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alpines-bucky · 3 years

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No one said Starks weren't a little dramatic

This is the first time I write Tony x daughter reader I hope you guys like it :)

Word Count: 2319 ( Things got a bit out of my hands while I was editing and eventhough it's edited I can't promise that there aren't any typos and I dtill wasn't satisfied with what I wrote but 🤷‍♀️Ig )

Warnings: Major character death, a lot of angst

Y/N loses her dad when he decides to save the universe with a snap of his fingers but when did anyone see a Stark not getting what they want? Let me answer for you, Never. ( AKA Y/N gambles with time and space and universes surprisingly there isn't any VA involved cause in my opinion they suck to save her dad but apparently there are always consequences)

Y/N had arrived at her destination albeit being a little late. She wanted to be there when the team tried to go back in time to get the Stones in hopes of saving aunt Tasha too but she had one and only shot at this so she had to make do with what she had. What she didn’t realise was she accidentally changed universes instead of going back in time.

The way she found out that the place she had arrived wasn’t when or where she intented to was Morgan, the little girl with big Brown eyes who had total control over her older sister the second they met. Y/N had to lay low and do her research before approaching them. But when she heard about Morgan she had to meet her before doing what she came to do. And that’s exactly what she did.

She found Morgan in a house by the lake with a woman who she assumed was Pepper.Her visit was short since she couldn’t afford getting caught by Pepper which would mean jeopardising the whole plan she had spent months making. She left a message for her dad before going off to save the man itself.

Her dad was fighting with Thanos when she arrived to the scene. The more she looked around the more it looked like the place she fought along with her dad and that meant one thing, she had to act quick.

‘’I am inevitable’’ Thanos said as he snapped his finger but nothing happened. Confused, he looked at his gauntlet to find that the Stones that were there a minute ago were no longer in their places. He looked around to see that Tony had them somehow.

‘’And I’m Iron Man’’ said Tony full of emotions as he was about to snap his fingers. He thought having all six Stones in his hands would kill him being a mortal and he was fine with it if that meant she could ensure his family’s security but he felt nothing. He thought he had died instantly but he found out that wasn’t the case when he got startled by an unknown voice.

‘’Oh, the hell with that!’’ said a girl who wore a similar suit to Tony’s. She seemed to appear out of nowhere. Which confused both man further.

‘’Who the hell are you?’’ asked Tony. Who the hell was mad enough decided to mess up the only chance of him stopping the big purple psycho of a man.

‘’Who do you think?’’ said the girl, winking at him confidentally but her eyes told a different story. There was sadness in them, grief and loss but it seemed like she was happy at the same time.What surprised him was the familiarity she carried but he couldn’t put his finger on it. So he searched her suit for some clues which led up to him finding the Stones. She was the reason he was not dead, she somehow got possession of the Stones.

‘’Kid, no!’’ yelled Tony. He attempted to get closer to her but she snapped her fingers before he could stop her. Everything stilled for a second. The other avengers thought Tony had done it as Thanos’ soldiers had started to turn to dust all of a sudden but when they found a girl that they’ve never seen before in the arms of Tony with fetal injuries they were puzzled. They gathered around Tony and the girl who struggled tos tay alive.

‘’I made it! I… I saved you, Dad.’’Tony was shocked at her words. He was processing what he heard as Pepper landed next to them and kneeled. They couldn’t Wrap their heads around what was happening but they both were not going to let a dying kid down for sure.

She had a difficulty breathing, she was in agonizing pain but she had a peaceful smile on her face. She tried to lift her hand but it pained her more, she whimpered. Tony sensed her intentions and put her hand on his cheek for her. He put his hand on top of her, gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘’Friday, what do we have?’’ asked Tony.

‘’3 to 4 degree burns from her right hand up to her face. Internal bleeding. Her lungs are collapsing... Life functions critical.’’ Answered the voice from both of the suits. Pepper grimaced, she didn’t know who this girl was but she had sacrificed herself for Tony, the man she referred ‘dad’. ‘’Who are you?’’ asked Pepper.

‘’I’m–‘’ she coughed, blood was pooling in her mouth. ‘’I’m surprised you couldn’t figure it out yet…’’ she let out a bloody laugh. ‘’I’m Y/N. Y/N Stark.’’ She said with her last breath. That shook the whole group to their cores. The girl wasn’t lying or confusing Tony with someone else. The girl who lied in his Tony’s arms nonbreathing was infact the daughter of Tony Stark. From the moment they realised the truth everything was a blur to the Stark Family and the avengers.

Y/N was Tony’s first daughter who had died in a cross fire 7 years ago. She was a teenager at the time. She would have been a few years older than Peter if she had lived. It was a wrong place wrong time type of situation, she had died on the scene. Tony had nightmares after that, his insomnia got worse. He had blamed himself although it had nothing to do with him. The guilt ate him alive day by day. He realised why the girl’s eyes were so familiar to him now, she was his Y/N/N. A grown, older version of her, but his Y/N nontheless.

He didn’t think he could recover from her death but losing her, seeing her die in his arms for the second time ruined him. He had no idea what was happening outside of his head, he was in a trance, he had stayed still looking at his hands where Y/N laid. Until his little girl, Morgan came up to him with a disk in hand and said ‘’Daddy! Daddy! A girl called Y/N wanted me to give this to you’’ That got everyone’s attention.

Tony told Friday to scan the disk and display whatever is in it. When he saw Y/N in front of her, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling and when she started speaking as if she could see her Tony lost it. He couldn’t hear her because of his own sobs, he didn’t even realised the rest of the avengers and his wife as they piled in the room when they heard Tony and Y/N’s voice. He had to stop the hologram a few times to gather himself. When he got control of his breathing, he built up his courage and displayed it all over again.

