure his head didn't take a hit. But why was he so dizzy now? And why was it getting so damn hard to breathe? Only when Peter reached up to pull off his mask, he remembered the damn glibber.

“K”, he choked, “what is that?”

“It seems to be a gel made mostly of citrus and mint. Get to the compound right away”, she advised and Peter was not gonna argue that. By the time he got to the compound, Peter had about four more bruises; with the world around him blurring more and more it was quite difficult to manoeuvrer the antennas, walls and lamp posts. Hopefully nobody noticed too much of his embarrassing himself. It took the last bit of strength he had left to pull himself up to the penthouse balcony. He was suffocating, Peter was sure he was gonna be dead by the time he got up there. Oh god, this was how he was gonna die. Killed by a fucking mint? The, thanks to the rising panic, adrenaline was the only thing getting Peter to move these last few steps into the penthouse and, more out of it than anything else, Peter stumbled into the living room.

“Pete?” Looking up, Peter saw Harley stand in front of him.

Peter just pulled off his mask, maybe then he could breath, and at least tell Harley that he was sorry, that they could figure all of this out and that he really loved him. All he however got out was a breathy sigh: “Harley, I...”, before he tumbled to the ground and everything went dark.

“Peter? PETER!”, Harley cried out, as he dropped just in front of him. “TONY, HELP!”

Harley had barely called out, when Tony was already by his side. “Shit.” He all but pushed Harley out of the way and heaved Peter up into his arms. “FRI, check KAREN's log. What happened?”

“He fought a Spider-Slayer”, FRI reported as Tony hurried for the medbay, Harley on his heel. “This particular bot sprayed him with a goo that contains citrus and mint gels.”

“Oh fuck”, Tony hissed and picked up the pace.

“What the hell is going on?” Harley gritted his teeth, hard. It was the only thing to keep him from bawling his eyes out. Fuck, what was it with Peter making him cry today? First they sorta kinda break up and now he's gone ahead and killed himself?

“Spiders do not take kindly to citrus fruit or mint. Ever since the bite, making Peter's DNA part that of a spider, he too has a deathly allergy against these.”

“He's gonna be fine”, Tony shot over, though by now he was basically running. “Who's in?”

“Both Dr Cho and Dr Banner are ready to take care of Peter.”

As they hurried through the corridors, Tony and FRIDAY discussed some more logistics, but Harley couldn't concentrate. Damnit, here Peter was, fighting for his life, not even sure about Harley, about their relationship and about how much Harley loved him. Screw the tears, he wasn't gonna fight it any longer, he just needed to come along and make sure that Peter was gonna be alright, so he could tell him how much he loved him.

Then Tony and Peter disappeared through a door, but he was held back from by Bruce. “Harley, I'm sorry, but me and Helen got this sorted, please just wait for now.” With that also Bruce went into the forbidden room, and moments later Tony came back out.

“I can't stay either”, he shrugged, trying to bite down his tears. “Come on.” With his arm around Harley's shoulder, he all but pushed him to the nearest bench.

“Why didn't he just call you, you'd have gotten him help faster! Or why doesn't he have an epipen?”

“Because of his metabolism. He burns through any kind of medication faster than fire through a barrel of petrol.”

“What happened?” Nat and Clint ran into the waiting room.

“Wow, gossip spreads fast in here”, Tony remarked a lot more deadpan than he currently was. “Allergic reaction, thanks to JJJ.”

“Shit.”

They all dropped into various corners of the waiting room and soon enough the room was chuck full with Avengers.

And it all killed Harley; it felt like he was being torn apart. He couldn't sit still, there had to be something that he could do, just something, anything!

“Harley, kid, it's gonna be ok”, Tony assured him.

“You don't know that!”, he hissed back, not pulling his eyes away from the door separating him from Peter. “You don't know if he'll ever be ok, and the last thing we ever did was fight and break up and I don't... I can't...”

“Break up? Did you two start dating after all?”

“Please”, Harley scoffed, “we've been dating before we've come to New York in the first place.”

“Excuse me, what now?”

Oh for fuck's sake, Harley really had bigger issues right now. “We've been sleeping with each other for months and now drop it, or I'll go into details.” And that shut them up. Being affronting like that probably wasn't a good idea, but Harley couldn't give two fucks about them right now.

Well, now they knew. Might as well now that they were broken up. But Harley didn't want to be broken up with Peter! He was so in love with that guy, it was almost ridiculous. And every time Peter said that he loved Harley, it just did indescribably things to his heart and his soul (if he had one of those). And yes, maybe Peter was right, they got so lost in keeping everything secret that they forgot what their relationship was supposed to be about.

Peter was going to wake up again, he just had to. And then they'd get this sorted and be a couple and really in love again and everything was going to be alright.

*

The first thing Peter realized was some people talking. It was all very foggy, and the little he could make out did not make a lot of sense. There were probably quite a few people around, judging from the number of voices and the unbearable noise level.

“...Needs sleep... out of his system... swelling is down...” Peter wasn't even sure if it was all the same person talking.

As he came to a little more, he realized his hand being held. Unlike the talking, that was actually really nice. The calloused fingers that stroked his hands definitely were not May's. Maybe Tony? Or Harley?

“Can you please be quiet?” That was definitely Harley's voice and he sounded very pissed off. “You're gonna wake him.” Yeah, Peter was more and more convinced it was Harley's hand that now moved to brush some hair out of his face. Oh, that felt just wonderful.

“Sorry, kid.” That was Tony.

Peter was dying to find out who was in that room, but if he opened his eyes now, which by now felt like a doable possibility, everyone would crowd him, and Peter didn't even remember why they all were here. So, until he was sure what exactly had happened that had put him in what was probably the medbay, he was gonna keep his eyes closed and pretend he was asleep.

There was a lot of talk about lemon and mint and allergic reaction and many not kind words towards JJJ. Piece by piece it started to come back to Peter: him and Harley fighting; going on patrol and fighting the fucking Slayer; the weird goo, the bot doused him with; fighting to make it to the compound; Harley's face falling into pure horror before everything around Peter went dark as even the last bit of air was sucked from his lungs.

“Boss, May Parker is calling”, FRI interrupted the last round of cursing out JJJ.

“Oh shit”, Tony sighed. “Put her through, please.”

Oh no, Peter didn't want to hear that. “Tony, what happened?”

“Hello May”, Bruce answered, “Peter's in the medbay, allergic reaction, but it's alright now. He's asleep and all vital signs are as they should be.”

“How did this happen?” Shit, May sounded really tense, like she was close to tears.

“Spider-Slayer”, Tony admitted.

“ANOTHER? Tony, I can't believe that this keeps on happening over and over and there's nothing you can do about it? How in the hell can you...”

“For fuck's sake”, Harley yelled, “take these damn fights elsewhere, 'cause it's the last thing Peter needs when he wakes up.”

Peter could just swoon, it was incredible how Harley looked out for him.

“Maybe we should just leave you two alone”, Happy suggested.

“Maybe you should”, Harley shot back and Peter didn't want to be on the receiving end of that icy voice.

“FRI, put the call through to my phone”, Tony asked and everybody present walked out and with them the exhausting tension that even Peter felt.

“Ugh”, Harley sighed.

“Tell me about it”, Peter chuckled and glanced through half-open eyes.

“What the...”, Harley startled and all but jumped out of his chair. “How long have you been awake them?”

“Quite a while”, he admitted, fighting to open his eyes, which was quite the challenge, especially since every light in the room seemed to be on full brightness. “Didn't want to deal with all them.”

“I get that. How are you feeling? You need anything?”

“I need to tell you that I love you”, he smiled, “and that I don't want to break up with you.”

“I love you too”, Harley beamed and leaned over to kiss him. “And we're not breaking up, no, definitely not.”

“Good”, Peter sighed once Harley leaned back. “And now please, turn down the lights and any chance I could get a glass of water?”

“You idiot”, Harley groaned, “don't you think you being uncomfortable tops us having a fight?” Of course he complied, not without shaking his head, of course not. After helping Peter to sit up, he handed him a glass of water. “Pretty sure there's a bunch of jell-o somewhere.”

“You really know how to treat a guy”, Peter giggled.

“I know my man”, Harley just shrugged back, before grinning. “I should probably tell you that I might have told all them”, he gestured towards the door, “about us.”

“Oh.” Peter wasn't exactly sure what to do with that.

“Yeah, wasn't exactly planned, I might have been a little stressed with you passing out right in front of me and may have blurted out something along the lines of us having been doing it for months or so”, he admitted as a contrite blush spread over his face.

“This is so you”, Peter giggled, once Harley's confession sunk in. “Well, guess then there's no danger in asking you to come and make yourself comfortable.” He scooted over just enough so Harley could get up on the bed next to Peter. “But no shoes in my bed.”

“Yes sir”, he grinned and soon enough, they were snuggled on the bed and Peter was safely enveloped in Harley's arms.

“Oh, uhm, by the way, please FRI, could you send a message to Ned, telling him that everything's alright again and that me and Harley are very much in love.”

“Message is sent.”

“Thanks”, Peter smiled and fell back against Harley.

“What was that about?”

“Ned asked if we talked it out, told him that we might have kinda broken up instead and well, you know the rest...”

“Oh. Well, then I'm happy we are very much in love”, he beamed and kissed Peter's cheek.

“Yeah, me too.” Even if he wanted to, Peter could do nothing against the dopey, lovestruck grin.

A soft knock interrupted the dopey eye-making and lovestruck smiles. “Can I come in?”, Tony asked.

“Sure thing”, Peter answered.

“Pete! You're up!”, he exclaimed as he burst inside, stopping immediately dead in his tracks as he saw the two cuddling on the bed. “You weren't kidding about you being...”

“A couple?”

“In love?”

“Yeah, those things...” A lot more careful, Tony walked over and sat himself next to Peter. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I'll live.”

“Good. Your aunt made very clear that she'll first kill you and then me if you were to end up dead.”

“She didn't sound too happy on the phone”, Peter shrugged, before he thought it through.

It was pure exasperation the way Tony's face fell when he realized Peter had been awake a for a longer while than anyone had known. “She is on her way here”, he explained, playing over the other rest.

“Figured. You can tell everybody who's out there that they can come on in, too. Wait, let me guess first: it's Nat, Clint, Happy, Bruce, Steve, Bucky and Wanda.”

“How the absolute fuck do you know that?”, Harley asked in astonishment.

“Fucking spider-hearing”, Tony shook his head. “FRI, tell 'em to come on in.”

Thank the heavens for Harley. Being in his arms seemed to equal wearing full armour with guards all around – everybody kept a shocked and slightly amused distance.

“So, wanna tell us about how all that”, Bucky gestured between Harley and Peter, “came to being?”

As well as he was feeling, the sedatives and shit Bruce pumped through Peter's veins still had him feel foggy enough that he was happy to let Harley handle that. “Well, we met at MIT, I asked Peter out and we've had quite a lot of fun”, he grinned and from the corner of his eyes, Peter just saw Tony shuddering. “Anyways, since we weren't serious or anything, neither seemed to find it too important to shock the other with the family-like relationship we have with Ironman or, in some cases, about some spider-themed enhancements. Imagine our surprise, when invited to Stark dinner, because there's this other intern I just have to meet, and it's my boyfriend. Right, because by then we had made it official. Actually on our drive here to New York”, he added, and Peter couldn't help but smile at their story.

“And why didn't you just say that you two were a couple?”

“Because you guys are seriously exhausting”, Peter threw in. “We had just gotten together, still hadn't figured shit out and that distance just was necessary.”

“And it went great”, Harley continued the story. “Until you guys decided to set us up.”

“Again”, Nat threw in, “perfect opportunity to tell us about all this here.”

“And listen to 'we told you so' for the next fifty years? No thank you.”

“One thing wasn't a lie. Steve, that restaurant was horrible and made this whole thing so uncomfortable...”

“Sorry, kids”, he apologized as he turned beet-red.

“In summary, as you can see, whenever you guys got involved, things kinda went a little mixed up. But we know that lying wasn't the way to go either, so we're really sorry.”

“Don't sweat it”, Wanda smiled and patted Peter's leg, “there are enough spies in this room to get the whole secrecy thing. And we're sorry for pushing something we should have left alone.”

“Worked out pretty nicely in the end, didn't it?” Peter looked up to find Harley grinning down on him.

“Yeah, I'd say so”, he grinned back and stretched just enough for their lips to meet.

“Aw, you're so adorable”, Clint cooed, when Peter broke away, and snuggled himself back against Harley.

“Oh, you got no idea...”

The afternoon went by with plenty of visits, cooing, doting over Peter and more 'how are you's' than he could count, especially once May arrived. Thankfully, he had Harley beside him the entire time.

It was early evening, when the door flew open. “Mummy said I can come visit now!”, Morgan squealed and, without making sure she wouldn't squash Peter or Harley, she climbed on the bed, ending up somewhere on both their laps. “Harley, you can go, I can cuddle him now”, she made clear and expectantly looked at him.

“But I was here first”, he shot back, making no move to leave. He instead held a little tighter onto Peter.

“Yeah, because I wasn't allowed to come!”

“Honey, how about you...”

“No”, she interrupted Peter, “you only get healthy, I'll deal with the rest.”

“Alright then”, he nodded, biting down hard not to do like the assembled Avengers and Aunt May and burst out laughing.

“I love him more than you do”, Harley made clear, and if you had shot Gerald the Alpaca (yes, that was indeed his proper name and Morgan made sure that everybody always addressed him as such) Morgan could not have looked more enraged.

“You don't”, she made clear, “because I love him the most.”

“No, you don't!”

“Yes, I do!”

As Morgan and Harley continued their bickering Peter just turned to Pepper. “Hi.”

“Hey Pete. I can have either of them forcibly removed, if you need them to.”

“You know, as long as they argue about me and not with me, I can deal with it.”

“Right then”, she laughed. “I'm happy for you and Harley though. And, seeing you two like this explains why Tony is sitting upstairs, staring at the wall, repeating “not my innocent little Pete!” over and over again.”

It was true, Tony had kept his distance ever since Peter had woken up and had disappeared quite a while ago.

“He does know I'm no longer sixteen, right?”, Peter rolled his eyes.

“Not so sure”, Pepper admitted. “I think he's gonna learn that lesson one way or another now.”

“It's his fault, though”, Peter made clear, nudging Harley in the side. He was way to occupied to discuss with Morgan who was allowed to cuddle Peter now and barely nudged him back. “He apparently broke the news to everybody by telling them we've been... You know... for the last few months.” Sure, Morgan wasn't paying attention to what Peter was saying, but still. He wasn't going to talk about sex in front of his little sister.

“At least that doesn't leave any room for misunderstandings.”

“Good point”, he grinned.

“Right, this is leading nowhere.” With an exasperated sigh, Harley turned to Peter. “So. Which of us do you love more?”

If he got doused by another ounce of that lemony-glibber-shit, he wouldn't have to deal with this right now... But nobody in here was going to let him shock himself into anaphylaxis again, so he had no choice but to settle this. “I love you both. And, oh! Would you look at that, I've got two arms. One for Harley and one for Morgan. How does that sound?”

“Fine”, they agreed, albeit begrudgingly, and with a very uncomfortable and hurtful process, Morgan climbed over Peter and on his free side. “You still love me more than him, right?”, she whispered into his ear, once comfortably settled.

“Of course, but I can't tell him that. You know what Harley's like when he feels offended.”

“Yeah, he's such a drama queen...”

“He can hear you, you know?”, Harley deadpanned. “And there is a definite reason why Peter loves me more than you, because there's one thing he does with me he cannot do with you.”

What the FUCK? Trying to shoot Harley his best death glare, Peter turned to his boyfriend. He wasn't really going to cite them making out or sleeping together as the reason he was more loved, was he? Not to an eight-year-old!

“Because Peter likes to go on date-nights with me”, he grinned victoriously, and all the anxiety about having to explain his sex-life to a third-grader evaporated, as he sank against Harley's chest. “What did you think I was gonna talk about?”, he murmured into Peter's ear, leaving him unfortunately quite flushed.

“Ew!”, Morgan pulled a face, “date-night is so gross, though!”

“Harley is the one person date-night is really nice with, actually”, Peter shrugged.

“Really? Can I go on date-night with Harley, too then?”

“Nuh-uh-uh”, Peter made clear. “Only I can go on date-night with Harley.”

“That's ok”, Morgan shrugged, “boys are stupid anyways.”

“Believe me, I know”, Harley rolled his eyes.

“Hey!”, Peter moaned, whether at Morgan or Harley, he wasn't quite sure. Probably both of them.

“Sorry”, they answered in unison. “Here, let me make it up to you.” Harley reached for some place next to the bed and fished out a container of jell-o. “You forgive me now?”

“Not so sure...” Critically, Peter inspected the label of this lemon-flavoured jelly, before shoving it in Harley's face. “Didn't really think this one through, did ya?” He didn't even give Harley the chance to react, he put the cup back into Harley's hand, untangled his arm from behind his back and put it around Morgan. “I think you really do love me more.”

“Told you”, she chirped.

“I love you, too”, Harley tried to make it up to Peter.

As much as his entire being lit up at the sound of these fantastic words, he did his all to play it cool. “You did also just try to kill me.”

“That was an honest mistake”, he defended himself.

Morgan and Peter just exchanged a few looks. “Nah, I still love Petey more than you do”, she eventually made clear.

This was so incredible. Only a few years ago, Peter couldn't have imagined the running gag being people fighting over who loved him more! Being literally hunted down by a glorified asshole like JJJ didn't even bother Peter anymore; here wrapped up in Harley and Morgan's arms, there was no safer place on this planet. Safe enough to eventually close his eyes and let sleep take him.

When Peter opened his eyes again, everything around him was dark. It had to be late at night, the moon did shine through the window, illuminating what was quite the adorable scene: On his left was Harley, mouth wide open as he snored and there might even be a bit of drool there. On his other side was Morgan, snuggled and clinging against Peter's side as if she were a spider monkey.