‘’Hey dad. I’m assuming since you are watching this I suceed. I’ve saved you.’’ She had to stop for a second to take a breath in to compose herself. ‘This time’ she said under her breath but Friday caught it.

‘’You are wondering how the hell I am alive. Well… For starters, I didn’t know that I was dead in this world which… makes you realise that I’m not from this world. I’m actually from what you call an alternative universe. Things got out of hand in my universe after… after you… Oh shit! This is too hard. I knew I couldn’t do this shit! I can’t even talk to my own god damn suit picturing it as my hypothetical dad without messing it up’’ that made a few people chuckle and a few others tos mile. The girl really was his father’s child after all.

‘’Okay I’m hoping you either won’t have to watch this or I can cut that part before giving it to Morgan. Anyways, I’m rambling.’’ Tony saw his younger self in Y/N which put a sad smile to his face. This was something he never got to experience before. To see her this grown up. To see a pieces of him in her.

‘’ So things went down hill after you did the whole ‘I’m Iron Man’ thing –which by the way I’m still mad at you about- You… You died in my hands, dad.’’ She gulped. She had begun crying a while ago but now that she was talking about her dad’s death, she felt like the lump in her throat got bigger and bigger, suffocating her. ‘’ I was all alone for years! You were all I had and then within a second you were gone! I didn’t have anyone else!’’ She tried to calm herself. She wasn’t recording this to make him feel guilty or get answers she was possibly never going to hear. This was a goodbye. A goodbye she knew he deserved just like how she did from him.

‘’That’s why I made the decision to change it but I accidentally changed universes instead of going back in time. But this was my only chance, only shot at making it right. And then I found out that I had died in this universe and you had moved on. Good for you, dad. I’m really proud of you. You did what I couldn’t. It was a relief to know that you were happy and that you had a family now. I thought for a second that maybe the blip didn’t happen. That in this universe, you had a lovely life and I thought for a second maybe I could be in it too. Stay with you but that hope was shortly lived.’’ She gave a sad smile.

‘’And now I’m about to go to the battle field. Before I go, I have to say, I don’t know how if there is any way for me to stop you. I can’t take it all back but I will do anything to not let another girl grow up without her dad. And I ain’t going to let my own sister down. Oh, did you know that I always wanted a sister?’’ she chuckled making Tony’s heart warm. It has been so long since he heard his daughter chuckle the damn way he does. She stopped for a second to think ‘’Well, she has the Stark charm, that’s for sure. I only knew her for a few hours and she had me the second we met. I wish I could be there for her as her older sister. I would give anything to see her grow up but if that has to be for only one of us to see, I’d rather that be you because I’ve been there. I know how hard it is to lose your dad. I could see clearly what she would have to go through and the moment I realised that I knew what I had to do. I would stop you at all costs and since this reacording is being played I could sleep peacefully knowing she has you.’’ She smiled with tears escaping her eyes once again. Tony was full of emotions. His daughter he has been longing for years was right in front of him but way too far away at the same time.

With a sigh she started ‘’ You have people you can hold on to. I never did. Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, the spider kid... Hold on to them Tony. Hold on to the team. Oh, speaking of the team, tell them I love them and I missed them so badly. I’m sorry. I thought I was going to have more time to talk And maybe if a miracle happens and we all can manage to stay alive I could tell you all about it but I have to go now. Have an old man to save’’ She saluted and looked around right where the broken team of Avengers were with longing in her eyes. She moved closer to the disk to cut the recording but decided against it the last second. Tony hung his head, his heart broke to hear the hope in her voice when he knew what already happened. He thought this was the end of the recording but he looked up when he heard her talking and she had turned to him and looked right at him as if she knew where he was stated. That sent shivers up Tony’s spine.

‘’I know you think I made the wrong decision but I saved you. I refuse to let you down once again. I refuse to see you die in front of me once again. I’m not sorry for what I’m about to do, I knew the consequences when I made this plan months ago. I’m only sorry because although I tried so much to have the future we always talked about with you, I won’t be able to, Tones. But Morgan will be. And I would give up anything for that little girl. And for you.’’ She said as she caressed the necklace Tony gave her when she was a child. She took the chain out of her neck and put it somewhere Tony couldn’t see. And Tony knew this was only a tape but he tried to hold on to his daughter, to stop her from going out there. His breath caught in his throat when his hands went through Y/N’s body. He fell to his knees.

‘’ But hey if it turns out that I, this badass manage to get both of us home in one peace one we can laugh our asses off as we watch me being the drama queen that I am… Well, no one said Starks weren’t a bit dramatic.’’ The heart Tony thought had broken to a million pieces broke further as he heard the tremble in her voice as she tried to put her brave face on. But she couldn’t hide it when one last tear escaped from her slightly swollen eyes as she ended the recording.

Why do I never have good endings? Cause I write in the middle of the night when I feel sad most of the time and it's easier to write sad than it is to write happy.

I hope you liked it. I would love to hear your thoughts on this one. I'd also like to discuss if you'd like the alternative ending that could be a happy one :)

#avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #avengers endgame #tony x daughter!reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fanfic #tony fanfiction #tony fanfic #stark reader #tony x reader #tony x you #tony x y/n #tony stark #avenger reader #avengers fic #marvel fic

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ptergwen · 3 years

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web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

if i forgot you please lmk!

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #spiderman #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic

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leetotters · 3 years

Note

could you do a peter parker x reader where she can control her hair? and it can be any length she wants but prefers the length mid thigh and its and its unbreakable? so like fury asks if anyone in the team knows anyone they could recruit and he suggests her and all the avengers go meet her at a tailors shop she owns while she's cleaning and she shows her powers? please and if you do it, thank you

note: i hope you meant the powers to be reader's hair bc that's what i used it as lmao. also i used the gif because this is kinda how rocket got smacked with your hair. thank you for requesting<3

warnings: kissing, curse words

peter parker x reader

summary: something like request^

The swooshing of the broom and the melody of a random song played through the speakers of your tailor shop while you swept the floor. The small lengths of wool and silk thread tangling on the broom bristles as you scooped it up. The racks and unwanted pieces of cloth laid on the marble floor making you let out a sigh of exhaustion.

A knock on your glass showcase window made you jump. The movement making your hair disentangle from the neat twist plait. You lowly cursed as your hair touched the floor, the belly laugh behind the window noted you that your bestfriend was the person responsible for your little mishap.

"Couldn't you ring the bell like a normal person!" You annoyingly exclaimed, closing your eyes and controlling your hair to stop at mid-thigh length. Your preferred length. You picked your broom up and teasingly shook your head when Peter told you open the door. "I think I'm gonna leave you outside tonight, just for scarring the life out of me and my hair."

You resumed your previous activity, counting the numbers in your head until you heard the lock on your ceiling window open. The sound of Peter's displeased voice and childish complains filling your storage room.

"Can't keep me outside Y/L/N, I'll always find a way." He proudly dusted his shirt, taking the scoop from your hand while you grabbed the racks and placed them in your extra closet.

"Thanks to your super spidey powers." You teased, thanking him when he returned the dustpan. "Anyway, why are you here?" You inquired, curious why your best friend decided to stop by your little, tailor shop.

"Well I- wait," Peter scrunched his brows. "Can I not drop by to visit my bestfriend?" He sassed, hand on his hip giving you a quizzing look.

"Oh please Peter, you only stop by when you need something." You remarked, returning a pointed stare before you began to reorganize the formal wear you were currently adapting. "And that something is usually to stitch those huge ass holes in your spidey suit."

Peter didn't respond immediately, because you were right. He did stop by your shop for you to mend his suit. Because one, he loved your company. And two, you were the only person who knew his secret other than the avengers, Ned and MJ.

"Fine! fine!," He huffed. Not so discreetly looking over his shoulder as if he was giving someone a signal. "You're right-"

"I always am Parker." You boasted, using the ends of your hair to move the sewing machine and pins to there rightful place.

"Yeah- okay, but I really came to tell you life changing news!" Peter amazed, a gasp leaving his lips when he saw the movement of your hair. It never ceased to amaze him how your hair was basically magical. Being able to move stuff with your command, grow at whatever length you wanted, heal others and even be unbreakable. Epic, really.

"And what is this so great news-"

The words didn't leave your lips properly as your tailor shop entry door was suddenly yanked open. Your door handle and lock was surely broken, at the loud eerie sound of a metal crunching noise.

"Get out of my way Tony!" Stephen scowled.

"Shut it wizard dude, I'm the leader here not you." Tony rolled his eyes, removing the pair of expensive shades from his face.

"Since when? Fury sent all of us Tony." Rhodey said, dusting his shoulder.

"I wonder how much she makes in this shop, not much I bet." Steve scrunched his face, eyeing your little shop.

"Did we really have to bring Groot?" Clint groaned, flicking baby Groot off of his shoulder when he tried to grab one of his arrows.

"He's a baby, Clint. We can't leave him at the compound alone." Gamora remarked, tickling Groot's tree stomach as she picked him up.

"Okay if she does joins us, we will have to ask her to design new clothing! Look at this!." Wanda marveled, showing off the mid thigh silk dress.

"I should get this for the recruiting party Tony is planning for her." Natasha thought out loud.

"What the fuck!" You yelled, glaring at the talkative avengers standing before you. Looking mighty and high as always. "I just fixed that lock dude!" You whined, sighing gallingly when you saw the chunk of metal by Thor's feet. "You're repairing my lock, hammer man."

"Ah yes, I will have the Man of Iron restore your brittle lock Lady.."

"Y/N."

"Lady Y/N." Thor smiled.

Peter let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his ear and looking at you sheepishly. "Surprise?"

"Surprise my ass Parker! Why are the avengers in my tailor shop and why is this raccoon trying to cut my hair?!" You moved your hair with your mind, smacking the animal avenger with your y/h/c locks.

"Woah, did she just-" Bucky froze, mouth agape.

"Control her hair to hit Rocket, yeah." Peter Quill laughed at his co guardian misfortune.

"Okay her hair is very much un- unbreakable," Rocket coughed out, holding his stomach. "And strong."

"I am Groot." ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵈᵃˢˢ

"You can not say that word Groot, but I do agree with you." Gamora smirked, finger bumping the cute tree.

You were mad, really fuming. You spent two hours cleaning and by the looks of it you'll have to do it a second time. So yeah, you wanted an explanation.

"Okay don't get upset." Peter spoke calmly. Holding his hand out and gesturing towards the superheroes infront of you, who had the same impressed expression on their fanciable faces.

"This is the life changing thing I was talking about," He paused with a smile. "You're joining the Avengers!"

"What?" You were officially bamboozled, with everything. One minute you were simply tidying your shop and next, half of the avengers are occupying your shop. Quarreling and interfering with your stuff.

And not to ignore the fact that your best friend just blurted out four questionable words to you.

"You're going to be an Avenger, Rapunzel." Tony repeated, strutting to you with short steps. "If you want to of course, sidey here told us your hair power thingy and though I was a little iffy about it at the beginning, it looks like your power is truly powerful." Tony patted your shoulder. Looking over at Rocket, who was being assisted by Drax.