“We tried to get her to bed”, came Tony's voice from the corner, “wouldn't let go though.”

“What the fuck, you can't just scare me like this”, Peter made clear.

“Says the guy who staggered into my house and collapsed in the living room.”

“Fair enough”, he grinned. “So what, making sure nothing fishy's going on when me and Harley share a bed?”

“I wasn't. And until now I wasn't even thinking that”, Tony groaned.

“I'm sorry we didn't tell you.”

“In a weird, fucked-up way I get it. Still gonna take me a while to get used to it.”

“Well, lucky for you, me and Harley are going to be around for another two months, granting more than enough chances for you to witness our adorableness and get used to us.”

“That I fear”, Tony grumbled. “I still can't believe that you're seriously growing up... At least from what Harley mentioned yesterday, I figure I don't need to have the birds and bees talk with you.”

“Pepper might have mentioned something about your crisis about your 'innocent little Pete' growing up... You do realize I'm not sixteen any more, right?”

“Yes, I am painfully aware of that. But I don't need to worry about you sleeping with your boyfriend, I need to worry about you getting better. And no matter how old you are, I'll still tell you when to go to bed, and oh, would you look at that? It's 2am. Sleep now.”

“You need sleep too.”

“I'll sleep as soon as you're sleeping again. So, close your eyes so I can get some sleep.” “Yes, sir”, Peter chuckled and snuggled a little more into his cushions. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, kid.”

[darker-soft-starker]

Can you do a Starker sugar daddy au where at first it’s only an arrangement to get people to stop trying to go with Tony, but eventually they both fall in love?

Sugarbaby!Peter x SugarDaddy!Tony starker au, fake/pretend relationship, misunderstandings, fluff

Peter couldn’t believe his eyes when he’d received the offer. 

At first he’d thought the very official looking Stark Industries email had been an expertly crafted fake, like those ones he sometimes gets from Paypal or whatever. It seemed too good to be true, but he’d traced it with Neds help and holy shit - it was an actual, verified email from a person at Stark Industries.

It was kind of ballsy of them, actually, answering his ad and asking for a personal meeting from their business email. What a move, clearly this person doesn’t care if their boss knows they’re looking to buy someones services. 

But whoever hhogan@starkindustries.com was, Peter was not about to turn down down the potential of a very generous offer, as it had been phrased. They were working at Stark Industries, they had to be making some kind of coin, right? Peter was just a poor guy, doing his best. 

When Peter had first put the ad up for a sugar daddy he’d been drunk and to be fair, MJ had dared him. And when he was drunk-dared by a goading MJ he can’t be blamed for his actions. So he posted it, telling the world that a sad twink needed a benefactor. He didn’t phrase it that way online, but that was essentially the vibe. 

Peter didn’t think anything of it, mostly got a couple of creeps messaging him about his profile pic, telling him how nice his mouth was and how they’d like to stuff their cocks in it. Honestly, he’d kind of forgotten all about it after the comments died down a couple of weeks later. Untll he’d received this email, that is. 

They’d made a time and a place to meet, some expensive looking restaurant in the Upper East Side, which, yikes, Peter only brave enough to order water in case the guy doesn’t want to go into an arrangement after all. He gets there and is directed to a private booth in the back, expecting to see some balding, overweight dude, lonely and looking for a bit of touch.

He doesn’t expect Tony fucking Stark himself sitting at the table, distractedly playing with his phone. Peter is so struck with confusion that when Tony looks up at him he loses higher brain function and stops moving, mouth falling open.

The man looks him up and down and cocks an eyebrow up, a smile lighting his face up. 

Peter had already prepared some things to say but what had come out of his mouth instead was:

“Mr. H. Hogan?”

Mortified, Peter had shaken himself and immediately tried to backtrack. “Wait! Wait, sorry, I know you - I mean, not, like personally or anything, obviously - I know you’re Tony Stark, everyone knows you’re Tony Stark. Who are - wait, am I in the right place?”

Tony had looked a little taken aback by his word vomit but eventually tells him yes, Peter is in the right place and that Hogan is his employee and the H stands for Happy. 

When Peter warily sits Tony explains to him over lunch and wine that he’s looking to hire someone that everyone will believe is his lover. He’s had a string of one-night stands and a handful of serious relationships, the last one ending in heartache. Then… there was everyone else. After Tonys’ last serious relationship had ended publicly it was apparently a licence for the shameless to assume his dick was hungry and up for grabs. 

It wasn’t, he said. He needed a cover.  

Tony frankly had had enough. There was no other reason, it was that simple. That’s what he’d told Peter anyway. He needed a buffer between the world and the people pawing at him.

With a flourish of his wrist Tony had provided a contract. Peter had read it over and it was simple: be where Tony wanted him to be, when he needed him to be, and dressed the part - and be exclusive - and Peter would be provided with a monthly compensation - along with bonuses.

With his rent six weeks behind Peter could barely refuse, eyes bulging at the figure. A monthly allowance of $5000, a driver service, all the bells and whistles. He’d signed the damn thing before he could even consider the consequences.

And at first, there were none. Tony took him to events, dressing Peter up in fine, expensive suits and parading him around on his arm. Peter got to drink pricey champagne and rub shoulders with the elite who cooed over their budding “relationship”. Tony took him out to dinner, out to shows, to the baseball, to functions. It was fun meeting new people and nice being spoiled for once.

However uncomfortable it made him to be in the public eye, the paparazzi got pictures of Peter and Tony looking utterly wrapped up in each other - holding hands, sharing kisses, looking adequately in love - and Peter got paid enough to start making a dent in his student loans. 

He kinda hadn’t expected Tony to be all that… likeable to be honest, when he’d signed the contract. He’d heard of the mans arrogance, of his snarky attitude. Going off their first meeting he’d thought they guy would be, like, tolerable at the very least, even if Peter had always admired his work from an outside perspective.

Turns out Peter was wrong. Like, really wrong. 

Because it turns out that Tony is… kind of amazing. The guy is smart and charming and a genuine fucking nerd. He’s generous (nearly to a fault) and tries to hide it. Don’t get Peter wrong, Tony is also a little asshole who drinks too much and works even more - but he’s such a good guy. He always makes sure Peter is comfortable with whatever they do, even if it’s holding hands, he tips waiters handsomely and lets Peter tinker around in his personal lab. He gives to charity, makes sure his employees get leave and bonuses and pays them deservingly, he’s progressive and treats Peter like a human being.

It’s not like Peter is in love with him or anything. He’s just super fond of the guy.

MJ rails him for it ad nauseum, telling him he’s getting too close, that he should remember he is an employee who, as stated in the contract, can be terminated at any time. 

Peter does remember, and if nothing else, it makes him value what time he does have with Tony. Makes him take his studies more seriously, never knowing when his funds are going to dry up. For an ad he placed while super drunk, it’s kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

He’s fond of the guy, so what? It’s fine.

One day he and Tony are out for lunch at some rooftop diner. Tony is talking about working on one of his latest inventions, some kind of medical tech. He seems really passionate about it, talking about it at length with such fervent enthusiasm and Peter sits there, captivated, nodding and listening, the food between them forgotten. He thinks he’s just being attentive and the topic is interesting.

But then a ray of sunlight hits Tony’s eyes in a way that make them look like whiskey and Peter’s stomach does a weird swoop and his heart tingles. 

Oh shit, he thinks.

Oh shit indeed.

It’s fine, Peter says to himself, multiple times a day. He’s had infatuations before - most never reciprocated - so, what’s the big deal? He’ll just ignore this one too.

Except… it’s hard. It’s hard to tell yourself not to feel romantically about a person when you get to kiss them and hug them and be by their side. Even if it’s only because he’s getting paid for it. 

But it was also clear that it was only an arrangement for Tony and that he didn’t feel anything beyond reluctant fondness for Peter. He never touched Peter when they were alone except for some almost fatherly shoulder pats, he never initiated any displays of affection unless he knew they were being photographed, didn’t ever seem as hopelessly enamoured with Peter in the same way Peter seemed to become with Tony.

Peter finds himself pulling away just a little bit all the same, giving more and more reasons to not meet up with Tony - because as much as it makes him happy to be around the man, it begins to make his heart hurt a little more every time they’re together, every time Tony brushes his lips against his, places a hand at the small of Peter’s back, knowing it’s only for show. It was great before, when Peter didn’t feel like this - but the knowledge that the guy he had feelings for only kissed him because he was paying Peter to be his fake boyfriend made him feel kind of gross.

It’s fine.

It’s fine, he tells himself, over and over. It’s fine, he thinks, when one day Tony is photographed with a strawberry blonde, a series of shots showing them arm in arm, Tony’s smiling fondly in a way he never did with Peter as she kisses Tony’s cheek. The headlines and the tags refer to Tony as a playboy and about his boytoy being dumped, about being back together with his ‘old flame’.

They look good together, Peter concedes, even if it feels like his chest is caving in and like he’s going to throw up. He just wishes Tony had told him beforehand that he was done with him. Setting his phone down on the bed, Peter stares out into his room listlessly and tries to process the fact that it’s over, but all he sees is the way that Tony has infiltrated his life. The laptop on his desk, a gift from Tony, the watch on his wrist, the jeans on the floor, the signed Reyes baseball on his shelf, all gifts from Tony. Even the phone he saw the pictures on was  given to him by Tony. It makes Peter feel wrong in his gut to have touches of the man in his personal intimate space when the guy didn’t even have the courtesy to give him the heads up that he was about to be publicly ‘dumped’ and humiliated.

He returns everything.

Tony must receive the hastily wrapped package with all of his spoils because he tries to call him the following day, Peter’s old cracked phone blinking to life. He ignores it and hangs out with Ned and MJ, wishing he lived closer to May so she could give him one of her healing hugs. His friends commiserate and help him get utterly fucking wasted that weekend, even as they call him a fucking dumbass. 

He wakes up on Sunday with a hangover and eighteen missed calls from Tony. The calls are followed by a series of texts, the contents going from confused, to concerned to downright stern and then concerned again. 

As he’s making himself breakfast and a coffee there is a knock on his door. When he opens it he sees a furious looking Tony, the bulging parcel that Peter had sent him under his arm.

“Oh, so you are alive,” Tony drawls, shouldering his way into Peter’s apartment. 

Peter curses his stomach for the butterflies when Tony brushes against him to get inside, telling himself to stop feeling anything as he closes the door behind them. 

“Mr. Stark - “

“What’s this about?” Tony says, setting the parcel on Peters tiny kitchen table and leaning against his counter. “Is this you returning my hoodies and CD’s? I mean in this case it’s a six-thousand dollar watch and jeans I’ll never fit into, but you get the gist.”

Peter leans against the opposite counter, mirroring Tony’s folded arms. He nods to the items and says, “I only thought it was appropriate, you know, considering.”

“Considering what, Petey?” Tony says, his face perplexed, even behind his shades. “You gotta fill me in, you know, communicate. What are we considering? If you were considering terminating your contract you should have just said so.”

Peter looks at him, narrowing is eyes. “Considering that you are with someone else and don’t need me anymore…? It’s fine, Tony, I just would have appreciated a heads up, is all.”

“I’m what?” Tony says, looking like his brain is doing a hard reset. “I’m what with who now?”

“The strawberry blonde? Paprika?”

“Pepper,” Tony corrects faintly.

“Pepper! That’s it. Her. Anyway, congrats, You uh, look great together.”

Tony tilts his head and considers Peter, the intensity of his stare making him squirm. 

“So, let me wrap this all up in a nice, little bundle and you tell me if I have it right, okay? You see some news article, think I’m seeing Pepper, so you decide to send back everything I ever bought you and not answer any of my calls. Is that it?”

Peter nods, tries to ignore his stupid heart trying to beat itself out of his chest to get to Tony.

“Yeah, that’s - that’s it. I mean, thank you for everything, Tony. It just doesn’t seem right to keep any of it.”

“Why?” Tony asks, stepping closer to Peter and pocketing his shades. “They’re yours, I want you to have them.”

Peter determinedly avoids the mans gaze by looking down at his feet, tapping one against the tiles. “It’s just not right. It doesn’t matter.”

“Look at me,” Tony says, and when Peter tilts his head up the man is a lot closer. “I’m not with Pepper, we’re just friends. You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

“Oh.”

“And I would have appreciated you asking me before losing my number.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter repeats, rubbing at the ache in his chest with his hand. “I’m sorry, I should have asked, you’re right.”

“So… does that mean you’ll take your stuff back and answer my calls again? Maybe join me in Florence next weekend? I know a great place you’d like.”

The small, almost imperceptible hope in Tony’s voice makes Peter’s throat go tight as his stomach drops with what he’s about to say. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Stark. I don’t think we should do this - I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Tony frowns and steps even closer. “Is it about the press? I can shut down every single one of those if you give me, like an hour tops, maybe two if I have to buy out Murdoch as well.”

“It’s not the press.”

“Then what is it? What, are you bored?”

Peter shakes his head.

“Then what is it?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Peter whispers, looking down at his feet again as his eyes start to prickle. 

“Peter, if you’re leaving me out in the cold after six months that’s your choice, but I gotta know why.”

“It’s just,” he begins. “It’s - I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I can’t handle feeling like this about you when everything you feel about me is in a contract. It’s not right for me to be in love with you when I’m being employed to pretend that I am.”

“You’re in love with me,” Tony says.

“I’m sorry, I know I wasn’t supposed to - “

Anything else he was going to say is cut off when Tony bridges the distance between them and presses his lips to Peters in a soft kiss. 

“Well thank god,” Tony says. “Otherwise that would have made my feelings for you kind of awkward.”

“Your…huh?”

“I probably should have fired you the moment I fell for you? I don’t know, the logistics are kind of weird, but we both know I’m selfish and a little morally bankrupt, so. I didn’t. But you fired yourself anyway.”

“Huh?” Peter says again, a little dazed by the turn of events. “Am I still asleep? Did you say you have feelings for me?”

“Okay, you are not a morning person,” Tony says, taking one of Peter’s hands and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it. “Yes. It’s kind of embarrassing but apparently you love me too, so, I guess we’re both losers.”

The burst in his heart propels him forward to kiss Tony again, wrapping his arms around the mans neck. 

“So,” Tony prompts when they pull apart some time later, breathless. “Florence, yes or no?”

“Yes, but no more payments.”

A kiss.

“Fine. But I still get to buy you things.”

Another kiss.

“… fine.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Loser.”

[whirlybirbs]

✶ ┈ PART TWO !

summary: loki meets the grandmaster and you intervene. the agreement (it’s really not an agreement, okay, more of a cause of circumstance) of parading as a married couple happens and neither of you are very excited about it. pairing: fake!wife reader x loki, set in ragnarok. a/n: hehehe here’s another 1.7k of these two. READ PART ONE HERE.

The third time you meet Loki, he’s strapped to that contraption the Grandmaster uses to intimidate the new fighters.

You’ve had a long week.

You’d woken up in a trash heap, bruised and sore and somehow alive. You’d decided, wholeheartedly, not to think too much about it -- not that you had an option. After stumbling over an entire mountain of inter-galactic trash being deposited by the varying collapsing stars around the planets atmosphere, you were quickly descended upon by a terrifyingly pretty woman with a tight braid and white symbols painted down her cheeks.

She smelt like booze and swaggered like a practiced warrior.

You didn’t trust her.

“You a fighter?” she’d called out, tilting her head.

“Where am I?” you’d asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Sakaar,” she chirped, “Now, are you a fighter? Yes or no?”

The moment that followed was tense -- a bit like a standoff.

“... Depends.”

“Hm.”

She’d caught you in the neck with a tracker then, a smirk on her face the whole way. In one swift move, she’d thumbed open the control device in her hand and sent you convulsing to the ground.

“The Grandmaster likes the pretty, clever ones.”

Her condescending smirk was the last thing you saw before you blacked out.

You woke up in the same chair Loki’s strapped to currently, bleary eyed and confused -- that man, The Grandmaster as he called himself, had decided rather quickly that he liked you. Perhaps it was your sudden decision to praise him and his choice of make-up.

(That was a great way to make friends in the bathrooms of bars -- surely compliments are universal.)

“Who are you, then?” he asks with a slow smile.

“I’m a Doctor,” you say slowly, “I study astrophysics.”

The smile drops immediately.

“Boring.”

He’s about to wave his hands, then, send you off to some horrible fate, you’re sure.

“A-And I tell stories!”

(That wasn’t really a lie -- you had a minor in classics. If you recited the plot to Hamlet to any of the colorful people in this penthouse suite, you’re sure none of them would realize it. Perhaps being entertainment would be worth keeping you around until you figured out how the fuck to get back home.)

“Stories, huh?”

So, here you are now, swathed in Sakaarian socialites, faux-smiles plastered to your face as you giggle into your neon colored drink. Your gown is something deemed fashionable for this planet, all colorblocked and tight with high slits and low dips. Along your cheeks is the same stark white branding as the brazenly mean warrior-lady you’d first met on Trash Mountain. You realize, half-way through the application by one of the Grandmaster’s maids, that it’s a mark of ownership. It’s rather disgusting, the whole fact you’re someone’s property now -- but, you suppose that it’s keeping you alive and in this current state? 

You really can’t complain.

Until you see Loki.

You choke on your drink.

You stand swiftly, leaving your martini and the gaggle of others behind as you move quickly upon the center of the room. The Grandmaster reels for a moment at the obstruction amidst his usual induction -- and your jaw drops.

“You.”

Quickly, the look of surprise morphs into one of anger and Loki’s eyes widen. You feel like you’re suddenly had all the words you’d thought about screaming in his face these last seven days pulled from your brain and all you can do is snarl and shriek:

“... You!”

Your finger jabs his chest, prodding at the green and gold armor there with such ferocity it’s no wonder you’re not stabbing him. For the first time, Loki gets a good look at you -- it’s clear you’ve somehow managed to worm your way into this “Grandmaster”’s circle; it’s commendable. For a Midgardian.