"As much as I would like to say it's an honor to be in your presence," You said. Controlling your hair to grow back at mid-thigh. "Why?" You faced Peter, inquiring him with the plain word.

Peter shrugged, giving you a bashful look. "Fury asked if we knew anyone who could be recruited, and without thought I suggested you." He sighed, feeling completely awful for the situation he put you in.

"And I know, I should've asked you first but I know how much you adore helping others and the money here isn't enough for your college tuition Y/N." Peter ignored the awkward silence in the room that was loud seconds ago before continuing. "I thought this would be a way to assist you."

You physically softened at his words. He was too kind and caring for his own good. You could never be upset with this idiot boy.

"I'm sorry-"

Peter didn't finish. His apology was muffled by your lips pressed deeply to his frowny pink ones. He was slighty awestruck, the feeling of your lips were breathtaking. He swore he could kiss you forever. His hands found your waist pulling you in closer, even including a little tongue movement inside your mouth.

As if reality kicked in, a teasing 'ohhh' sound came from a few avengers. Causing you to shyly pull away from Peter, who loudly groaned at the lost contact of your plump lips.

"Looks like Spidey is getting a little too handsy." Sam quipped, chuckling when Peter told him to shut it and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

"So is this a yes?" Peter hopefully asked.

You feigned ponder. "Yes."

Peter pecked your lips, mumbling a short 'yay' attempting to deepen the kiss.

"That's enough smooching spiderling." Steve uttered, obviously not enjoying the PDA.

A beeping sound came from Tony's watch altering the team about an upcoming mission.

"Looks like we gotta go," Tony spoke with a serious voice before turning to you. "Glad to have you on the team Rapunzel."

"It's Y/N." You corrected.

"Okay, I'll send some people by tomorrow to pick up your stuff. See ya soon, Rapunzel." Tony winked, exiting your tailor shop.

"He's not gonna give that up." Peter laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I oddly don't mind." You responded, waving bye to the others. "Thank you Pete."

Peter grinned. "I didn't quite hear that, say it a little louder baby."

"Thank you mister Parker." You kissed his lips, playfully rolling your eyes. But you weren't that distracted to miss Thor stealthily trying to leave your shop.

"Hey hammer God! Don't forget to fix my lock."

"I will have Stark right on it Lady Rapunzel!"

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter fanfic #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x y/n #avengers x reader #peter parker x you #peter x reader #avengers x you #lee writes short fics

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blazingparker · 3 years

Text

What’s Up, Danger? (Chapter 2)

The response to this fic has been absolutely incredible, and I am so pleased to give you chapter 2 of What’s Up, Danger? Chapter 3 is on its way, and I can’t wait to share it with you all! :)

read it on ao3!

---

“What’s up, Peter?”

Peter’s name on Tony’s lips was one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard, and he couldn’t help but smile even wider. He shifted his weight to one hand, slumping even farther against the strong arms helping him stay upright as he waved his now-free hand dismissively.

“Not much. Followed by the Avengers. Swinging. Got stabbed.” Peter counted off the events of the night on his fingers and looked up at the man practically holding him up at this point. Tony just scoffed and shook his head.

“You wanna save the one-liners for when you’re not bleeding out on a rooftop in Queens?” Peter’s brow furrowed and he looked up at Tony.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asked, eliciting a sharp laugh from the man. “Besides, I’m not bleeding out anymore.”

“Well, you’re not fixed either. C’mon, we gotta get you to the medbay.” A flash of panic went through Peter and he tried to push Tony’s hands away and get up, feeling his heart rate increase.

“I think the fuck not!” He yelled, ignoring Tony’s quiet pleas with him to stop moving, stop aggravating his stab wound.

“Okay, okay. No medbay. Peter. No medbay.” Peter stopped struggling at the assurance, looking back up at Tony. He was met with an open, honest expression and almost felt bad for trying to shove Tony away.

“I’m not going anywhere near the Avengers.” His voice was steely, leaving no room for questioning. He didn’t really think it was an unfair demand, given that they’d been hunting him down for weeks, trying to unmask him and eventually taking a shot at him.

“I’m an Avenger,” Tony retorted, a smirk making its way onto that beautiful face. God, Parker, shut the fuck up.

“But you’re Tony,” Peter reasoned before flushing brightly and looking away. What did I literally say about shutting the fuck up oh my god this is why we can’t have nice things-

“I’m flattered, Peter.” A shy glance to the billionaire’s face told Peter he really did mean it. “But I’m also dead serious about getting you fixed up properly. I’m not letting you swing home like this, you could tear it open and then we’re right back to square one.” There were a few moments of silence, each man trying to think of the best way to move forward. Peter bit his lip, looking down at the ground.

“I have a first-aid kit at home,” Peter mumbled softly, and Tony just stared at him incredulously. Peter could understand why - he’d spent weeks avoiding the Avengers and now in the span of five minutes he’d given Tony his name and invited him to his apartment.

“You mean to tell me every time you get hurt, you bandage yourself up?” Tony asked, sounding almost...sad? Maybe he wasn’t staring at Peter that way for the reasons he’d thought.

“Yeah? I don’t exactly have a multi-million dollar tower with a functioning medbay,” Peter said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Tony. “I have a shitty apartment with a broken radiator and a first-aid kit that runs out faster than I can afford to replenish it.” Tony swore rather creatively under his breath, and Peter found himself smiling again. Was it possible that Tony actually cared?

“Not anymore, you don’t.” Before Peter could question what Tony meant, he was being bundled into those strong arms and leaning against the chest of the Iron Man armor. “Point me in the direction of your place.” As the armor carried them into the air, Peter gave Tony directions until they landed on the fire escape of a run-down apartment building in Queens. He hurriedly threw his mask back on before opening the window and crawling in. Tony stepped out of the armor and through the window, leaving the suit on sentry mode.

“Jeez, you weren’t kidding about the radiator,” Tony remarked as he straightened up. The apartment was just as chilly as the December air outside. “That suit can’t be very good at keeping you warm, either.” Peter scoffed as he took the mask off again, rolling his eyes.

“Do you make a habit of insulting the people who call you for help, or is that special treatment reserved for me?” He quipped. He tried to take a step towards the bathroom, but his knees buckled and Tony rushed to support his weight.

“All for you, Pete,” Tony said with a wink, and Peter very pointedly ignored the blush that it brought to his cheeks. They slowly made their way to the bathroom, where the young man pointed out where the first aid kit sat under the sink.

“If you could just bend down and grab it, I’ll stitch myself up,” Peter said with a soft groan as he leaned against the wall. His eyes closed for just a second, but when they opened he found he’d earned another incredulous stare from Tony. “What?”

“You are not stitching yourself up. I got this, I’m going to help. Just-you can trust me. Okay, Peter?” The vigilante just looked at Tony for a moment before nodding.

“I know that,” he murmured, surprising even himself at the admission. Tony blinked in shock before smiling - all soft and sweet in a way Peter hadn’t seen before. Usually that expression was more snark and arrogance, and he felt privileged to see what seemed to be the real Tony Stark.

“Good.” Tony swiped the first aid kit from under the sink and guided Peter to the couch in the small living space that was barely separated from the kitchen. “Just-take off that costume so I can get a good look at this, yeah?” Peter blushed but stripped off the hoodie of his makeshift suit, revealing pale skin and smooth muscles. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn he saw something flicker in Tony’s gaze. Something like hunger.

“I’m gonna lay down before I pass out,” Peter grumbled as he settled on the couch, laying back so Tony could see the wound. He hissed softly as fingers gently poked and prodded, each of his sounds of pain met with a hushed apology from the surprisingly sweet billionaire.

“I’m gonna stitch this up, you got any painkillers?” Tony asked, rummaging through the first aid kit. Peter just laughed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I picked up the meds that work with enhanced metabolisms on my way home from class. I get them over at Superheroes-R-Us. Just go ahead and stitch it - that’s what I always do.” Tony looked a little ill at the suggestion but got to work anyway. With each stitch, Peter grimaced and Tony ran a hand through his curls - another act that surprised and confused him but he wasn’t complaining. He loved when people played with his hair, and it helped distract him from the pain in his side. After a few moments of silence, he decided to finally ask about what Tony had said back on the rooftop.

“Hey, what did you mean? When you said ‘not anymore’?” He asked, and Tony briefly glanced at him before going back to the stitches.

“I’m gonna take care of it. The broken radiator, the bare first-aid kit. The shitty pajamas you call a suit.” Before Peter could protest, he held up a hand. “I know you don’t want to be an Avenger. I get that. Just-it’ll ease my conscience if I know you aren’t struggling so much when all you’re trying to do is look out for the little guy, okay?”

A beat of silence. Tony looked up to find Peter just staring at him, with something like adoration in his eyes. A hand wrapped in fingerless gloves found its way to the one holding gauze to Peter’s side.

“Thank you, Tony,” Peter whispered, still looking at him like he’d promised to rearrange the stars outside his window. Tony coughed, glancing away.

“It’s just a suit and some medical supplies. It’s not a big deal,” he insisted, trying to pass it off as he finished stitching Peter’s wound and sat back.

“It is. It’s a big deal to me,” Peter said, sitting up and tentatively placing a hand on Tony’s knee. “No one-no one knows about me. About this.” He gestured to the mask now lying discarded on the table with his hoodie. “No one knows enough to check in on me. To make sure I’m okay. So just-” Peter swallowed when his voice threatened to break. “Don’t say you caring about how I’m doing isn’t a big deal, because to me...it’s the biggest deal.”

Tony looked over at the injured man on the couch, and Peter felt something like fear worm its way into his chest. Tony was about to reject the notion that he cared and leave, he was sure of it. This is why you need to shut the fuck up-

“I care about you way more than a first aid kit or a radiator could ever express,” Tony blurted out. “I don’t-I don’t know where it came from. But every night, I wait and wait for your phone call and all I want is to hear your voice and know you’re okay. If something happened to you..” he trailed off, just looking at Peter like he was really taking him in.

“Tony?” Peter asked softly when it had been a few moments and nothing else had come from the man sitting next to him. He rubbed his knee and shifted a little closer, trying to convey without words he wanted to hear everything Tony wanted to say.

What he didn’t expect was the descent of gentle, chapped lips. A hand working its way into his hair and another resting on his cheek. The press of another warm chest against his own. Peter made a soft sound and leaned into the kiss, one hand reaching up to clutch Tony’s shirt. He never wanted this to end, but the need for air grew imperative and he was forced to pull away. Their foreheads pressed together, noses nudging each other as the two men caught their breath with matching smiles on their faces. Tony is the first one to speak.

“Well, I can say with confidence that this was not what I expected to get out of that phone call.” At Peter’s fearful expression, he ran a soothing hand down his side. “I’m not complaining,” he murmurs. Peter relaxes into him, sighing in relief. For once, his inability to shut up had done him a favor rather than hurt him.

“Yeah, me neither.” Peter huffed out a laugh and winced when it tugged at his stitches in a painful way. He tried to hide it, but Tony was too observant for that.

“You need rest. Let me take you to bed, okay?” Tony suggested, and Peter nodded.

“Just-help me up?” He asked, embarrassed at needing the help but also unwilling to potentially tear open the stitches Tony had just done.