The Silvertongue, with every passing moment, is beginning to see his opportunity to do the same slip away.

“What? What’s the matter?” the Grandmaster coos, circling Loki to place his arms around your frame. You stiffen. Loki watches you swallow your anger. If he wasn’t strapped to a chair, maybe he’d find your discomfort amusing. However, Loki can’t help but avert his gaze.

Your anger is well deserved, really. He did throw you out of the Bifrost.

“... Oh, I see what’s going on here.”

Both you and Loki blink at the Grandmaster.

“... I’m sorry?”

“Star-crossed lovers.”

Your face twists into disgust as Loki blinks between the two of you -- confusion splits his features into an attempt of a charismatic laugh.

“Good sir, I believe you’re mistaken --”

“No,” he raises a finger, “I’ve seen this before. And you told me of your crash landing, my pretty little pet -- you said you lost your friends on the way. Lost a love… Raven haired and pale...”

You’d been entertaining the party with a poorly remember retelling of Romeo and Juliet to the Grandmaster’s court, but okay. It’s pretty clear the Grandmaster is making his over revisions as well.

Loki’s brow quirks.

There’s a moment pause. Then, the Grandmaster stops his blinking between the both of you and claps his hands. “But, if not -- I’ll have him executed. Your reaction was warrant enough. Can’t have my best storyteller off her game, can I?”

The maniac’s ability to bounce between party and murder is astounding.

Loki’s eyes are wide. His look is pleading.

You, in that moment, are put in the biggest moral dilemma of your life.

You can, of course, turn the other cheek -- but that means cozying up to the global terrorist who unceremoniously threw you out of the Bifrost to try and save himself from his own sister. On the other hand, you’d be letting Thor’s brother die all while losing your potential way off this planet. But, there’s no guarantee the trickster will help you. However, if there’s anything you remember from that one mythology class in college, it’s that gods tend to honor their debts.

Saving his life is a debt owed, right?

(And honestly? Letting Thor down and never seeing your parents again sounds pretty horrible.)

“It’s just… I thought you were dead.”

Loki, in that moment, is nearly impressed by your acting.

“I was worried sick,” you continue, clearly gritting out the last bit, “I… I was sure I lost you.”

“Fear not,” Loki’s mood swings then into one of pure amusement, smirk brandishing his features, “I apologize for scaring you, my sweet.”

“You know,” the Grandmaster’s face is twisted into a grin, “I have this six sense -- I can just… smell love in the air, or something. I knew it, I mean… Look at you two. God, it’s… adorable. Really. So, what is this, huh? Just a… a fling? Or --”

“We’re married.”

Where the fuck did that come from?

Loki’s got the same look on his face.

“She’s the crowned Princess of Asgard,” Loki says then, slowly. His eyes are glued on the way you shrink away from the Grandmaster’s gaze, “My wife.”

“Ass-gard, huh? Wow.”

He hums.

Loki is suddenly realizing there’s a reason to why you’re doing this. You’d made it apparent in the Sanctum that you weren’t intimidated by the likes of him. Somehow, though, this Grandmaster figure has earned your evident anxieties.

(Maybe it was because you’d watched him roast a guy who made a poorly timed joke about the color blue on your second day here. The smell was awful. But, it’s not like you can tell Loki that -- you just have to hope that somehow this little improv plan works and you and Loki can somehow get the hell off this floating landfill.)

“And… what’s his gig, huh, my pretty?” he’s addressing you now, lips upturned in an expectant smile, “Besides… well.. good bone structure.”

“He’s a Silvertongue, Grandmaster,” you explain slowly, hands clasped in front of you, “In more ways than one.”

Loki suddenly feels a bit like a piece of meat.

You relish in his discomfort as the Grandmaster bursts into an excited bought of laughter.

“Oh, see! This is why I love you! You’re so clever,” he chirps, waving his hands, “Your wife, Mr. Low-key, is lovely.”

“Isn’t she?” he grits.

The Grandmaster is unphased. “Quite! Now, this is good, this is very good -- I mean, it’s evident your… sexual tension is there. I can’t see why you two would lie to me, y’know? That would just be… uh… a bad idea.”

Behind him, Topaz clacks the Grandmaster’s staff on the red and white floor. You swallow thickly.

“I could never lie about my love for him, Grandmaster,” you supply, a delicate hand moving to touch Loki’s cheek. His skin is cold, “It’s simply not in my nature.”

“Nor I,” Loki says sweetly, “We make a better pair than separate, good sir, I promise you that.”

The man claps with glee.

“I love this, two lost loves reunited,” he nearly cries, “Topaz, get these two their own room, will you?”

It works.

Somehow it works.

The penthouse apartment they set you and Loki up in is big -- it’s better than the slave quarters you’ve been sleeping in for the last week. The far wall is ceiling to floor windows. Outside, Sakaar flies by; it’s the first time you’re actually getting a good look at the planetside. It’s bustling and the sun is setting between two twin moons, bathing the capital city in pinks and oranges.

“You are idiotic, bug, to propose this little plan -- had you wanted to sleep with me, you only needed to say so; lest I would.”

You recoil in a snarl. Loki is staring at the room in disdain.

“I just saved your life.”

“That colorful maniac had neither the strength nor gall --”

“Oh?” you chirp, hands flying to your hips, “Really? Sorry -- when did you get here? Ten minutes ago? Yeah, nice, cool, I’ve been here for a week and I’ve seen him toast like, five people for fun. The smell is awful.”

Loki’s mouth snaps shut.

Who in the Nine Realms are you?

“Besides,” you snarl, “I’m not doing this for you -- I’m doing this to get home.”

“And who, pray tell, said I would help you, bug?”

You, then, engage in this game of chess again -- your movements are slow and calculated and predatory and Loki has to admire your ability to dish it out. Your fingers jabs his chest once, then again.

“I did,” you seethe, “When I made sure you didn’t get easy-bake-oven’d, asshole. You owe me.”

He opens his mouth, keen on biting into your argument, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Dinner is being served, Lord and Lady Loki!”

You both save it for another time and exit the apartment holding hands.

The third time you meet Loki, you’re married.

[7-wonders]

Lost In the Shadows

Summary: As a naturally curious person, the odd mannerisms of your elusive new boss pique your interest, making you determined to figure out who, or what, he is.

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: It’s a vampire Michael fic! I really hope you guys enjoy; feedback is always appreciated, and if you loved this I would love if you’d give it a like, comment, and reblog. Enjoy!

There’s something strange about your new boss.

Being one of the longest-tenured employees at Kineros Robotics, having worked in the R & D department for a whopping three months, you were initially relieved when Ms. Venable had told you about the sudden arrival of a new owner. You loved your work, and could think of no better job than getting to conduct experiments on new technologies to help paraplegics and researching artificial neuron studies, but the two men that hired you made it really hard to not think about quitting at least three times a day. Jeff and Mutt, the two coked-out oddballs who somehow managed to co-found a Fortune 500 company, had annoyed or harassed nearly every employee of theirs to the point of quitting within their first three months of work. You’re an anomaly, and if the pay and benefits weren’t so good, as well as the research opportunities, you would have long been out the door with the same people that you were hired with.

The announcement of a new owner was initially a welcome change to the company’s personnel. Maybe this owner would be able to put Jeff and Mutt into their places, and make them realize how to conduct themselves as the founders of such a prestigious company. Hell, maybe the new owner would even allocate some new funds to your R & D department so that you can finally purchase the new, state-of-the art projector that would allow you to create lifesize, 3-D, virtual models of your various research projects that you’ve had your eye on for a month now. Even Ms. Venable, the always stoic secretary whose only emotions seem to be apathy or disdain, manages to crack a small smile when she tells you the news. The long-gossiped about arrival of a new boss seems to be just the thing that will help boost employee morale and allow you to actually get some work done instead of having Jeff and Mutt pester you to see if you can build them a realistic sex robot (a request that you’ve denied multiple times).

Things seem like they’ll be great, and for the most part, they are. Jeff and Mutt hardly cause distractions for you now, and they approve almost any budget request you put on their desks. However, the constant look of fear that caused their eyes to dilate and widen, combined with the welcome lack of cocaine in the building, had you questioning what has gotten into the pair. Employee retention has never been higher, but so many of the newer employees walk around in a dazed stupor, only answering you if you snap your fingers in front of their faces or repeat their names. The common factor in all of this is, of course, your boss; the only question is, who the hell is your boss?

For such a dramatic change in the productivity of Kineros, you’re expecting a much larger authoritative presence than what you’ve seen. Indeed, this new boss is extremely elusive and never in the office. What’s striking to you is that there was never any official memo. No note, no email, not even Ms. Venable was able to gossip about who this boss was, simply for the fact that she couldn’t find out any information. Luckily, you’ve managed to become acquaintances with many of your coworkers, something the purple-clad secretary has never been able to accomplish. The details, while scarce, are enough to form a vague image in your head.

According to the dazed employees whom you now work alongside, the boss is a man called Langdon. No word on whether it’s his first or last name, because apparently he’s so intimidating that any question a person may have flees their mind at the sight of him. In fact, people forget most aspects of their encounters with Langdon, thanks to two possible reasons. The first is, of course, that he’s just so damn frightening that everyone’s brains develop some sort of short-term memory amnesia in an attempt to forget about what they just saw. The second which, from general consensus seems to be the more plausible, is that his beauty is so blinding that it’s impossible to remember what the conversation was about when one is staring at “those cheekbones!” Kineros has always seemed to have shallow assumptions and vapid materialism woven into its very core, so it’s not too surprising to hear that everyone is so dazed because they’ve got the hots for Langdon.

Langdon, it would seem, is the only topic that employees know how to talk about lately. Frankly, you’re sick of it. You don’t really care who the boss is, what he looks like, or where he is that’s so much more important than the business he now runs, so long as the company’s running and your paychecks are being deposited into your bank account on a regular basis. If he really wanted to make sure that Kineros was running smoothly, he would show his face around the office more in order to quell the rumors and prevent you from having to stop disoriented coworkers from applying two sources of the same charge and nearly blowing up the labs for the third time in a week.

It’s late on a Friday, which means that nobody, save the janitor and security guards, is in the building. While everyone else employed here bolted for the doors the second the clock hit five, you were just getting started with your more-important research. You like working when it’s blissfully quiet and you can move around while you think, pacing back and forth as you run over calculations or decide which millimeter difference would help your machine to work more efficiently. Lately, you’ve often found yourself in the labs until the security team has to ask you to leave so that they can finish their rounds. With all of the commotion over Langdon’s appointment, it’s been difficult to get much work done during a traditional work day.

You’re sitting at your desk, random pieces of paper cluttering the workspace around you as you attempt to work out the schematics for a new prosthetic hand you’re designing that would be controlled by a patient’s brain, when the sound of shoes clicking across the shiny floor has your pencil stopping in its tracks. It’s a foreign noise, especially at this time of the evening; both the custodial and security staff wear heavy boots, the footsteps of which you could recognize from a floor away. These are different--lighter, yet confident. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up before the door to the lab opens, and you tense before taking a precautionary sip of tea and slowly turning around.

The tea was a bad decision, causing you to nearly choke as you lock eyes with your unexpected visitor. You’re sure that you’ve never met before; surely you would remember someone as ethereal as this man? His face looks like it was crafted by the most renowned Renaissance sculptors themselves, all sharp angles and delicate features. His blonde hair flows to just past his shoulders, and his cold blue eyes (accented with a dark red eye shadow that’s perfectly applied to the inner corners) watch you with an intensity that makes you shiver. He’s dressed in all black, a stark contrast to the white decor of Kineros. A silk scarf hangs loosely around his neck, ornate rings decorating his slender fingers. Your eyes linger on the metallic talon ring that sits on his index finger, which looks sharp enough to easily slice through anyone or anything.

Although his delicate features give him the look of an angel, there’s something much darker that clouds his face like a summer storm. You’ve never felt as intimidated by someone’s mere presence as you do in front of this man, and you realize that this can only be the mysterious Langdon. He smirks as he watches you scramble out of your chair, amused at your clumsy reaction to his sudden appearance. You feel intensely scrutinized as he looks you up and down, his lip curling as you nervously tap your fingers against your leg.

“It’s--uh, nice to finally meet you, Mr. Langdon,” you stutter, mentally smacking yourself for how unprofessional you look and sound. You weren’t exactly expecting visitors tonight, hence the messy bun you pulled your hair into and your bare feet, heels having been kicked off as soon as your coworkers left.

Langdon takes calculated steps towards you, stalking closer until your heart is thumping wildly at the abrupt proximity. You don’t know it, but the scent of your blood as it rushes just under the surface of your delicate skin has his eyes imperceptibly fluttering in near-ecstasy. He’s been around for a long, long time, and tasted some of the finest blood that the world has had to offer, but it’s extremely rare for someone’s essence to sing its siren song to him in the way that yours does.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” he drawls, voice lilting and higher-pitched than you would have expected. It’s tantalizing, sweet, and teasing, everything that you would expect from this man. “A pity I have not been able to visit here sooner, but I have had...other matters to attend to, as of late.”

You find your head bobbing up and down at his excuses, realizing that you would quickly do anything that this man asked of you if it meant you got to hear him say your name again. The sound of your phone chiming, an alarm you had set to remind yourself to get up from your desk and get something to eat if you still hadn’t left the office (at least nobody could ever say that you underperformed at your job), snaps you out of the daze that Langdon’s presence had put you in. You narrow your eyes, refusing to let this man charm you into submission like everybody else at this company.

“What, did you buy another company just so you could arouse some more suspicion as the mysterious, elusive commander-in-chief?” Your breath catches in your throat, the words escaping before you can even think otherwise.

Langdon stares at you for a long moment, and you’re already bracing to pack up your belongings and leave before security has to drag you out of the building. Then, something unexpected happens. A slow smile spreads across his face, one that shows off his (oddly sharp-looking) teeth.

“Witty and a genius, then.”

“Hardly, but thank you, Mr. Langdon.”

“It’s Michael,” he divulges, and you get a warm feeling in your chest that only a select few are privy to this information.

Langdon--no, Michael, you remind yourself--glances over your shoulder at the rough sketches of your next projects that clutter your desk.

“Artificial neural pathways? That sounds like quite the endeavor.”

“It will be, but it’s an endeavor I’m excited to take on. We’ve only used artificial neural pathways in order to enhance computers, but why not use them to help people? They’re made to mimic human functions; if I can figure out a way to target specific areas of the brain and make them small enough for successful implantations, there’s no telling what we could accomplish. Think of all of the traumatic brain injuries that would be healed with these! We could, potentially, eradicate diseases like Alzhiemer’s and dementia.”

Michael, for whom empathy is not an emotion commonly felt, finds himself listening intently as you explain your ideas. Your face lights up as you talk about this passion of yours, making his chest clench almost painfully. He didn’t come here tonight to ‘meet’ some of the people under the Cooperative’s hierarchy, he came here to feed. The entire damn reason for showing up suddenly at Jeff and Mutt’s thirtieth-story office was to collect part of their payment that comes along with selling their souls, like allowing Michael to take over the company, further his plans for the end of days, and have free reign of a hunting ground that was teeming with blood of all different types and tastes.

There’s multiple reasons why Michael doesn’t allow himself to get attached to humans. For starters, their lives are all too short compared to his, and all too irrelevant. How can they expect to make any sort of a meaningful mark on their dull world when they have, at most, a few decades to live? Pathetic creatures, Michael’s always thought whenever he watches them; a predator stalking his prey. They’re so easy to fool, to charm and glamour until they’re basically baring their necks to him, begging him to feed from them. Humans are pliable, minds easily molded by any force stronger than a slight breeze.

You were meant to be nothing more than Michael’s next meal. The beginning of his hunt was so routine, it was almost comical how easy it was to waltz into your lab and work you into a daze. Your damn phone alarm had ruined it all, had snapped the spell that he had put you under and allowed you to face him head-on. As soon as your little backhanded insult reached his ears, he knew that he couldn’t go through with it. His kind is, unfortunately, prone to enhanced feelings. In addition to their physical abilities becoming heightened with the transformation, their emotions are as well. It’s one of their very few weaknesses, and one that may have just saved you from your death.

If it were any other day, any other person, any other occasion, intense rage would course through Michael’s body and the victim would be dead before they could even blink. Today, though, he’s slow to anger. Whether that be because he had just fed three days ago or because he’s actually enjoying this hunt, your remark catches him off guard. You have a fire within you that Michael hasn’t seen for some time. Even if he doesn’t cloud the mind of a human, they’re usually so taken by his beauty that they couldn’t even think to say anything remotely disparaging. He admires it, that fight, and it’s enough of a hesitation for that admiration to make him doubt his choice for today’s meal. After you explain how you plan to develop neurons that would save a person’s brain from the slow decline of disease, Michael knows that he can’t kill you.

Michael could, of course, still feed from you without killing you. Although it looks like the obvious option from an outsider’s perspective, it’s only feasible when the source is a willing party in this dark tango. He’s had a few of those partners in previous decades, but has been without one for the last twenty or so years. When hunting, like Michael is, there are only two options for what to do with one’s prey (after all, consuming a human in their entirety was lethal, the dead blood dragging his kind to their own deaths). Either the victim’s supply is drained for macabre leftovers, or they’re compelled to forget the entire experience.

Small-scale compulsions have no lasting effect on the compulsee, but forcing a person’s mind to forget hours upon hours of prior events leaves them in what’s basically a trance. They become sleep-walkers, only this is a dream they can’t wake up from. With their glazed eyes and one sentence answers to any questions that may be asked of them, they’re temporarily shells of their former selves as their minds try to comprehend and make sense of the sudden gap in memories. Michael can’t do that to you, can’t watch your brilliant mind be muddled just so that he can get a quick meal. Hell, he would just kill you, but something in him balks at the mere idea of such an act.