“Of course,” Tony said with that signature smirk, and Peter opened his mouth to ask what that look was for when he was whisked off the couch and into Tony’s arms. A rather undignified squeak left his mouth, and he rested his head against Tony’s shoulder with a blush.

“What? I helped you up,” Tony teased as he carried Peter to the bedroom. There was a mound of blankets on the bed, and he moved them aside so he could lay them both down. “What’s with the blanket fort?”

“I told you the radiator is broken, and I can’t thermoregulate. I get really cold at night. Hence, blankets,” Peter explained as he tugged the blankets over them. Seeing the look of shock on Tony’s face, he hesitated. “Did you-not want to stay?” He asked with a blush.

“Of course I do,” Tony said immediately. “I just didn’t think I’d be welcome.” Peter didn’t dignify that with a response, just wrapping them both up in the blankets so they would be warm during the night. His movements grew slow as sleep crept up on him and a yawn left his lips.

“‘M sleepy,” he mumbled, feeling Tony chuckle as he was cuddled against that strong chest again.

“Go to sleep, Danger. I got you.” With those words, Peter gave into the exhaustion and drifted off, hand still clutching Tony’s shirt.

When Peter woke in the morning, he was absolutely roasting. Throwing the blankets off, he realized Tony was gone and he quickly walked out to the living area to see if he was there. The billionaire was gone, but what was left in its place made Peter’s heart flutter and brought a smile to his face.

A fixed radiator and a stocked first-aid kit.

---

After that, Tony and Peter found whatever excuses they could to meet up at Peter’s apartment. First, it was a new suit to replace the “slashed-up onesie” that Spider-Man was infamous for. It was clearly well-made, but subtle enough that it didn’t scream Stark Tech to everyone who looked at it.

Then, it was a bottle of painkillers Tony had engineered specifically for Peter. They actually took the pain away and allowed him to rest comfortably after a bad night. For the first time, he got loopy after taking one too many. Tony had teased him about the resulting phone call for a few days until Peter threatened to never take the pills again.

A few more weeks had gone by since that first evening at Peter’s apartment, and things were good. The Avengers still caught up with him regularly, but hearing Tony’s voice or cuddling in his arms after each encounter made Peter feel so much better. His life wasn’t a constant mess anymore, now that he had someone who understood what he was going through and could provide support. Peter had repeatedly insisted Tony shouldn’t worry about him so much, that he didn’t want to be a burden, but was consistently met with the same assurances that Tony adored him, adored their relationship and wouldn’t change it for the world.

Tonight was shaping up to be the same, with a phone call to Tony and maybe a chance for them to meet up, eat some pizza, and relax. Peter had just finished up stopping an ATM robbery, and had paused to catch his breath before swinging home.

Of course, things couldn’t be that easy, though. As he stood on the rooftop, chest heaving, his spider sense flared briefly. Before he could discern why, he felt a prick in the side of his neck. Confused, he reached a hand up and plucked a dart from his skin. He just stared at it, not understanding as his vision started to swim and staying upright became increasingly difficult.

The last thing he saw before he slipped into unconsciousness was a flash of red, white, and blue.

#starker #starker fic #peter parker x tony stark #blazingparker writes

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

Text

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 3

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.4k chapters: 3/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk.

Tony had presented as a delta at twelve, much to his father’s insurmountable disdain. Howard Stark had gone to great lengths to ensure himself an alpha prime for a son—he’d spent years hunting down the perfect omega, who proceeded to have almost unheard of difficulties getting pregnant. After a grueling pregnancy, said omega had the gall to have massive complications during birth that meant she’d never carry another pup. The fact that Tony couldn’t even do the simplest thing right—present as an alpha prime, like himself, like Captain America—was just heinous.

But for all of his intelligence, Howard Stark had been a moron. Being a delta came with a slew of advantages over alphas, over alpha primes even. His heightened empathy was an extraordinary tool, his intuition was nearly on par with an omegas. Sure, he wasn’t as dominant as an alpha but he could hold his own in most situations. Alpha orders rarely worked on him, at the very least. He could induce an omega’s heat and even if he couldn’t completely sate an omega during that time as he lacked a knot, deltas were critical in giving alphas periods of rest during the week-long estrous.

If an omega was the glue that held a pack together, deltas built the foundations. Their ability to support packmates on multiple levels was crucial—just like an omega, they were able to understand their packmates deeply and act as conduits and facilitators.

He’d never been called a manipulator before. Especially not by a sweet-faced omega with surprisingly sharp little fangs. He supposed that most deltas were considered more… cunning than other presentations. Tony preferred the terms suave or charismatic, if he was being honest. Deltas were charming, dammit. But she’d reacted like he was some sort of con artist, a blink away from hiding the Queen up his sleeve.

Letting the suit catch her while he stood aside might’ve caused a bit of unnecessary distress—it was a good thing said suit was equipped with a silencer, or the shrieking would’ve brought down every alpha in the surrounding three towns. Steve had been giving him those disappointed eyebrows since he’d emerged from the woods, even after Thor and Peter took her inside to be bathed. Tony figured that was punishment enough, especially considering their omega seemed to hate him.

“We should probably go through the car,” Steve sighed, running a hand over the back of his head—Tony knew the alpha prime didn’t want his own discontent to unsettle the rest of the pack, “thoroughly. Make sure you check for anything hidden, we’ll make stacks for what we can and can’t give back.”