You stifle a gasp when Michael’s suddenly inches away from you, hand ghosting across your cheek and talon ring dangerously close to nicking your skin. His cyan eyes burn into you, as if he’s sifting through the deepest crevices of your soul. He smiles again, but this time it’s softer, like he knows something that you don’t.

“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be here this late at night. Go home, (Y/N),” Michael whispers, head tilting while he watches every minor movement that your muscles make. Your brow furrows at his abrupt instructions and you tense, not willing to let this near-stranger tell you what to do.

“But I’m not done yet, and why should I even--”

“(Y/N),” Michael almost coos, eyes searching yours as he gets your attention and pins you to your place. You want to move and escape his grasp before berating him for his actions, but you can’t seem to even blink, much less look away from his gaze. “Go home.”

His words carry a different power this time around, and you start to gather your coat and bags as soon as he lets go of you.

For tonight, Michael will reduce himself to hunting on the streets, finding some vagrant to satiate his needs. He won’t kill you, not until he figures out how you managed to unknowingly find a weakness of his and exploit it to avoid your death. For now, though, Michael releases you from the building and watches you until the door closes behind you, making sure your stubborn mind actually heeds his compulsion. Even when you’re out into the cool night, you can still feel the piercing gaze of Michael’s chilling eyes on your back, closely watching your every move.

There’s definitely something strange about your new boss.

////////////////////////

For the next two weeks, you’re constantly on edge at work as you try to keep an eye out for Michael. You’ve attempted to figure out how he got you to leave so suddenly on that night, tried to find some logical explanation for the strangeness of that evening, but you just can’t. You’re a woman of science, one who finds solace in facts and figures. All of the collected data in the world couldn’t explain the enigma that is Michael Langdon.

The computer has become both your best friend and your worst enemy as of late. You’ve searched almost nonstop for some sort of an explanation, with nothing to show for it except for a few Reddit /nosleep boards with their made-up horror stories. It’s useless, you’re starting to feel, and you’ve spent far too many hours perusing the internet instead of focusing on your work. A direct consequence of this action, you’ve stayed late at work nearly every night that you’ve found your mind wandering. What had originally seemed to be a self-inflicted punishment, however, is starting to feel like a piece of a much larger puzzle.

Michael starts to become a familiar face around Kineros on the evenings that you’re working late. While he may just be an extremely productive night owl, it’s still a little odd that he’s only ever around during the later hours of the night. When you had asked Jeff and Mutt about it after your first encounter with Michael, they had both stuttered aggressively before unconvincingly telling you that “he makes his own hours.” You weren’t buying it at all, and their behavior towards the matter only made you more suspicious. Why did you only ever see this man in the late hours of the night?

The odd work habits were the main red flag, but others just kept popping up as soon as you realized that things were not quite right. You couldn’t help but notice that every person who shared the same dazed demeanor you had seen on countless others since the change in personnel had one other thing in common: they had all come in contact with Michael. You’d be working late, see one of your coworkers in the kitchen while you were both grabbing another cup of coffee, see Michael on your way back to the lab, and the next day that coworker would be walking around like a zombie. You’ve tried to convince yourself that there’s no correlation between the two situations, but the only other option would be some sort of poisoning that happens after-hours. Obviously that’s impossible, considering you haven’t been affected like the other employees have.

It’s childish and fanciful, the theory that’s placed itself in the forefront of your mind. However, what other conclusion could you come to that would explain the strange and unusual things that you’ve seen and experienced lately? Michael, this young, ethereal man who was able to have you completely under his spell with just the utterance of your name, managed to take control of a Fortune 500 company in a day. The odd mannerisms that others around you have displayed only began when Michael showed up here, not to mention the ever-present glass of what looked to be red wine nestled snugly between his fingers. You only ever see him at night, and he appears so suddenly and quietly that it’s as if he’s a ghost. Everything about him seems like a rose dipped in poison: beautiful, but deadly.

You’ve seen Michael helpfully calibrate your neutron spectrometer with simply a glance at the machine and some skilled handiwork. Even a professional repairman, with their specialty tools, would have required at least a week to get it to working condition. He even lifted the 300-pound piece of equipment like it was the weight of a newborn kitten, briefly making you think that it wasn’t nearly as heavy as you thought it was. That was quickly disproven when you tried to lift it after he left and couldn’t even move a corner of it.

You’re not some 15-year-old child anymore, which is what will make this conclusion so humiliating if it actually is wrong. You know what the realm of possibility is, and that even most things that belong outside that realm are still rooted in logic. That you would believe yourself to be the protagonist of some teen supernatural novel is almost ludicrous. You’ve eliminated all other possibilities, but Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself once said that “once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” With all that you’ve seen, and all that you know, there can only be possible truth.

Michael Langdon is a vampire.

It’s not a conclusion that you’re proud of, but it’s the one that you’ve got. Nevertheless, the plan that you’ve formulated will either make or break you, and your career. You know that you’re the only Kineros employee in the building tonight, since Jeff’s ‘birthday’ (third one this year) warrants a massive party at his house that all employees are invited to attend. Most of your coworkers won’t turn down the opportunity to indulge in some of the finest drugs that the West Coast has to offer, and you’ve asked around enough to discern that you’ll be the only one here tonight. Since it’s a Thursday, Michael should, if what you believe is correct, be stalking the halls tonight in search of his next meal. Theoretically, predator will become prey.

You’re sitting at your desk, legs propped up on the table while you twirl a scalpel between your fingers. Although you could have already set your plan into motion, you’re hesitant. What if it doesn’t work? What if you just turn out to be some fool with your head in the clouds, making yourself bleed for no reason? Worse, what if it does work and you end up getting yourself killed? It’s now or never, you decide, and with a deep breath you dig the tip of the scalpel into the pad of your finger.

Michael’s head snaps up the moment that he smells the blood being spilled from four floors below. It’s impossible for his head to not be clouded with your scent whenever he’s in this building, the rich aroma so intense that he can practically taste it on his tongue. Now that your skin has been cut, you’re all that he can think about. He’s been desperate to control himself, has sensed your ever growing suspicion since your first encounter two weeks ago. He can’t let himself slip up, not after he’s been so careful for so long. The injury that you’ve sustained, however minor it may be, changes everything.

The door is flung open with such force that it rattles the hinges, your head snapping up at the disturbance. It’s been maybe 30 seconds since blood started beading at the tip of your finger, and it’s such a small amount that you’ve been preparing to injure another part of your body that will produce more blood. Michael stands mere feet away from you, looking positively ravenous. His chest is heaving as he takes deep breaths, and his eyes are locked onto your finger.

“I knew it,” you mutter in disbelief, brandishing the scalpel in front of you as a pathetic weapon. Dark veins have appeared like cracks under Michael’s eyes, which are now a startling shade of red and black. It’s obvious that he can sense your fear, can hear your heart beating wildly in your chest, when he smirks and shows off his pointy fangs.

“It was only a matter of time before you figured it out, hmm?” Michael teases, voice sounding even more exquisite than it normally is. “You’re not like the other employees here, oh no. You’re smart, and self-aware. You’re able to believe in things that seem to be outside of the realm of possibility, no matter how insane it may seem.”

“Stay back,” you warn when Michael starts to take a few steps closer, still staring at the blood that has welled on your finger.

“You think that little knife of yours could stop me?”

A loud gasp is the only noise you can produce when Michael is gripping your wrist in less than the blink of an eye. He forces the scalpel out of your hand, and it falls to the ground with a clatter. You can only watch as his tongue wraps around your injured finger, sucking and licking the blood and prodding the wound to produce more. Your knees grow weak as you watch the shockingly erotic scene play out in front of you, Michael moaning around your finger. He only pulls off when the blood flow stops, your cut clotting quicker than Michael can agitate the wound.

“I taste good to you?” You ask, watching him intensely as you snatch your hand back from him.

Michael licks his bottom lip, where some of your blood has pooled, before smiling ferally and nodding. “Absolutely divine, pet.”

Anger flares at the pet name, but that’s really the least of your concerns right now considering a fucking vampire is ready to devour you.

“You want more?” Michael nods enthusiastically. “Then you’re gonna have to sit down and answer my questions.”

“And what makes you think I won’t just drain you right now?” Michael drawls, quirking an eyebrow at your demands.

“You won’t,” you say confidently. “If you didn’t kill me that first night you showed up in my lab, there’s no way you’ll kill me now.”

Michael locks eyes with you for a long moment, a shiver wracking down your spine as you stare into those dark red eyes. You honestly don’t know if he actually would kill you, and you’re praying that you guessed right. Finally he nods, sitting in the seat that you occupied mere minutes ago. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding, hopping onto the desk to give yourself some illusion of dominance in this situation. He’s annoyed that you’ve flipped the tables on him, but that annoyance turns to rapture when you dig the scalpel into the fleshy part of your palm just enough to bring a drop of blood to the surface.

“Answer my questions, and I’ll cut enough to let you drink. Deal?” You wince at the pain of the blade piercing your skin, but push it to the side as you wait for Michael to make his decision.

“Yes, fine! We have a deal.” You remove the blade from your hand and wipe the blood against a cloth, making Michael groan at the waste.

“Oh hush, you haven’t even answered my questions yet.”

“Just what would you like to know?”

“First: how are you a vampire?” Michael leans forward in his seat, teeth glinting as the light hits them.

“Ah, but I am so much more than just a vampire.”

Michael then proceeds to tell you the Sparknotes version of his story, which spans almost 400 years. How his father, the fucking Devil, created him with the goal of ushering in a new era for Hell to reign on Earth. The idea was that an immortal Michael would be able to live among humans and constantly change and observe, like a chameleon, collecting information and discerning when the right time to end the world as it is known would be. Unfortunately, immortality comes at a price. In order to live forever, with enhanced abilities and as young as he is now, Michael must feed from the blood of humans in order to retain his youth. One life benefiting another, although you don’t really see how senseless killings would benefit anybody but the killer.

“If you can’t survive without the blood of humans, then why are you so obsessed with ending the world?” You ask finally when Michael’s finished telling you his history.

“It’s not so much ‘ending the world’ as it is weeding out those who are not fit for survival. Only the strongest shall survive, and the strongest will be given the honor to serve Satan and his creatures.”

“Cultivating your food source, then?” You snort at the sheer ridiculousness of his plan.

“We won’t have to kill when everyone is willing to offer themselves. Think of it as a blood drive. Only a couple of pints every few weeks, which is what they would sacrifice to remain alive and in good health.”

“Why do you believe you’re so much better than everyone else?”

“Because I am,” Michael says as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I’m the Antichrist, (Y/N). I possess powers that your mind couldn’t even fathom. I could level an entire city with just the snap of my fingers, could bend you to my will with a simple glance.”

“That’s how you were able to get me to leave the building that first night,” you realize, Michael nodding in agreement.

“Very good, pet. It’s also why so many of your fellow employees look as if they’re sleepwalking,” he mocks, giving you half a mind to dig the scalpel into the side of his neck. “Don’t even try it. That silly little wound would barely harm me, let alone kill me.”

“Great, you can read minds too?”

“Yet another one of my numerous gifts.”

“This is...a lot to take in.”

“Obviously. It’s not every day that you meet a man such as myself.” Michael licks his lips, staring at the beating pulse point on your neck. “Now, I believe you promised me some of your blood after I did what you asked of me?”

“Wait!” What sounds like a growl rumbles from Michael’s chest as he rolls his eyes. “Why didn’t you kill me, that first night I met you? It’s pretty obvious now that I was meant to be your meal then, so why did you decide not to? Aren’t I a liability now?”

“You are,” Michael admits. “You could, theoretically, run to the press and spill my secret. But you won’t. I don’t know you that well, true, but something in me knows that you won’t.”

He’s right, and you hate the fact that he is. Even if you were to tell the media, would they even believe you, or would they just think you’re crazy? Michael hasn’t killed you yet, but it’s entirely likely that he would end your life if you tried to tell anybody. Vampire or not, you’re not a snitch. His secret, unfortunately, is safe with you.

“Alright, fine, I wouldn’t tell anybody. That still doesn’t answer my first question, though. Why didn’t you kill me on the night we met?” Michael hesitates, the first sign of any emotion other than a confident arrogance or intense hunger.

“I--vampires are prone to heightened emotions. What you would feel as a normal emotion, we feel that tenfold. I was so close to completing the hunt and draining you, but your alarm snapped you out of the daze I had you in. When you made fun of me for never being around, it managed to make me laugh. You didn’t know it, but you had bought yourself some time. After you explained to me your plans, and I saw the brilliant mind you possess, there was no way I could kill you. You’re the first human I’ve talked to for almost a decade that’s made enough of an impression on me to avoid becoming prey.”

“I thought you were going to end up firing me after I said that,” you joke, placing the scalpel down now that you know you’ve made it impossible for Michael to kill you. “Well, a deal’s a deal.”

Michael’s eyes widen, and his fangs nearly pierce his bottom lip, even as he’s smiling. “Is it alright if I bite you? It’s been so long since I’ve had someone willingly let me feed from them.”

He closes his eyes and shudders, the mere thought of getting to bite you already exhilarating.

“Um...yeah, I guess?” The speed at which Michael moves is dizzying. One moment you’re staring down at him, and the next he’s got your back pinned against the desk.

“I’ve had to cut back on my hunts here in an attempt to keep you from figuring things out, but now that the secret’s out, that won’t be an issue.” He breathes deeply, nose nuzzling against your neck. You gasp when he lightly nips your pulse point, licking the heated flesh thoroughly.

“I won’t, like, become a vampire or anything, will I?” Michael smirks up at you, red starting to make its way back into those blue eyes.

“There’s a very specific process to become a vampire. You have nothing to worry about, pet.”

“This is so fucking crazy, I can’t believe I’m going to let an actual vampire bite me,” you mutter, nervously laughing as Michael brushes the hair away from your neck.

“I should warn you that many people find immense pleasure from being bitten.”

“Why’s that?”

“When connected to a pulse point, my heartbeat begins to sync with that of whomever I’m biting. This connects us, basically, and is very pleasurable for both parties.”

“Hmm, so exaggeration is also a vampire trait,” you quip, staring up at Michael. “Just get it over with, please.”

You refuse to close your eyes or look away, not wanting to show that you’re actually scared of the situation. Michael leans over you, heavy weight pressing you down against the glass desk. It’s a little shocking when he starts off by gently kissing your neck, nipping and sucking like every person who’s ever given you a hickey before has. When his hair starts to tickle your face, you lean your head further to the side. Michael looks up from his position, and you’re startled to see just how rapidly red floods into his eyes and black veins pop out above his cheekbones. He smirks, shooting you a playful wink before letting his head drop back into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

You yelp when he first bites you, two pinpricks that feel like a liquid fire easily slicing your skin and allowing Michael to drink from you. His hips keep your lower body from squirming, hand locked in your hair and arm on your shoulder to prevent your thrashing. A question of whether Michael’s fangs act as straws, or if he simply allows the blood to pool into his mouth, enters your head. However, all thoughts are quickly pushed aside when the near-agonizing pain suddenly turns to a blinding pleasure.

Michael moans at the same time as you, but it hardly registers over the sound of your own pumping blood roaring in your ears. You can suddenly feel everything; blood running through your veins and being drained by Michael, how his velvet coat feels against your bare wrists, and even how painfully hard he is against your thigh. If this were any other time, you’d laugh in his face and make fun of him to the point where he would love to kill you. Now, though, you’d be a hypocrite, for your own arousal pools between your legs. You’re extremely grateful that you’re unable to move, or else you’re pretty sure your hips would be bucking up into his.

All of your senses are clouded by Michael. The sight of him, eyes closed and teeth clamped over your neck as he drinks deeply from you. The sounds of him, consuming your blood and loudly moaning at the same time. The feel of him, pressed up against you much in the same way a lover would position themselves. The smell of him, that rich copper that you now associate with blood and something earthy, something you only smell when you’re around a precious antique. Even how you can practically taste what he’s tasting, can see the allure in your own sweet, yet tangy, blood.

All you can think of, all you want, need, is Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. You chant his name like a prayer, hands itching at the need to wrap around his lithe form and pull him even closer to you. The intense pleasure is all-consuming, and you realize that you would gladly let him drink you to death if it meant your last moments would be spent in ecstasy.

Michael isn’t a new vampire, and knows all of the signs when it’s getting to the point that his victim is going to start losing too much blood. He can sense your heart beating faster, breathing quickening as your legs weakly kick from under him. It’s incredibly difficult, but he manages to pull away. He can’t resist his base urges, leaning in to collect the last few drops of blood from your puncture wounds before sitting up between your legs and licking his lips clean. You scramble up, lightheaded and so aroused that you’re pulsing between your thighs.

“That was--that--wow,” you stutter, clutching a hand to your neck. You cringe slightly at the feeling of your own heart beating beneath your fingers, Michael smirking and delicately cleaning his fangs with his tongue.

“Such pretty noises you make, pet. Not to mention just how delectable you taste. Best that I’ve had this century, surely.”

You silently curse when you feel your cheeks heating up, Michael smiling widely at the blush on your face.

“Are you done now? I’d like to go home now,” you discreetly shift your thighs, trying anything to stop feeling so hot and bothered.

“I get the feeling that you’re just as desperate for more, just as I am.” When he reaches down and palms himself through his slacks, you blanch and jump up.

“Goodnight, Michael.” The man in question stands, gleefully watching as you shakily gather your things.

“Goodnight, (Y/N). Rest assured, this is not the last time we will find ourselves in a situation such as this.” Somehow, you don’t doubt that at all.

///////////////

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[marvel-lucy]

Kidnapping 101

A case of mistaken identity by some poorly trained Hydra agents 

I don’t think I ever posted this on here, only on AO3.  But I’m re-reading my old fics and feeling needy for validation so I’m going to repost it anyway, even though it’s two years old :)

-----

You weren’t supposed to be here. This was not in your calendar for today and you hated unscheduled meetings. You were pretty sure this kind of work wasn’t mentioned in your job description from Stark Industries either. And you had no idea if you could claim expenses for this – how would you code ‘damaged by Hydra during torture’ on the finance system...?