The blond shifted closer to Tony’s side, his other hand brushing against his back gently. Alpha primes weren’t as in tune with their pack’s emotions, that’s what omegas and deltas were for, but Steve and Thor put in more effort than any other’s Tony had ever encountered. They’d waited for him to arrive after all, instead of converging on the scared omega in a group of two alpha primes and two alphas—even Bruce’s serene beta wouldn’t have been enough to calm her. Steve realized that Tony was put off, had made the effort to notice the shift in the delta’s demeanor, and moved to offer comfort if he should want it.

“I doubt she has much,” Bruce had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin as he stared towards the house, “I can’t decide if her body chemistry is just a 180° of what it should be because of the suppressants or if there’s something else.”

“You called her something earlier, when we were walking through the woods,” the blond had already started pulling bags from the back of her Tahoe, setting them gently on the ground so that his delta and beta could begin looking through them, “you called her classical?”

“Classical presenting omegas? It’s a theory that started cropping up in the late nineties,” Tony’s hand bobbed slightly in the air, “widely debated in accuracy. There have been very, very few case studies but they’re pretty promising—essentially, we’re looking at traits that were bred out of omegas a thousand years ago or more that are starting to crop up again due to environmental and cultural stressors.”

“Or,” Bruce sent the delta a stern look, “it could be the result of genetics; omegas on both sides of the family likely went extremely scarce, to the point of nonexistence. Both parents must’ve carried the same near ancient recessive genotypes, the alleles would’ve had to match up perfectly in order to produce offspring with those traits.”

“Like I said, it’s widely debated,” Tony rolled his eyes affectionately at the beta, riffling through the bag at his feet, “either way, our omega is displaying traits that haven’t been prominent since the 10th century.”

“What do we need to do? What do we need to watch out for?” If alpha primes were only good for one thing, it was determining the necessary course of action for their packs’ safety and prosperity.

“There’s no way to tell for sure exactly what we’re looking at, except for an omega who’s biology is incredibly convoluted and—” the sound Bruce made was one of disdain as he pulled a ziplock with what must’ve been at least a hundred small blue pills in it from one of her bags, “chemically altered beyond belief. How could she even get a hold of so many suppressants?”

“She’s willful,” Steve sighed, tossing a matching baggy towards the disheveled beta, “Even Peter’s purr doesn’t affect her the way it should, it’s a good thing Thor and I coexist so well—keeping her in hand would be difficult for one prime.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony’s jaw dropped as he withdrew a fucking machete from one of the bags, the several hunting knives, snares, and fishing lures neatly arranged in the bag barely even shifting at the jerky movement, “can you imagine an omega using one of these?”

“That one I can,” the blond snorted, gesturing back over his shoulder with one thumb, “if she’d managed to grab that bag we’d be a couple of packmates short.”

“This is the one she was about to make a run with,” Bruce held up a wallet, opening it a moment later, “no debit or credit cards, driver’s license for Colorado, local library card, $200 in American money.”

“There’s a wallet in this one too,” Steve frowned, unzipping it and peeking inside, “looks about the same, license is out of Quebec though—and another library card. No cash in this one though.”

“I bet it’s hidden in there,” Tony stated, having already pulled out two fifty dollar bills from a small hole in the seam of the inside of his chosen bag, “oh, here’s the suppressant stash from this one.”

The sound of tires on gravel distracted the three of them, head’s popping up to see Bucky and Carol making their way down the driveway in a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Both looked antsy and there were shopping bags piled so high in the back seat Bucky couldn’t see out of the rear view mirror. Carol was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, coming to stand in the middle of the chaos of neatly packed bags.

“This is all she had?” The blonde alpha questioned, frowning at the three remaining boxes and the camping equipment in the back of the Tahoe, eyes briefly passing over the contents of the bags on the ground, “good thing we went overboard with the shopping.”

“Did you buy her any clothes?” Bruce questioned, looking at a faded, threadbare old t-shirt he’d just withdrawn from the bottom of the duffle, “everything she has is either full of holes or has been washed so much it’s practically see through.”

“We bought everything,” Bucky answered as he dropped down from the lifted Jeep, “clothes, toiletries, collars, nesting supplies—we grabbed some of those omega diet essentials too, the vitamins and the powder stuff they’re supposed to have.”

“She inside?” Carol interjected before the conversation could be continued, “I wanna see her.”

“Thor and Peter took her inside to get cleaned up about 10 minutes ago, Sam’s starting on dinner,” Steve stepped to the side and motioned the two towards the house, “be gentle, she’s… she’s having a hard time.”

“Have we figured out how long she’s been hiding for?” Bucky ignored his friend’s gesture, turning back towards the Jeep to retrieve several bags, “Wanda told us what sizes to buy but wouldn’t say anything else about her.”

“This ID says she’s thirty-two,” Steve flicked the plastic ID, having dropped the rest of the wallet back in the bag, “Bruce, what did the one you had say?”

“Twenty-nine,” the beta’s response was quick enough that the alpha prime knew he’d memorized the details of the ID and anything else he’d found in the bag already, “there’s no telling how long she’s been on her own though—at least a few years considering how well established she is living from her car.”

“She has two different IDs?” Carol’s eyebrow raised, taking several of the shopping bags Bucky passed her without complaint.

“And at least a thousand doses of suppressants,” Tony snorted, “a machete, I’m pretty sure if we keep digging we’ll find a gun—”

“Thank you Tony,” Steve cut the delta off before he could start any nonsense, “we’ve found two wallets with two IDs so far, but she’s got three more bags like this and then those boxes. We’re just trying to sort what she needs from what she doesn’t right now.”

“How is she?” Bucky’s question was obviously directed at his fellow delta, eyes not wavering even when he saw Steve and Bruce exchange glances.

“She called me a manipulative monster and tried to bite me.”