It was possible you were getting a little delirious

Earlier

You were the third person to find out that Pepper was pregnant, after her doctor and Tony. You weren't technically supposed to know, but after the second time you'd gone to look for her when she was late for a meeting, only to find her throwing up in her office's private bathroom, she took you into her confidence.

You'd been working with her for over a year now and right up until this moment you'd have said you were confident in your abilities. You had a law degree, you had a Masters in Business Administration, you had experience, but right now you felt as if you were the lowliest work experience kid, dressed in your Mom's too-big clothes and about to cry.

Pepper was due in a big meeting, right now, and instead she was lying on her bathroom floor, a mess. You'd accompanied her to all the previous meetings and knew the situation inside out but now she'd asked you to go cover for her. Alone.

It should be simple, right? It was a meeting about some new tech that another organisation wanted to link up with Stark on. Most of the details had been thrashed out, this was mostly just a show-around, glad-handing type, with a little bit of legal wrangling over croissants and fake smiles. You’d have a couple of legal assistants with you, you just had to not promise anything while sounding as if you were agreeing to all they said.

So, you grabbed documents, iPad, pen, paper. Straightened your skirt, brushed your hair off your face, plastered on a smile of fake confidence and hoped you didn’t make a deal that ended up bringing down the firm.

Of course, as it turned out, that might have been preferable. You’d entered the room, shaking hands and smiling and thanking them for coming, surprised rather at the amount of muscle in the room – you were used to the Avengers and their multitude of biceps and abs, but you didn’t usually see it in business meetings. Still, healthy lifestyles were obviously catching on. You offered coffee but head Muscleman (shit, you hadn’t caught his name. In fact, you hadn’t even introduced yourself. Too late now, nod and smile nod and smile) wanted to look around, his Muscleminions nodding in agreement. So you set off, chatting inanely, leaving the assistants to set up the paperwork. 

Mr Muscle asked to start the tour at the top, saying he’d heard the view from the top of Stark Tower was amazing, so you all squeezed into an elevator and headed up. You tried making small talk with one of the minions, a woman standing next to you but she looked at you pretty blankly and you decided that most of these suits were obviously here to make up the numbers, to impress Pepper.

“So, we’re as high as we can go now, as you can see New York does look pretty good from up here! As new business partners, you will of course be invited to Mr. Stark’s regular parties up…. HEY, what the…. Mmmmmffffff!”

Ms Muscleminion had grabbed you from behind and now had her hand clamped over your mouth. You kicked and struggled but there were far more of them than you, and suddenly one of the others was approaching, needle in hand.“Hail Hydra” he said, as he stabbed the needle into your thigh. You heard the sound of a helicopter approaching and everything went dark.

--

Next thing you knew, you were in a stereotypical evildoers’ lair. Honestly, you’d think Hydra could afford something other than underground-car-park chic or the abandoned-warehouse-aesthetic. Hysteria was setting in apparently. 

You were tied to a chair and had a feeling that bad things were going to happen. Yeah, this was definitely not on your ‘to do’ list for today.You were starting to feel uncomfortable. Your head ached from whatever drug they’d given you, your arms and legs were hurting from being held in one position, you were thirsty and you were seriously pissed off. There was a reason that you were called SheHulk on occasion; you were known for your temper.

The door opened and the man from the business meeting entered again. He pulled up a chair near you, scraping the metal across the floor. Presumably this was supposed to menace you but you rolled your eyes at the cliché.“So, Ms Potts, I assume you’re intelligent to understand you are now our hostage. Mr Stark will, I’m sure, provide us with whatever we desire, to ensure your safe return.” He grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but grin back. Oh god, they thought you were Pepper, this was hysterical (OK, maybe it wasn’t, but you weren’t thinking straight). You remembered realising you’d forgotten to introduce yourself in your nerves about the meeting. And they weren’t the first to make the mistake – even Tony had groped you by accident from behind at a party once, you and Pepper had identical hair after all. And they had been expecting Pepper… You opened your mouth to correct him then gulped and shut it hurriedly. They were not going to keep some assistant alive and healthy when they realised their mistake. You were going to need to play along.

“Tony doesn’t bargain with Hydra.” You eyed the man as your aching brain tried to think about what Pepper would do, what you should do, what they’d do…“Oh I think he will when he sees what we’re capable of, Ms Potts.” He grinned again and suddenly you weren’t feeling like grinning again.

A couple of his goons set up a laptop, its webcam aimed at you. That little part of your brain that was in hysterical mode wanted to ask what the wi-fi reception was like under all this concrete but luckily the rest of your brain was too busy panicking to listen.

All turned on and set up, you could see yourself on the laptop screen. You didn’t look great to be honest, they obviously hadn’t been too gentle carrying your unconscious body; there were scrapes across your face, dirty marks on your suit and your hair – Pepper’s hair – was every which way.

“Mr Stark, as you can see, we have Ms Potts. She is well… for now. That can change. You will find a list of our requirements at the end of this broadcast, along with details for how to contact us. You have one hour.”

You knew you needed to get Tony to play along when he saw this, not let on that you weren’t Pepper, so before they turned off the recording, you quickly spoke.

“Tony, it’s Pep here. Who knew Hydra would want to kidnap Pepper Potts, right…?” 

That was all you had time for before a resounding slap around the side of your head silenced you. You bit your tongue as your head snapped sideways and the real fear started.The three Hydra agents picked up the laptop and moved away from you, talking. You listened as hard as you could to their conversation.

“So what do we do? Email it?”

“No, he can trace the signal. Put it on a DVD?”

“What and post it?”

“No, idiot, that’ll take forever. Get a messenger. You do know how to burn a DVD?”

“I can google it…”

Oh. My. God. Apparently you’d been kidnapped by the least competent bad guys ever. Were they… trainees?! How humiliating!

“Look, we have to get this right, go get the DVD sorted, we have to be quick.”

“Yeah, does the one-hour deadline start from when we stopped recording or when he sees it? I mean, what if he doesn’t watch the DVD!?”

Great. Were you going to have to give them Kidnapping 101 just so they could get this right?!

“We’ve got to get that tech before the weekend. Once the General is back, we have to have something to show him or else he’s going to skin us!”

You are kidding, right. This wasn’t just a Kidnapping by Kids, it was unauthorised? What, they were trying to get extra credit on their Hydra Degrees by being proactive? You let out a groan and let your head drop, drawing their attention to you. They shifted and all headed out of the room, presumably to choose their favourite fonts for the ransom note. Jeez, I bet they wrote it in Comic Sans.

Once they’d gone, you were still in the same position. Tied up, uncomfortable, ear ringing still from the slap and the iron taste of blood in your mouth. To be honest, you also needed to use the bathroom, which did not put you in a better frame of mind.

They left you there for what felt like hours, while you wriggled your arms and legs inside their bonds in an attempt to get free. You could feel the bonds loosening – presumably they’d never got their ‘knot tying’ girl scout badge – but when the door opened again you felt yourself tensing up.

“He hasn’t responded. Why hasn’t he responded?!” The larger man put his face close to yours as he shouted and you could see the anger and anxiety in his face. A dangerous combination, he had a lot to prove it seemed and you were the material he had to prove himself on.

The laptop was set up again and the man stood behind you, grabbing your hair tight in his fist and yanking your head back. You let out a gasp of pain.

“Mr Stark. Do you really value your fiancée’s life so little? Would you like her returned piece by piece? You have the phone number you need, ring us within an hour of receiving this, unless you enjoy seeing your Ms Potts suffer”

At that, things took a turn for the serious, as the woman from the lift stepped forward and punched you in the stomach. You jerked forward involuntarily, but yelled out as the grip on your hair tightened. Unable to lean forward to relieve the pain, you gasped, winded. The SheHulk was released however and you started shouting.

“You piece of shit, you fuckers, Tony, blow this whole place up I don’t care!” You shook side to side in your chair, trying to loosen your bonds further, but another blow to your stomach left you unable to breathe again and dizzy from pain.The Hydra agents gathered up their things and left again.

The next time they appeared, after another agonising wait, you had regained your breath but not your temper. Your stomach ached and you were running on adrenaline. You’d managed to work all bar one of your bonds loose and were just working on the last when they reappeared.

“Mr Stark wants more proof that you are alive”. A phone was pressed against your ear.

“‘Pepper’, that you? Can you keep talking for a bit…?”

“Tony darling, I’m cold and sore in this damn underground bunker and I am going to claim so much damn overtime…”

“Enough.” The phone was taken away from your ear. That probably wasn’t enough to trace a call but it depended on how long Tony had been talking to the Hydra idiot before you and how long they talked now.

“You have our list Mr Stark, and the location for the drop… I don’t care if you don’t have all the components, you have to find them… Well I said one hour! Ok fine, two. OK FINE, THREE. You have three hours that should be more than sufficient to gather things from your other base. No you can’t talk to her again. No. Just shut up! OK fine!”

The phone was held up against your ear again.“You doing OK kid? This’ll all be over soon. Sooner than they may expect. Just don’t do anything stupid OK?”

“How can I, they’ve got all the stupid here” You grinned. ‘Sooner than they may expect’ made you think they were on their way.

The phone call was cut off and the man backhanded you across the face, probably for your rudeness. You spat out blood at him and he saw red. Perhaps he could sense this slipping away from him – kidnappers generally didn’t end up conceding so much to their victims, but Tony was good at that.

He went to punch you again but at that point, you really did hulk out. You pulled your arms and legs free from the loosened bonds just as he lunged forwards, and threw yourself sideways. Your legs nearly gave way after being tied up for so long, so you grabbed at the chair for support, then when he came at you with a roar, threw it at his face, stamping your feet and shaking your arms to get the feeling back, and regretting it as the pins and needles started. That just threw you into an even worse mood.

“I. Fucking. Hate. Pins and Needles. You bastard!”. As heroic lines go, it probably needed work, but your adrenaline was racing and your heart was pounding and you were furious. You threw yourself down as he ran at you again, knocking his legs out from under him, then pummelling his face before rolling him over and yanking his arms up behind him.

“Did you really think anyone working with Stark didn’t get to train with the Avengers, you MORON?”

You grabbed at the rope that had tied you to the chair and had him hog-tied within seconds, just in time as the other two came in the door and saw what you were doing. Your blood was up and your legs were working now and it was no great effort to take down two poorly trained and obviously low level Hydra fools, not when you had compulsory training with Captain America and Black Widow three times a week.

“THIS WASN’T ON MY SCHEDULE!!” You shouted as your arms blurred with the speed of your punches. Even with the two of them attacking you, it was no great effort and within a few minutes both were lying on the ground groaning. You panted hard, then looked up at the sound of applause.

Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson were all leaning against the wall near the door, watching you and clapping.

“You bastards!” You panted, hands on knees. “You couldn’t have joined in?”

“Oh you looked like you were having way too much fun, ‘Pepper’. I know you hate it when I interfere in your business meetings.” 

The men walked towards you as Stark spoke, Rogers reaching you first and holding you up. Despite the sarcasm, you could see the concern on their faces at what you might have been through.You leant on Tony heavily as you left the room, leaving Sam and Steve to gather up – and laugh at – the Hydra idiots, kidnapping the wrong person and then getting taken down three against one.

Tony hugged you to him and whispered thanks against your hair.

“You owe me Stark. Overtime, a corner office, and…”

“Some more time off?”

“No, you can call the damn baby after me”

-----

@melconnor2007@emilyevanston @kittyslove @badassbaker @phoenix21love @lbouvet  @bellenuit45 @prplprincez  @gingerrootknits @pineapplebooboo @feelmyroarrrr @avengerofyourheart @eyeofdionysus @hellomissmabel @learisa @mitra-k-w @imhereforbvcky @shaddixlife @iwillbeinmynest @amrita31199 @whatsbetterthanfantasy @pixierox101 @edward-lover18 @madcheshire89 @heartfulloffandoms @chipilerendi @kenya-17 @mckorni32843 @amandarosemire @rda89 @nyxveracity @sea040561 @mrsalh32611 @ruinerofcheese @callmebucky-doll @vintagepigeon @bubbasmom @sassycanoodler @ladylorelitany @natcad @thisismysecrethappyplace @mywinterwolf

[peggysousfan]

Agent Carter An Au Series

Here is chapter 17! A lot of it recaps the show but there are some pieces that put the Au and show together. And some Peggy and Daniel at the end ;) Enjoy!!

Peggy's POV:

Since Dooley sent me home for the day, I got to the Automat for some supper and wait for Mr. Jarvis. I know Daniel will be working late today. what with the break in the Stark case, so we won't be able to eat together one last time. And since Mr. Jarvis hasn't arrived yet, I don't have Stephanie with me. I asked him to keep her at his home until our nightly adventure was over with; I don't want Steph anywhere near Howard and the drama he has created with his deadly inventions. Once I finish dinner I go outside and wait.

"Come on, Mr. Jarvis. A penguin could get here faster..." I've been waiting for at least ten minutes. And Angise has not given up on trying to get me to live at this Griffith Hotel For Women. She bangs on the window to get my attention.

"I found one." She says, but I know which one it is. And I can't live there.

"I'm late for my appointment." I says, not looking towards her.

"It has its own bathroom!"

"I-I have no idea what you're saying."

"Don't make me come out there," She threatens. Oh bloody hell!

"Angie I really must-

"Woman only. A family community for modern female professionals. Apartment for rent. 550 square ft, furnished, full bath, high floors, quiet building. Security assured." She reads the advertisement from the paper. "Close proximity to the Lexington Avenue local isle. Breakfast upon request. Paradise or what.

"That sounds perfect but-

"The only thing that could possibly make it better is if you lived next to me, Oh wait, you would! 3C if you need a cup of sugar." God I wish I could, I really really do. The apartment sounds incredible and Angie is a very nice person, but I don't want her to be in the crossfire if anything were to go wrong; I already have to worry about Stephanie and Daniel. I lie to he and say I wouldn't make a very good neighbor because she thinks shes the problem; but shes not. And above all, I can't leave my daughter behind. I look out the window, and finally, Jarvis has arrived. I say goodbye to Angie and tell her I will see her later, but I know shes upset. However, there's simply no easy option here...

"Ms. Carter."

"Mr. Jarvis." He starts driving, and for a few moments everything is silent. "How was Stephanie doing today?"

"Oh she was quite... well." Oh no. Hes hesitating.

"What happened?" I asked, worry creeping in at the edge of my voice.

"Oh no, nothings happened. Shes perfectly fine, Ms. Carter. Its just..." He takes a short pause as if thinking of what to say. "Well shes just been, how you...fussy. And unbelievably so. We've done everything we could possibly think of, but-"

"Nothing seems to calm her down?" He nods. "Yes, she does that sometimes. Mostly its because she wants a specific person to hold her and give her attention. You've done nothing wrong, Mr. Jarvis. Steph is just...stubborn."

"Well it seems you will have eventful years when she is of age..."

"Oh please no. Let me enjoy the little things first!" I say, "Besides, she'll go back and give her mother that headache, not me."

"Is that not you, Ms. Carter?" He asks hesitantly.

"What?! Mr. Jarvis, Stephanie is my niece not my-"

"I beg to differ, respectfully of course." I whip my head to look at him. But he speaks before I can. "She has your fighting spirit, attitude, and intelligence. However...I fear she has her father's strength."

"And you know who that is?"

"I may have an idea as to whom he may be. But that is not any of my concern why you wish to keep her true parents identity a secret." I start to relax and look away. "I will never tell another soul, Ms. Carter. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you, Mr. Jarvis." For the rest of the ride to Mr. McFee's house, the car is filled with silence. That is until the 'Captain America Adventure Program' starts. I let it play for a few moments, and the cut it off. "Who writes this rubbish?" Jarvis says he enjoys it, but is rather impressed by the real thing. Its a shame they don't actually use it. "Are you trying to butter me up Mr. Jarvis?" He says hes not.

"I'm only pleased to receive your call." I tell him he is faster than a train and compliment the new car. He said he did dispose of the other, but that it was a waste. We didn't have much of a choice to keep it, it was used at the site of a crime scene. I ask him to hurry along because Thompson is very persuasive in the interrogation room; especially with ninnies like Van Ert.

Daniel's POV:

Its been about 2 hours since Peggy left, and already Thompson broke him, and our stick. So all the information we have is Van Ert was working with a Leet Branis to make the molecular nitramene bombs, with Howard Stark's formula. The used a guy who worked at the Daisy Clover Milk company to transport their products. So now we have to find Branis and McFee, which will hopefully lead us to Stark...Although I kind of don't want to find him. I know he and Peggy are friends,and that he was a major contributor to helping the Allies win. It doesn't make sense for him to go off and sell weapons to the enemies.

As I sit in my chair and write all the information down, Dooley starts talking. Apparently Immigration has no record of this guy Branis, and Krisminksi says it could be an alias. But Thompson and his two sense says that if it is, Van Ert doesn't know it. Great, this feels like an insane dramatic puzzle. He turns to me and ask about Daisy Clovers pay roll

"I'm on hold with Daisy Clover payroll."I say

"Well its not like he was the brains of the operation anyway." Thompson says

"More like the Krisminski of the operation." I jab. Krisminski's a dumb ass.

"Jokes on you, peg-leg, I don't even know how to drive a truck." What? That not even what I was saying. Idiot. Chief is going hard on pinning this on Stark. Even though Van Ert never met him, Dooley says he can have go betweens in between go betweens. Like hes some sort of snake; which he probably is. I finally get off hold and get McFee's address. Now we're getting somewhere. We all head out and go after McFee.

Peggy's POV:

When we arrive at McFees house, I send Jarvis away and tell him I don't need his help and that I have my own ride home. I sneak into the yard and towards the truck; and all the bombs are there. I make my way to the front of the house and walk in. Carefully I step in and look for McFee and Branis; but unfortunately the old floor boards give me away. McFee grabs his gun and charges towards me, but I kick it away and fight him. And of course, with my luck, that damn radio show is one; which only infuriates me more. He pins me against the wall and I break a glass over his head. We struggle more and I elbow his inner arm and throw his into a table. And of course, he passes out.

"Hello? Mr. McFee?" But still no response. "Why does this keep happening?" I ask myself. I drag his body into a chair and handcuff him to it, but while I was distracted, Branis slipped outside and tried to start the truck. I pull out my gun and aim it at his head. "Get out!" I order and he does. I slam him into the truck and keep the gun to his temple. "Car trouble?" I ask, and Mr. Jarvis answers

"Nothing that can't be fixed."

"What the HELL are you doing here?" He explains that hes here to help, as any good butler would, without being asked. He sabotaged the vehicle and I tell him to fix it. The sooner its fixed, the sooner I can turn this in and get home to see my little girl. "Where are Stark's inventions?" I pull out his voice communicator and hold it to his throat.

"I want protection."

"The SSR will take you in, provided you say something interesting. Right Bloody now." He say nothing, instead Jarvis chimes in and asks bout Leviathan. Branis says its a who, not a what. Lovely, because thats not vague at all. They use to be his employers and he double crossed them. Apparently Leviathan only wanted one thing from Howard, and Branis saw it as an opportunity to make a profit from the rest.

"I. Want. Protection."

"Then start talking."

We get into the truck once its fixed and drive on the road. Jarvis is in the back, Branis is driving, and I'm holding my gun on Branis. Unfortunate McFee got away, but for right now our focus is transporting the bombs. I tell Branis to stop fidgiting and that nothings going to happen; but of course it does. The same man that killed Colleen has jumped on the roof and started to shoot down at us. We fight on the roof and he shots again, hitting the strap and Branis. We continue to fight and I hear a crash. One of the bombs has dropped and cracked. He punches me in the face and I fall down and them look over the roof I see a lake; perfect. I tell Jarvis to grab Branis and jump. I fight off Colleen's killer and stab his hand through the roof.

"This is where I get off." I grab Jarvis and Branis and toss them out of the truck, and then I roll over and jump as well. The truck lands in the lake and BOOM! A bright light flashes and pushes me back; the entire lake is gone. I limp over to Jarvis and notice Branis, dying. His communication device is broken and can't speak. I ask him where Howard's inventions are and ask him to help me beat Leviathan. He draws a heart in the dirt with a string through it. Dammit.

"Wheres the car?" I ask.

"I believe its that way. I think we should go retrieve it immediately." Ugh can this day get any worse?

Daniel's POV:

We're almost at Mr. McFees house, when we stop the car and notice him walking on the road...with a chair handcuffed to him. Great, another mystery. We get him out of the cuffs and starts driving again, that is until theres an enormously bright light blinding our eyes. Thompson, whos driving in front of me, goes faster, and so do I. When we reach the sourse of the light, the lake is completely dried up; not a drop left. And not only that, but we find Branis's dead body at the scene. While the others go investigate that, I notice something shiny in the road.

"Sousa! What the hell are you doing?" CHief asks. I walk over to them and show the key I found. "Good find. Lets go check it out."

Peggy's POV:

When we reach the car I sigh in relief. Jarvis notices my leg and says he can patch me up. I tell him to wait, I need to see my daughter. When we enter the house, I limp to my room and Jarvis hands her over.

"Oh poppet!" She starts to fuss but then stops and snuggles against me, gurgling her baby talk."You have to say mummy. Can you do that?" She looks at me with those bright blue eyes and smiles. "Say mummy." She moves her lips and the words are inaudible, if they count as words at all,and she starts to laugh... and so do I. I love my little girl so much, my heart can't take it.

"Here you are Ms. Carter" He hands over her pacifier and he takes it gladly. I look at him and he bends down to stitch the gash on my leg.

"You're quite good at that."

"Yes. Mr. Stark's zippers are under a considerable strain." He ties it off and cuts the thread. "You're very fortunate you know."

"I missed the bone by three inches."

"Thats not what I meant."

"Then look me in the eye and say what you meant." Steph wiggles around in my arms and starts to grab at my hair.

"You're very fortunate that I ignored your instructions"

"Oh you're so right." I say as I pull her hands from my hair. "How I managed to stay alive before I meant you I have no idea." He goes in to give a speech about how my line of work requires support, but I tell him I can't be surrounded by those I love if I'm only putting them in danger. Thats why I'm trying to find a permanent home, I don't want Daniel or the Jarvis's to get hurt. Thats why I can't live near or with either of them. Then that leaves the question with Stephanie. He has a point though, I can't exactly distance myself from the world I wish to protect; but its so hard. I have to make the world right, if not for myself then for Steph. He says I can't be as successful in my goal if I don't open up to others and allow them to help me...and maybe hes right. When he finishes my stitches, I take Steph and head to Daniel's apartment. This is our last night there...

Daniels POV:

After I give Dooley the key I found I head home. I am so tired right now its ridiculous. Not only is it late, but i know Peggy is already asleep by now, and its her last night there; now I won't even get to say a proper goodbye. I open the apartment door and hear the shower going, and theres food on the table from the Automat.

"Peggy?" I call out. I hear Steph start crying and go into the bedroom. "Peg?" Still no answer. She must be in the shower. I pick up the baby and head to the table to eat. Shes so adorable its ridiculous. She squirms around all over the place and plays with the little doll I juts gave her, and she loves it.I hear a groan and turn around. "Peggy? You okay?" She comes out, dressed in her night gown, and walks over to me and Steph; or limps?

"I'm fine." She says. She leans over my shoulder and steals a bite of my cake.

"Hey! Thats mine!" She shrugs her shoulders and sits down on the couch. "Peggy, are you sure you're okay? You look like you're limping." and shes more quiet than normal.

"Mhm." Okay, now I know somethings wrong.

"Peg. Why are you still up? Its 1:30 in the morning."

"I know, I just...wanted to see you." I pick up the baby and sit next to her on the couch, with one brow raised. She sighs and shakes her head."I-" I sit, patiently, waiting for an answer, and grab her hand. "I uhm, was just given some advice recently, and I think I should listen to it."

"Okay..."

"I have a request, and I'm afraid to ask it. I need help and you're the only person I trust, Daniel." I nod my head and encourage her to keep talking. "I-I, uh, was-" Before she finishes her sentence, the power goes out. Damn New York.

"Here, hold Steph, I'll get us some light." I walk to the kitchen and grab some candles and light them. "There, that should work for now." I place one on the table and two on the coffee table by the couch."Peg?" Shes gone. "Peggy." She comes back and sits on the couch. "Wheres Steph?"

"I put her to sleep. Shes had quite the day. As have we all." I hum in agreement. "Daniel...I can't stay with my friends forever, and I can't stay here... But I can't take Steph with me anywhere else I go. At least for now."

"Peg. What are you saying...?" She looks away from me and I can see the tears rolling down her cheek. "Hey.." I wipe them away and hold her face in my hands. "Whats going on? Whats got you so upset?"

"Can she stay with you?" She sniffles. "When you aren't at work. Can- Can Stephanie live here with you..." I back away, slightly, in complete shock, and shake my head.

"Peggy.. you can't-Peg."

"I-I don't have any other choice. I can't stay there with my friends, and I can't sty here because-" She looks away and takes another deep breath. Shes hiding something. "Because I don't want to put you in danger. Or Stephanie. Shes just a baby, Daniel. She can hardly speak and walk, let alone defend herself or cry for help if someone-"

"Okay okay okay, just breathe. Look at me. Take a deep breath. And breath." She was starting to hyperventilate. "Think about this, Peg. Really think about it." She shakes her head and more tears fall.

"I have. I'm taking the advice and allowing people to help me and...and be involved more in my life. And this is how I do that; at least for now." I place my hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze. "I'll pick her up from her sitters, and come here, with you, or stay until you come home and then you will have her for the rest of the night. And in the mornings I will come by to see you both and take her back so you and I can go to work."

"Peggy, thats a lot of work to do. How long do you think you can keep that up?"

"I don't know. I just...I need this to work until its over."

"Till whats over?" At first she hesitates, then answers.

"Till this case with Howard is solved. Then...I'll figure the rest out when I get there." I pull her in for a hug and she hold on tightly. When she lets go I kiss her on the forehead, and she smiles. I take her to my room and she lays down. "Daniel? Can you stay with us? Just until I fall asleep?"

"Yeah, sure." I sit on the edge of the bed and she curls up to me on my chest, just like she did before, and I don't move away. She lays close, as if afraid of something, and closes her eyes to fall asleep. I don't know what it is thats bothering her so much, but whatever it is needs to stop being such a pain in the ass. I hate seeing her in pain and fear. Maybe she'll open up more and tell me, but right now I'm content on her sleeping it off.

[bazingaholmes98]

Old dogs learn new tricks

@do-you-downey I believe this is yours <3 It’s a little longer cause my hand slipped so I hope that’s okay with you

A/N: Please forgive me for any factual inaccuracies regarding natural birth, I myself was a premie C-section so idk how it goes down in those scenarios. Also, god i am sorry if I messed up Tony and pepper, I’m just trying here and any feedback is more than welcome <3 !!

 “Tony?” She said through gritted teeth, “Tony… it’s uhhh starting.”

 She heard brief crashes and lasers on the other end, but none more perceptible than Tony’s breath hitching, “SHIT I’ll be at the hospital with you there in 10, I’m calling an ambulance, hold on.”

 She had called him against her better judgement, Happy had already called for an ambulance but she knew that if Tony didn’t get to be on this from the start he would never forgive himself for it. Pepper lay silently on her bed, as liquid started to make it’s way down her leg.

 “Ugh.” Was all she managed to get out, before Happy and the ambulance people arrived to collect her.

 Pepper closed her eyes, breathing heavily, and trying to block out the pain. Soon she found herself in a hospital bed, the nurses milling around her, attaching tubes, and a doctor gently lifted her gown to assess the situation. The contractions started to get more and more painful as she looked around for her idiot husband.

 She nodded, and smiled at Rhodey who entered the room, concern plastered all over his face. She briefly heard the sounds of a very harangued Happy shouting at people, presumably reporters, to step away from the birthing ward. 

 “The mission just got over, Tony’s left it to Steve and Nat to handle, and he’s on his way here. Mind you, I think he’s going to murder Thor after this is done.”

 “Oh god, why?”

 “Because he insulted the guy, and he just started monologue-ing. Tony nearly punched the guy’s face in.” 

 A slow smile tugged at her lips at the thought of Tony bludgeoning a man as he gently spoke to her over the comms. They were securing the last of the infinity stones, to prevent someone else from getting a hand on them, and was pretty much low risk. Besides, Pepper recognised that those stones were better put away safely than left to their own devices. They’d had enough drama with the stones to last them a century.

 “God, please stop Happy before he starts throwing the mother’s families outside the wards too.” 

 Rhodey laughed. “Aw man, you do it. You know how unreasonable he gets - I don’t want to get tasered by Happy, Pepper, one time’s enough.” 

 Suddenly the sounds of explosive repulsers and high pitched shouting made Pepper and Rhodey jump, who was immediately assuming a protective stance over Pepper, his gun drawn. Happy’s angry screeching was heard as the door blasted open, with nurses and doctor’s scrambling out of the way to allow a red and gold suit to streak past them and crash into the wall opposite. 

“TONY FOR GOD’S SAKE” Pepper managed to wheeze as she felt a sudden wave of contractions ripple through her. 

 Rhodey rolled his eyes, as Tony stepped out of the suit, slightly bloody but otherwise unharmed. Tony snarled, “I’m going to murder that Asgardian shit I swear to god, Pep are you alright, Pep I’m so sorry,”

 “Don’t sweat it, you’re here,” she stretched her hand out for him to take and he took it with exceeding gentleness. 

 “Alright baby, yeah I am… how’s it going, Doc?” He turned around to face the white faced attendants and the Doctor, who seemed remarakably unfazed at the entire situation.

 “There’s no crowning just yet, Mrs. Stark if you could push a little harder please.” 

Pepper sighed and shut her eyes, willing all the muscles in her abdomen to start the torturous process of trying to get the child out. Tony was murmuring encouragements under his breath. 

“Come on Pep, you’re doing so good, you’re doing so, so good, I love you, I love you, I love you,”

Pepper groaned, the pain starting to build up, and sweat starting to trickle down her brow. Tony’s face was burrowed in concern at the silence of her features. “Pep does it hurt? Is there something you can give for the pain?”

The doctor nodded, his eagle eyes surveying Pepper’s vagina, “I think we can see the crowning now, but Mrs. Stark, a little more. Nurse…” he indicated to the machine beside Pepper, and a nurse attended to it.

 But Pepper screamed, the pain of stronger contractions finally starting to overwhelm her. The pain was similar to Extremis - but here, she had Tony’s hand pressed in her own, his warm brown eyes, encouraging yet worried. Concern flowed from him like the warmth of a tender flame, and it seemed to take the edge of the pain off. So much so, that even through the ordeal, Pepper managed a half ass grin.

 Tony’s head was spinning, unable to fathom the pain that Pepper was going through right now, guilt now starting to flood his veins like icy water. What if making Pepper pregnant at such a late age was a really bad idea? What if she bleeds out, unable to stop? How could he be this selfish and naive? A hundred millions questions swirled through his head like a tempest, made worse by the screaming that seemed to be cutting through his soul. He saw Pepper suffer Extremis - luckily there was no sound there. But this was the live performance. He felt horrible about himself with every passing second. 

Pepper saw the falling expression in his eyes, and grabbed his hand even tighter, hissing “Idiot, I want this too” under her breath. Tony caught that and felt his guilt melting away, peppering kisses along her forehead, “Come on pepper, you’ve pushed my ass through harder shit, one baby Stark can’t be that hard.”

Seconds turned into agonising minutes, as Tony’s vision tunnelled to pepper’s face - from everything to how her skin was turning bright red with exertion, her hair was pulled back into that messy little pony he loved, and the little white streaks that seemed to make her hair shine even brighter. With one gigantic scream, Pepper crunched forward , as the doctor gave a thumb’s up, the nurses crowding around her cervix attempting to make her comfortable.

Everyone seemed to be encouraging her, urging Pepper on, and for one weird second Pepper felt like she was at the centre of a Superbowl game, running for touchdown. Everything seemed to focus down to her gripping pain of Tony’s grasp on her hand, her own mindless screaming, and the huge bulge that seemed to move forward by a little, a little, a little…

The sudden loss of pressure pushed Pepper back into the bed, wheezing and gasping for air as she allowed her swimming vision to rest on the huge mass of blood on the doctor’s chest, and the little sounds of crying that seem to be coming from his huddled arms.

She barely heard the doctor’s and Rhodey’s congratulations.

She had done it. They had done it. 

Pepper’s head lolled towards Tony, and saw him staring at the doctor, dumbfounded for once in his brilliant existence. Pepper managed a tired smile as she returned her gaze to their child, now being swaddled and detached from its mother. She wanted to hold it, caress it, kiss it… oh god she wanted that little bundle so bad.

She tried to raise her hands but they wouldn’t respond – tiredness was beginning to crowd her muscles as her already overworked CEO body demanded the warm linen sheets as compensation. She wanted to shout at her muscles to obey, but somehow they wouldn’t.

The doctor seemed to recognise that, “Post-Partum exhaustion, it’s alright, give yourself a few seconds Mrs. Stark. Let the painkillers kick in.”

The doctor made a move towards Tony to hand him the child.

A million warning lights starting flooding Pepper’s brain, almost out of habit. 

“Gimmeeh, he hates being waa-aah….” Pepper trailed off, shock apparent on her face as Tony didn’t stop nor flinch at the approaching man. As the doctor gently deposited the child in Tony’s arms, Pepper felt like she was surely viewing some sort of fever dream. 

Anthony Edward Stark. This was the man who wouldn’t even allow himself to be directly handed communion or the most coveted award for his research. A man who probably wouldn’t even let Jesus take the wheel. An old dog with old habits that he would never shake off, for the fear of repeating the same mistakes again. 

However, this same man seemed to be holding their first child in his arms, with the greatest care and gentleness, his face completely enraptured by the little bundle in his hands. Something in its face had made him completely forget his germ phobia and his general distaste of being handed things. Something had made Tony Stark completely forget those old habits. And boy, did Pepper want to see that for herself.

But then again, Pepper was content watching Tony gently bump his nose against its forehead, calm it’s crying by cradling the child in his arms, and doing his best not to break down and sob in front of a room full of strangers. She was content watching him, tight lipped and smiling broadly, introduced their child to “Uncle Rhodey, but you’ll probably only manage Rho, so meet your Uncle Rho-Rho,” and seeing two grown men making weird goo-goo, gah-gah, huggiehuggie, noises at it. She saw Tony call out to Happy who came running complaining into the room, but stopped at the sight of the “little boss” in Tony’s arms, and for all his macho and stoicism, began to fumble and babble awkwardly, as he gently poked the soft cheeks of their child. Happy seemed to be in apparent shocked that human beings could ever look so defenceless and non-threatening.

 However, she was most content watching Tony immediately come to her, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and letting the slow loving kisses to her forehead make up for what wasn’t said.

“Congratulations Mama bear. She’s adorable.”

 Pepper just managed a tearful smile, and a nuzzle to her baby’s forehead, as she took the precious bundle into her arms, feeling it’s weight reassuringly over her heart, and Tony’s protective arms around all of them. 

“So, what now?” Rhodey asked, patting Tony proudly on the back, a cheeky grin on his face. “You gonna buy out all the baby wear outlets in America? Maybe a Lion King style introduction to the newest member of the Stark family?” 

“Nah, actually I was gonna take up Obie’s suggestion, y’know, what he said right after I wanted to shut the weapons division down” He turned to Pepper, smiling giddily.

 Pepper raised an eyebrow, “Obadiah…?”

 “Yeah – I got a new suggestion for the Stark Products Line, madam CEO.”

“And what’s that, Mr. Stark?” Pepper asked with her patented PA smile.

“Baby bottles.” 

Pepper nearly pushed Tony off the bed, groaning. She wanted to stay like that forever, and looking into Tony’s warm yet fiery eyes trained on the two women in his life, she knew that they would be. Because sometimes, when the wind blows in the right way and the stars align correctly, some old dogs learn new tricks.

[saieras]

I’m here. I’m okay. (Part 1)

Part 2.

Summary: After Avengers 4, after everyone was brought back, Tony and Bruce devised a memory suppressant in hopes of sparing Peter from the trauma. But when that stopped working, Tony and Peter must learn to heal together.

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It(?)

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, anxiety attacks. IW Spoilers.

2737 words

Notes: I’ve always wanted to explore Peter’s PTSD, but my other fic doesn’t allow me to do that (because he’s ashhhh). So I just started a new WIP. Will be from both Tony and Peter’s perspectives. This first chapter is just setting the tone, so it’s far from finished.

————————————————————

Peter spent most of the first week sleeping. He was awake for only an hour or two, here or there, which he spent in some kind of discombobulated stupor. He was faintly aware of Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner running constant tests on him, and May to their side — watching, worrying, crying.

Peter didn’t quite understand everything just yet. The last thing he really remembered was jumping through a bunch of magical, well, portals (but they were all yellow, instead of one blue one yellow) and kicking some tall purple alien called Thanos. After that, it was just fragmented images that refused to come together to form a coherent reel, and faded sensations — pain, fear, discomfort; some flashy lights, loud noises.

And then there was just darkness — darkness, silence, and terror.

Objectively, Peter knew what had happened. He’d managed to glimpse pictures and videos of the Dusting, as the media called it, because it was practically unavoidable. He saw people just collapsing, disintegrating, fading away. It horrified him, yet fascinated him more — was that what he’d experienced?

But then May found out he’d been watching those news reports and just freaked out, and when she freaked out, Peter freaked out. To make things worse, apparently May and Ms. Potts — Mrs. Stark, rather — were on a private number basis now. May called her, and an hour later the TV was removed from his room, leaving Peter with nothing but the impenetrable darkness of his memories.

Peter tried to pierce that oblivion which surrounded him; tried to force his mind to remember. But the more he tried, the more tired he felt, and before long he would get a massive headache. It actually got so bad one time that he puked, which almost gave May a heart attack. So after that he just stopped.

So Peter started asking questions. He wanted to know how and why the Dusting happened, and why it happened to him, and why he didn’t remember any of it. He first tried May, but gave up because she kind of just sobbed and touched his face and refused to answer, and Peter wound up crying with her without really knowing why, and later it just became too difficult to ask her anything. Then he tried Happy, who he heard had shared the same experience — except, like him, Happy didn’t remember much of it. Finally he tried Mrs. Stark, but in the few instances when she did drop in, she was so brisk and business-like that Peter never really worked up the nerves to broach the topic.

Which left the man himself, Tony Stark. After all, if anyone knew about the Dusting, it had to be the guy who ended up bringing about the Reversal, right?

Peter knew he dropped by, because May said as much, and because sometimes when he woke up, he could kind of retrace the sensation of fingers in his hair, or a soft low voice, or his hand being held but not having the strength to squeeze back. The problem was, Peter could never catch the man when he was actually awake and lucid. This went on for a day or two until Peter finally gave up, and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to get out of bed one day with enough strength to stay awake for more than two hours, and everyone was going to give him answers.

There were all sorts of lines and fluids going into him, but on the fifth day Peter was finally allowed to eat through his mouth, after confirming for the sixth time that, yes, he farted that morning. It was a good day, even if May’s meatloaf had to be ground into pulp before anyone let Peter ingest it. Peter even stayed awake long enough to watch the sunset.

Peter woke up the next day to a beaming, tearing face. He squinted, still groggy, and was suddenly dragged to a sitting position.

“Careful with him,” he heard someone say, before he was crushed in a hug.

“Ned,” he croaked in belated recognition, wrapping his right arm around the much larger boy.

Ned didn’t really say anything. Just sort of sob-babbled about how he’s missed him, about everything that has happened, and asking whether or not this meant he was now a year above Peter.

“Hey,” Peter said as he patted his best friend on the back. “Hey, Ned.”

“And me?” came a quiet, snarky voice.

Peter turned his head to see MJ, standing about three feet from the bed. She smiled and gave him the finger, like her usual aloof self, but it was completely unsuccessful because she’s got tears streaming down her face, and her eyes were the level of puffy you’d only get after literal days of crying.

Peter felt his heart lurch. With some effort, he lifted his left arm in invitation.

MJ hesitated a little. But then she shrugged and rushed forward and buried her face in Peter’s shoulder, and he pressed both of them close, and the three of them shared the warmest, most awkward group hug in the history of group hugs.

They ended up spending three days at the compound. Peter tried his best to be a good host — he played board games and cards when his brain could handle it, and binged movies when he couldn’t. They chatted to catch up to a year’s worth of events. It was still hard to wrap his mind around it sometimes — to Peter, it had only been a couple days; to his friends, it had been fifteen gruesome, hopeless months.

All the same, they never asked him about what actually happened, on that day. And when he tried to ask them, they just looked at each other uncomfortably and changed the topic. Peter tried to not be bothered by it, but it gnawed at him, especially as his body gained strength and he had more hours each day to think about it. Yeah, it was really good to see his friends and hear about their lives, but he was so done with everyone keeping secrets from him.

————————————————————

It wasn’t a sudden thing. Mostly fleeting images — being punched, being thrown down to the ground, trying to get some metal gauntlet off. Saving aliens. It came to him in dreams at first, which he desperately grasped at when he woke up. He was almost afraid they wouldn’t come back, but they did, and grew clearer, stronger. Before long, he was able to recollect bits and pieces even when he was awake.

Peter was absolutely thrilled. He started to push into that boundary again, even if each attempt still left him aching and nauseous. Slowly, the mist in his mind begrudgingly retreated, giving Peter back his precious memories one image at a time. His physical condition seemed to be coming back at an exponential rate as well, and with each passing day he felt more like himself. He also resolved to keep his recovery from everyone else, which admittedly made him feel a little bad, but they had brought this upon themselves by being so secretive in the first place.

Then, ten days after the Reversal, it happened for the first time.

Peter had been dreaming about that day again. He went through the events relaxed and comfortable, like watching a favorite film for the tenth time, or like taking the backseat as his body took him on a wild but predictable rollercoaster ride. He saw himself notice the giant donut ship appear above Manhattan, saw Ned distracting everyone so he could go and help. Mr. Stark was already on the scene, because obviously he would be, fighting some Draconian rip-off from Dungeons and Dragons. Before they could finish the fight, though, Peter was told to save a wizard with a necklace (because D&D, why not).

He knew what would happen next. He got beamed up to the space ship. Mr. Stark got a bit mad. They saved the wizard. Mr. Stark made him an actual Avenger!! But then they crashed the ship, and met up with some dude from Missouri, a really scary antenna alien lady, and The Rock but with tattoos. Mr. Stark never quite explained why they needed to stop this guy called Thanos, but everyone knew it was for the good of the universe, and Peter gave it his all.

Peter liked these dreams. He was pretty cool in these dreams — he was brave, he fought hard, he saved people. He was the embodiment of what Spider-Man was supposed to be, through and through. He sat back and let the dream take him to the big fight, the one with everyone pinning the alien down and trying to take his gauntlet. They almost had it, but the dude from Missouri heard something about someone called Gamora, and everything went into chaos. Peter didn’t blame him, though — he knew he wouldn’t have kept his cool either, if he came face to face with Uncle Ben’s murderer.

He expected the dream to stop after that. They always did, and he’d always wake up, wanting to live in it for a while longer. So when it continued after Thanos disappeared in a portal, Peter was confused. He watched as the dream took him through brand new memories, of the moments after the battle; he was helping Mr. Stark get back up to his feet, they were taking stock of their options on the alien planet…

That was when he realized he was going to get his memories back, the rest of it, or however much he could take. He almost let out a whoop of delight.

Then the alien antenna woman disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Peter didn’t even have time to feel shock when, in barely ten seconds, The Rock and the dude both disappeared.

He didn’t even have time to notice the wizard disappearing.

Because he knew he was. He knew with every atom of his being, every hair telling him danger, danger, danger he was going to die, he was going to disappear, like everyone else, and he hadn’t even had time to call home to May to let her know he was okay, nor to respond to that kiss MJ had given him, and it was danger danger DANGER, and Peter didn’t know where he was going, it was dark and there was —

Oh, god. Oh no. Oh no, no, he could feel it, his fingertips, his body was trying to hold itself together, but he could feel the molecular structure of himself disintegrating, he wanted to fight it, he needed to fight it, he had to see his friends, he had to see May, he wanted to spend more time with Mr. Stark, he’d just become an Avenger for crying out loud, but it was massive, empty, abysmal, something like Hell made manifest and Peter didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to be alone —

Suddenly he was hugging Mr. Stark, just holding on to him like he was the last solid thing in the world, like he was the life line, the only hope — hanging on by the last thread. The man said something to him, and Peter begged, he begged, he didn’t want to go, he wanted to stay in a world where there were so many more things to do, stuff to talk about, cool things to invent…

And Mr. Stark held him, but Peter’s body couldn’t really register the man’s arms because his mind was still screaming danger, like the worst stomach flu and fever and headache all rolled into one. And the pain. Peter tried to hold onto Mr. Stark as tight as he could, but he felt every nerve fiber getting torn apart, and it was a billion times worse than when he fell off his bike and broke a bone, a million times worse than that time he got shot in the stomach… He saw the man trying to say something, felt his grip even though his senses were beginning to numb.

That was when Peter saw the fear, the helpless, horrifying terror in Mr. Stark’s eyes. And that was when he knew no one could ever save him. Not even Iron Man, the genius billionaire who always had a plan. Peter was alone. He would always be alone, he couldn’t save everyone and now he couldn’t be saved…

Peter’s vision was beginning to get blurry — he felt tiny, helpless, unable to do anything, like he had when Uncle Ben died in his arms, when he was crying and trying to staunch the flow of blood. He saw the familiar pitch black boiling below him like a tar pit of all the ugliest memories he ever had, and he tried, he really did, he fought so hard but he couldn’t get that gauntlet off in time and because of that he was going to disappear, disappear, disappear…

It was too much. Peter was exhausted. He couldn’t fight it anymore, the nightmare that had grabbed hold of his feet and was dragging him down, down to where no one will ever know or remember him. He should have done a better job. He wasn’t strong enough. Like that time on the ferry, like this time with the gauntlet — if only he’d been stronger. If only he’d thought things through more. He shouldn’t have made May worry. He shouldn’t have inconvenienced all his friends. He shouldn’t have thought he could possibly help Mr. Stark.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out. He wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. Maybe it was for not trying harder. Maybe it was for leaving the people he cared about before he was ready to leave them. Maybe it was for making Mr. Stark worried.

And if you died… I’d feel like that’s on me.

Ah, Peter thought. So that’s why he apologized. He looked at Mr. Stark and wanted to say more, to say it would never be his fault, to say it has been so much fun being Spider-Man, being Peter, with the greatest mentor he could ever hope to have helping him along the way.

Thank you, he wanted to say, but he never got the chance.

As his world disintegrated into ash, Peter Parker bolted upright in his bed.

————————————————————

He tried to hide the incident. The next morning, when May got him breakfast, he smiled and finished it and told her how good it was, but he had to use his other hand just to steady the fork.

The rest of the day he spent watching movies or reading the books MJ brought him. He tried his best to focus, but randomly, again and again, he would find himself back on that desolate planet, the roof and walls collapsing around him, dusted away, and he would be alone, fighting and kicking but still being dragged toward the ultimate doom, helpless.

And then he would snap out of it, panting, his clothes drenched in sweat, his knuckles white on the page. He felt awful because one of MJ’s books was ruined this way, the cover torn by his super strength.

“Peter?” May had asked, walking in at that moment. “Is everything okay?”

Peter smiled, hiding the book under his covers. “Yeah. Yeah. That smells delicious, by the way.”

May beamed. “It’s meatloaf day,” she said, setting the tray down. “Honey, are you sure you’re alright? You look pale.”

“Absolutely fine,” Peter said with forced joviality. “I’m getting better every day!”

He was lucky he didn’t have other visitors today, for it drained him to act. He managed to wolf down the lunch in record time, and convince May that he needed a nap. After she left, he went to the bathroom and threw everything up. He didn’t understand why it disturbed him so much. It’s all over, he told himself, splashing water on his face. All in the past.

When evening came, he told May he had to go to sleep early. It felt rotten to lie to her, but he had no choice. He didn’t know what to do, what was happening, and the last thing he wanted was for her to worry. He needed to be strong for her. He hugged her good night, and spent the next three hours curled up in his blankets, awake and shivering.

From that day forward, Peter became afraid to fall asleep.

[acertaincritic]

Oh. Fuck. Can I have a word or two with my brain?

Like look, there’s the thing - when I sleep, I want to fucking rest. Like. Darkness’s fine, half-lucid dreams are fine, some strange fanfic-like stories with my characters or even just characters from stories that I’ve read/watched recently, as long as they are light-hearted and generally in character, are even better than fine.

You know what’s not fine? Fucking grimdark is not fine. Fucking adult themes are not fine, and I don’t mean sex, I mean adult themes like growing old and dying, because that’s literally what the whole story was about.

Yes, it was a story, not a dream. I’ll tell you why.

The beginning was blurry, or shall I say the dreams don’t really have beginnings, you just feel like you’ve always been there in that setting. That’s super convenient because starting a book is hard, but let’s not digress.

So I was there, in a crypt, and so were three of my real-life friends. I don’t know why their appeared, usually I dream of fictional characters, and I’m generally bad at remembering and recognizing faces (there’s a mental condition like that, and I suspect I might have it). But this time they were there, in the grim dark crypt, and I was there too, but nobody was noticing me. This was also strange, because I usually dream 3rd person limited, so I’m like a camera that hangs above a character’s right shoulder and switches perspective from time to time. This time, it wasn’t like that - this time I felt I was there in a flesh, even if unnoticed, though the 3rd person limited thing did work momentarily, so I could fucking see myself. Like. With my hair down, in the stupid stark blue sweater that I usually only wear at home because it doesn’t look good. In case you wondered, here it is:

Sorry for the bad light, it’s already dark on this side of the planet (I hate winter, ehh).

Beside my friends and my ghost-like self, there was one more person in the dark-but-you-can-see-everything crypt - a ghoul. He looked like a middle-aged, sturdy man, except he had hardly any hair (the ones he had were thin, long and white), his skin was beyond pale, and his teeth and jaws were green-yellow and too pronounced (too long teeth, too often he kept his mouth open so one could see the dark spots on the tops of them etc.). Remember the no-face rule? Well, it didn’t apply to him either, his face was round and his eyes small and light blue, though I’ll damned to remember if this is the face of some Hollywood actor or a random stranger I passed by on a street (since apparently our brains can’t make up their own faces in our dreams), only with somewhat modified features.

Since the beginning was blurry (khe, khe, nonexistent) I wasn’t sure how my friends got there. But they were there, three young women, and the ghoul locked them down and threatened, and they thought they wouldn’t make it out alive. There wasn’t much details to it - it was more like a time-skip, where I knew it happened, but it wasn’t really shown (and seriously, thank my brain at least for that mercy). But at some point the ghoul decided that actually, he isn’t torturing my friends, he’s teaching them to become immortals like him. Even though there were thousands of bones - pieces of skulls, mostly - around, so you couldn’t take a step without one cracking under your feet, but nah. He’s teaching (turning?) them to be an immortal ghoul like him.

So he made them drink some strange water from the crypt. He burned their faces so that they would later heal the burns by passing their hands over it, and not even scars remained. One of them had lost her eyes, since he burned them out because she tried to run and almost succeeded (it had to have happened in the skipped part, but I knew). So now he taught her to grew them back and she could see again. And generally, pain being pain, but my friends seemed to warm up to the guy, since you know. Immortality.

It was when I decided to reveal myself. As in, appear before them, so suddenly all four could see me. They freaked out at first, since what the hell, am I a ghost, and the ghoul was like, “Nah, there are no ghosts, she’s gotta be mortal.” But generally my friends were happy to see me and the ghoul didn’t attack me, though he looked less than pleased, and I had an opportunity to talk.

So I was like, immortality? Endless wound regeneration without any scars? Wow, that’s wonderful! It’s a little strange that the ghoul looks like he looks, I said, but he was like, you stop caring after a few hundred years, and besides, some things went wrong with me, it doesn’t have to be the same for my friends.

So I was like, well, that’s super cool then, and besides, even if they were to look less pretty, who cares if they can be immortal? And I turned to my friends and I said that once they do fully become ghouls (they were kinda midway), they should certainly go out and teach (turn?) other people too, because it’s terrible that so many people die every minute, and even if they couldn’t save the entire 8 billion (I’m not sure if the world’s population is 8 billion already, but it was the number I said), then even if they only teach a few, if those few also started teaching, the number of ghoul teachers would grow exponentially, so they should turn the entire world in a relatively short time. I also added that they could wait for people to become adult before turning them and letting those who want to have kids have kids, if that’s even a problem, because I wasn’t sure if ghouls can’t have children who would be like, normal human children.

And my friends started to agree, because well, why not, what else are they going to do once they are immortal, and besides, they have other friends and family, they would like to keep at least them. However, as I talked, the ghoul grew more and more irritable, he was like, frowning and glaring at me, and when I finished he snapped that they can’t do it, they can’t turn the entire world, that’s a silly idea. That they can teach me, if they want, since I’m their friend, but they can’t go out in the open, not any more.

I was like, why? If that’s so wonderful, why doesn’t he want more people to become ghouls? It wasn’t like the water was exclusive to the crypt (apparently it was made from ordinary water + some kind of transparent substance that the ghoul could secrete from his fingers at will, and I knew it because reasons). He snarled that I only just wanted to be immortal myself, and that’s fine, he already said that they can teach me, but don’t bring the entire world into it, they aren’t heroes.

And shoot me, I did want to be immortal (who wouldn’t?) but I said to him that it doesn’t matter if I’m going to become a ghoul or not, because this all is going to end in a couple of hours (apparently dreams only last minutes rl, but I said hours, and it sure felt as if a long time had passed already), and it’s not like the immortality will transfer back, but for all the people from their world it could work, so why is he so selfish that he doesn’t want to do a bit more work to save them?

He lunged me at that and grabbed my throat, and then the 3rd person narrator thingy kicked back in, so good news, I didn’t feel the ghoul choking me, but bad news, I could see him doing it. The same me in the same stupid sweater, which was super bright in the generally grim and gray crypt (my friends all three wore dark clothes for some reason). The ghoul held me up so my legs didn’t touch the floor, and I was clawing at his hands. Again, I didn’t feel it, but when I spoke, the me being choked also spoke, and I literally said, “I’m not even a character from this book”.

I bailed out at that moment, which looked like, my form grew transparent and kinda larger, and then vanished altogether, and I woke up sitting somewhere dark. To be clear I did not wake up for real, I was still dreaming, and I couldn’t even see my surroundings. One thing I knew, I had to go back, like fuck was I going to leave my friends with that dude (yeah, I knew that it was a dream/story, but somehow I assumed my friends are really there, or at least versions of them).

So I dived back in, which was super bizarre, because I saw myself from an outside perspective (with the stupid sweater, ghh) kinda walking out from the wall and becoming less and less transparent until I was material and seeing things from my own eyes again. My friends were alone in the crypt, and when I asked them what happened, they said that Mr. Ghoul stormed out as soon as I vanished last time, and they didn’t see him since, but apparently he was visiting some graves (no idea how they knew that if they didn’t see him, but I didn’t question). So a few days passed in-story while I was out for maybe a minute.

The ghoul soon returned, and he went into his room and I followed him. There was a picture on a shelf with some female figure drawn as if by a child (not a terrible drawing, but without any details, with green earth, blue sky and the woman being like a black figure in a dress). Looking at it, the ghoul broke into a long rant that I was right, that it should only be him and no one else, that he was selfish teaching my three friends in the first place, and that he will stop, because it’s not too late for them yet as it is too late for him. I was like, super confused because that was the opposite of what I had said, but at the same time it made sense that this immortality would have some terrible price, so I was like, OK, I’ll help him stop it, what should I do? He said I had to go fetch something (it wasn’t specified what or I forget), and that I had to do it fast.

I went out from his room after he finished, decided to act fast, but I stumbled upon two of my three friends. I told them what I was about to do, and they said that it’s fine with them and that they felt it can’t be so good, but that the third of them - the same one that had got her eyes burned out for attempting to run away at the beginning - was not OK, she apparently panicked and wanted to become immortal regardless of anything else and left, and “You know how she is”. I was like, right, if it’s her, then talking her into changing her mind once she’s set on something is very difficult and there’s no time, we’ll have to put her before the deed done, even if she will hate me for it.

So I headed for the stairs that led out of the crypt, and it turned out the third of my friends was up there, and she was trying to block the entrance so I couldn’t leave, tossing down stones and such. However, since I wasn’t ‘a character from the book’, I could simply pass by them somehow, not sure if I was avoiding or literally passing through like a ghost. At any rate, she couldn’t stop me, and I was out on the parking lot. I had to hurry, but there was my mother’s car standing there for some reason, and I apparently had the keys, or at least I could drive it. The third of my friends again tried to stop me by blocking the car’s way, and this time I had to be more careful since the car was ‘real’, but I managed to steer around her and soon I was pulling up by a hospital.

There was some skipping there, as I suddenly was back before the crypt with the McGuffin (I’m still not sure what it was, but I was sure that I had all I needed), and one of my friends came out alarmed, saying that the third friend (sorry, I’m not going to use their names) went crazy and that she’s trying to bury the place so that the ghoul has to teach her or else she’ll die. And she was nearly done, pulling at some wooden beam, so it came down to talking her out of it.

So the other friend begged her not to do it, but she didn’t care, she said the two of them can go, but she would stay. So it was my turn, and I told her that the price for being a ghoul is that when you finally die, you die for good, there’s no soul left after you. I told her that she might not want to believe it because she’s not a Christian, but that’s what Mr. Ghoul told me (when? dunno), and that I wouldn’t lie to her (I really wasn’t lying, I just don’t know how I knew it, but well, plot holes). So she was like, so what, who cares about their soul if they can eternally live on earth.

I told her that she can’t, that even if she regenerates, the Sun will eventually explode and swallow the Earth, and even if the humans were to make colonies in space before that, then the universe will spread so far and it’ll pull at the atoms so that it’ll literally rip the all matter apart, and that she surely cannot survive. That even if not in one hundred years, and not even in one billion years, in the end, she would die. Then she cried that I don’t understand because I’m not even from there and that I’ll live on even after she dies (? that’s what she said, don’t ask me), and I said that it’s not true, that I’m growing old too, and it’s even worse for me, because I do want to have kids so my biological clock is ticking already even though I have no prospects on finding anyone. I said that birth, growing up, maturation are all parts of life, true, but does she know what else is a part of life? Adulthood, old age, and death, and that everybody goes through it, there’s no choice, and we’re all in this together, so why would she want to bury herself alone like that guy? And she was wavering and going to reach out, I could sense it.

Then my alarm clock went off. And at first I was shook, and then I was so, so fucking angry. Because first, my brain has no right to do such things to my friends, and second, this is not what I want to see when I’m resting. Like. Fuck it.

So yeah, as you see, I could very well turn this into a pretty coherent story. Write it properly, fill in the skips and the plot holes, and maybe it wouldn’t be a book, but something like a 20k-word-long tale? It took me two hours to write this all down and dreams really last only a few minutes rl, and I have no words left to say now beyond well, again. Fuck it.

[mistymoonstorm]

GMS Fanfiction - Sherlock/MC - Meeting

Partly due to a spell of writer’s block - and partly because I wanted to XD - I took a story prompt from @jane-runs-fast, so this is for you! The prompt is Sherlock meeting the MC from his point of view.

Sorry for the wait, and sorry for the fact that it might be a little boring. As this is a rewrite, I had to borrow a bunch of dialogue from the prologue to keep it consistent, so none of the dialogue here is mine, even if I may have tweaked a little bit. Enjoy!

Sherlock didn’t hear the door start to open, nor Mikah’s excited greeting in return to whomever had come to visit. He was lost in his mind, the conversation between John and Lestrade as they droned on about some boring, uninteresting case merely white noise in the backdrop. Easily ignored.

The most recent episode of ‘The Midfall Murders’ was flashing through his thoughts, tiny scenes and details picked clean of all they could offer him. He often did this while waiting for the next plotline to analyze, lest he be driven to other, less harmless activities to keep him occupied.

Such as firing rounds at the wall, even if Mikah had turned a rather peculiar shade of red the last time he’d done so.

A soft feminine voice sounded over the banister near the entrance to the hall, drawing him from his reverie. Sherlock turned his head slowly. Something was familiar.

“He’s just in here-” Mikah was saying, as the boy’s golden head came into view.

“Stop right there,” said Sherlock, glancing at him sharply. There was a woman behind him, her face mostly concealed by shadows cast from the window. From her posture, he would guess she was- “A flight attendant? No. An actress, since childhood.”

“Don’t change the subject, Sherlock!” growled Lestrade. “John, this is your fault. You’re supposed to keep an eye on him, aren’t you?”

“George,” began John coolly. He sighed. “I’m not Sherlock’s mother. Or his father, obviously. And even if I did keep an eye on him, Sherlock will always be Sherlock. Even the Queen herself couldn’t control him.”

As they were speaking, Irene leaped down from where she’d been lying in Mikah’s arms, darting across the rug. Her tail flicked, irritable from the commotion.

The mystery woman cleared her throat. “Um, they look kind of busy. Maybe I’d better come back another time..“

Mikah half-turned to smile at her. “Don’t worry. They’re always like this.” After he was finished speaking, he moved further into the room. “Alright, guys. No more arguing. We have a guest.” He made a motion to the woman, who hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the light.

Sherlock felt his mind come to a screeching halt, leaving him with a jarring moment of silence where nothing was thought or deduced. Flaxen hair. Amber eyes. Features he recognized even now that his brilliance was failing him.

Guinevere Stark stood in his apartment, lingering somewhat awkwardly near the door even if her squared shoulders warned of confident determination. She wore a faint, nervous smile as she looked briefly over them, as if she’d come here without prior knowledge of what to expect.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice, clear and unobstructed by walls, sent Sherlock further into his spiral.

John held his hand out to her, smiling calmly. “Nice to meet you. I’m John H Watson. Feel free to call me John.” Judging by the look on his face, John already liked what he saw. A muscle in Sherlock’s jaw ticked, but try as he may, he couldn’t manage to do anything but stare.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you John. I believe I’ve read that you’re Mr. Holmes’ assistant?” she asked, shaking his hand.

John’s answering smile was wry. “I suppose so. I’m actually a doctor, but no one seems to know me as that anymore.”

Lestrade offered his hand next. “George Lestrade.”

“He doesn’t look it, but he’s actually a police inspector at Scotland Yard,” said John amusedly.

Lestrade eyed him grumpily, too used to the barbs to get truly angry. “You could have left that part out.”

Guinevere just smiled, shaking his hand as well. “It’s nice to meet you, Inspector Lestrade.”

Her eyes flicked to Sherlock. Almost unconsciously, he sat up a little straighter, his heart squeezing. He was largely unfamiliar with the emotions that ran through him as their gazes met, but they were not unpleasant by any definition of the word.

“By the way,” said Lestrade thoughtfully, breaking their stare. Annoyance washed through Sherlock, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. “Pardon my asking, but have we met before?”

John shook his head, exasperated. “George. That’s a little rude. Honestly, everyone sees where you’re trying to take this.”

Mikah was quick to nod his agreement. “Yeah. That’s a pretty old pick-up line, huh?”

Lestrade floundered, ears reddening. “W-wait! No! I wasn’t trying to come on to her! I really have seen her somewhere before!”

John glanced back to Guinevere. Comprehension lit his eyes. “..Hold on. Now that you mention it, I think I have seen her somewhere.”

Guinevere’s lips twitched. She was obviously used to this. “That’s probably because I’m-”

Sherlock’s brain finally snapped back to life, running a million miles a minute. He had so much he wanted to say, to ask. Before his conscious could catch up, his mouth was already moving. “So you’ve come to hire me? If it turns out to be a boring assignment, I’ll be quite upset.” His tone was frosty, his words biting.

He immediately wanted to take it back, but could not. So he continued.

Sherlock rose from his chair, striding briskly to where Guinevere stood, stiff with shock. “Let us review. You’re an actress. You started acting as a child, and now you’re preparing for your first lead role. You don’t have any fans who present you with money or gifts.”

Lestrade watched them quietly. “An actress? You were saying something about that before she showed up here, weren’t you?”

But Sherlock wasn’t listening. His focus was on Guinevere, on the shifting emotions she was displaying.

He saw her surprise fade into confusion, then understanding. She had clearly settled on the fact that he must know her purely from the television. She was wrong.

“After rehearsal, you came straight here-” He cut himself off, cocking his head. “No. You stopped by a cafe.”

“Aha!” exclaimed John from the other side of the room. “I’m sure I’ve seen her before. She’s-”

“You had cinnamon tea at Lucci & Mason,” said Sherlock. The scent of the spice clung to her, however indistinct. “And you’re also the one who figured out the answer to that quiz I gave Mikah, aren’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question. He knew the answer.

“Aww.” Mikah sighed. “So you figured out I wasn’t the one who solved it. I knew you would.“

Sherlock continued to observe Guinevere’s changing expressions, unconcerned by the growing chaos from the others. She was staring at him, eyes wide.

Then she was beaming up at him, brighter than the sun. “Amazing! You’re just as good as they say in the newspapers, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

Heat rose in Sherlock’s chest and drifted up his throat towards his ears. “Better, actually,” he said, using his most indifferent tone in an attempt to combat the flush he felt creeping on him from her praise.

John was still excited about his ‘discovery’ behind them, trying to catch Sherlock’s attention. “Listen, Sherlock! She was in-”

“Mikah,” said Sherlock, his eyes still on Guinevere. “Get Ms. Stark some tea.”

Mikah frowned hard at him. “I don’t mind getting tea, Sherlock. But how many times do I have to tell you to not shoot your gun at the wall?” He gestured pointedly to the pattern of holes in question. “If the wall ends up crumbling, I’m not going to just send you a repair bill. I’m going to have you build me an entirely new house.”

Sherlock didn’t spare him a glance. “I’m always careful to not let that happen when I shoot.”

John was already shaking his head. “You have the patience of a saint, Mikah.”

“You’re too patient!” protested Lestrade. “Every time he’s bored, he shoots off that gun, and guess who has to respond to the calls? Think about what that’s like for me!”

This time, Sherlock did look at them, though there was no apology for them on his tongue. “All I’m doing is having a little fun to stave off the boredom, yet every time I do you come barging in here. Think about what that’s like for me, Lestrade.”

Lestrade’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?!”

Guinevere just stared, unsure what to say.

John took pity on her, touching her arm lightly and leading her towards the couch. “Don’t worry. They’ll stop soon. Just have a seat over here, Guinevere.”

She smiled, though her eyes were still troubled. “Thank you.”

Mikah was already disappearing into the kitchen. “I’ll get some tea!”

“Just how many shots have you fired into this wall? The holes seem to spell out letters,” Lestrade was saying, squinting at the pattern.

Sherlock regarded him with disdain. “They’re initials. H.L.”

Lestrade blinked. “Whose initials?”

“Yours. Harold Lestrade.”

Lestrade’s face went crimson. “My name is GEORGE! You should know that by now!”

Sherlock waved him off, apathy returning now that his moment of weakness was cooling. “I use every last bit of my brain’s processing power, so I always delete unnecessary information from my internal memory.”

It made perfect sense to him, but Lestrade apparently thought otherwise. “Are you saying my name is unnecessary information?!”

Sherlock ignored his outrage, sitting back down in his chair just as Irene hopped onto the arm. He stroked her absentmindedly beneath the chin.

“This is a surprise,” John said to Guinevere, smiling. “I never expected you to show up here. To tell you the truth, Sherlock is a big fan of ‘The Mid-’”

“She has good posture, and from her movements, the way she walks and the clarity of her voice, I can tell she’s had formal training in each,” interrupted Sherlock, as he returned to studying her.

“Hey, Sherlock.” John frowned at him. “I’m talking to her right-”

“She’s with three men she’s never met before, and yet the smile on her face is very natural, not timid or nervous. She’s used to having all sorts of people she doesn’t know look at her.”

“So you’re telling me to shut up then? Alright. I’ll shut up.”

“When she breathes, she doesn’t raise her shoulders or chest. That’s because she learned to breathe from the abdomen when she was a child. In other words, she’s been acting since she was a child. For the most part, she’s not wearing brand-name clothing, and her jewelry has been passed down from her mother. So she doesn’t have any fans giving her money or gifts.” He paused as understanding dawned on her face. She’d figured out that he was explaining for her benefit. “A script is visible within her bag. It’s too early for her to be coming back from a performance. She’s on her way back from a rehearsal. Judging by how worn out that script is, and the number of pages you have labeled as well as their distribution throughout the book, you’re playing a major role. The title of your play is written on the spine of the script. In that particular play, the only major role played by a young woman is the female lead - the heroine. So you’re new to major roles, and they have high hopes for you.”

“A moment ago you were saying that I drank cinnamon tea at Lucci & Mason’s,” said Guinevere. She gazed at him curiously. “Could you tell that just by looking at me?”

“No,” replied Sherlock evenly. “Your fingertips give off a faint aroma of cinnamon. That’s because just earlier you were stirring tea with a cinnamon stick. The only place in London that serves Ceylon cinnamon from Sri Lanka is Lucci & Mason.”

Though he did not usually feel pride from his deductions, he felt it now, blossoming in his chest as Guinevere smiled.

“Okay then. How did you know I solved that quiz you gave Mikah?”

“Mikah always passes by Lucci & Mason when he takes his walk, and rushes when presented with a deadline, so his judgement is not always what it would otherwise be. It was a simple quiz, but I did not expect him to bring me the solution before time was up. And yet he did. Mikah is friendly by nature, but the tone he used with you showed that he liked and felt gratitude towards you. This is because he met you on the road, and you told him the answer to his quiz. And there you have it.”

“I guess I did make the right choice in coming to you for this, Mr. Holmes.” She was still smiling, but unlike those she had shared earlier, this one was tinged with relief.

Though his mind was quickly processing this new development, Sherlock’s face did not change. “And you’re just now realizing that?”

John quickly stepped in, grinning. “What he means to say is that he’s glad you think so.”

Guinevere laughed. “It’s okay, John. It doesn’t bother me.”

“So she’s a saint, then,” said Lestrade, blinking. “She’s too good to be your client, Sherlock.”

“Quiet.”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered sarcastically.

“I’m done with my little show,” Sherlock said, once again addressing Guinevere. “I’ve shown you what I can do, now it’s your turn to talk, Ms. Stark. I hope your request won’t be one I find boring.”

It was a bluff, of course, even if he refused to actually admit it. He would take any case that came from her, regardless of its actual level of mystery.

End