“There’s no telling how long she’s been hiding, or what she went through before she started hiding—or even what she’s been through while she’s been hiding,” Bruce sent the delta a look that bordered on provoked, “and you were being antagonistic.”

“I was not, I was just—”

“Being yourself, huh?” Carol smirked, dodging past the men and heading up the path towards the mansion before the billionaire could respond.

“What, you guys think we should’ve waited for the sentient iceberg?” Tony jabbed his thumb towards Bucky, “his delta charm is rustier than that heap of metal we found attached to his arm after he pulled you out of the Potomac.”

“You don’t even know what charm is yah fuckin’ grifter.”

Steve dropped his forehead into his hand; there was a consistent theme in large packs that resulted in deltas being at each other’s throats constantly. It would only get worse when Loki arrived, the third of the trio was an entirely different breed of antagonistic. Steve was absolutely sure that all of his packmates looked upon each other with affection, at least 99% of the time, but Tony, Loki, and Bucky fought constantly without an omega’s balancing presence.

The clearing of a throat silenced the squabbling deltas, attention immediately going to where Bruce stood with a stack of notebooks in his hand, “one of the boxes has notebooks and library books, the other has dry foods. She’s got a sleeping bag, tent, a water filtration system—anything she could need to survive in the woods or her car for an extended period of time.”

“No notebooks or food in the go bags?” Bucky frowned, arms crossing over his chest and he shifted his weight when they all responded negatively, “I could understand why the notebooks wouldn’t be a priority to bring with her, but no food?”

“From her supplies it looks like she’s probably a passable hunter, food would take up too much space if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Looks like she prefers hunting knives to bread and peanut butter,” the beta shrugged, motioning to the piles he’d been organizing while Steve tried to mediate the deltas squabble, “each of her bags has a wallet with an ID, cash hidden somewhere, a change of clothing, a bag of suppressants, water filtering tablets, the hunting knife, matches, a water bottle and a thermal blanket.”

“Pragmatic,” Bucky muttered quietly as he stepped up to the trunk of the Tahoe, glancing at the box of notebooks and library books, “Neotropical Diversification, Monoco—what the fuck, Mono-coty-ledons? Avian Genomics in Ecology and Evolution, Orientation and Navigation in Vertebrates. I don’t know what half of those words even mean, and they’re titles of books.”

“That’s all environment biology—ecology,” Tony’s eyebrows went up, “niche stuff too, higher level.”

“Good thing there’s a lot of us to keep her brain occupied,” Bruce’s lips split into a small grin, eyes directed at the pile of knives, “otherwise she’d be difficult to manage. Whatever happened in the meantime, it seems she might’ve attended university at some point—this level of understanding is usually somewhere in a graduate program, although it’s a pretty wide variety of specific topics that aren’t generally associated with each other.”

“They are library books,” Tony stated with a shrug, “maybe it was all she could get her hands on at this level. We did find multiple library cards, all to different library districts. The ones she has now are all from the same district—does she have any Canadian IDs?”

“One from Quebec and one from Ontario,” the beta pointed out two bags, one of which was sitting by Steve’s feet, “those two bags. The other IDs were Colorado, Alaska, and Michigan. We’ll have to figure out which one is real, if she has a real one. The name of the housekeeper the company assigned to us matches the Ontario ID.”

“This is insane,” Steve sighed, shoulders heaving with the breath, “she must be running from something, hiding.”

“Wanda will tell us, I’m sure,” Bucky’s flesh hand landed on the blond’s shoulder with a clap, fingers squeezing momentarily, “for now, how about we just focus on getting her settled in the cabin with her things.”

“Should we let her get settled here?” Bruce frowned, a worried line creasing his forehead, “I’m worried it could be detrimental, for her to adapt here and have to move to the compound once our vacation is over. As soon as she starts to get comfortable she’s gonna be uprooted all over again.”

“We’ll discuss it tonight at dinner,” Steve spoke before anyone else could prolong the debate, “Hopefully Natasha, Clint, and Loki will get here in time. Sam’s making lasagna, said we wouldn’t be eating until late anyway. Let’s bring everything in, minus the things she doesn’t need.”

“Nesting supplies to the laundry room?”

“Yeah, toiletries to Nat and Wanda’s bathroom. Put her clothes with mine or Thor’s,” the blond alpha instructed, heaving several bags into each arm before turning on his heel and heading into the house, “leave the camping supplies, we’ll lock up what she doesn’t need back in the garage for now.”

Her scent, chemically masked and altered, was emanating through the entire cabin, he could smell it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Everything looked spotless and he smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide it; he liked that the whole house smelled like his omega—their omega, who’d spent a lot of time and effort making everything look perfect for their arrival.

Wanda and Carol were in the living room, bathed in the light of the sun just beginning its descent. The stairs, one set leading up and one down, were straight ahead, blocking the view of the kitchen, dining room, and study. The parlor to his left featured haphazardly abandoned suitcases, the rest of the pack who couldn’t quite be bothered at the moment to properly deal with their things.

The smell got stronger up the stairs, he could hear the low rumble of both Thor and Peter’s combined purr. Their omega was in distress—alpha’s struggled when omegas were in distress and Steve imagined both were getting their hearts twisted in their chests. His packmates dispersed to follow their assigned tasks, Bruce joining Sam in the kitchen to help with dinner. Steve dropped bags at the appropriate doors in the hall before making his way through Thor’s room and into the bathroom, where the two alphas were practically piled in the tub with their omega.

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up past his knees and his legs in the water where she was leant up against them. Thor was half in the water, shirt gone as he leaned over to clean the mud and grime from her skin, manipulating her limp limbs gently.

“I take it she didn’t want a bath,” Steve murmured, eyes flashing around the half destroyed bathroom.

“She can fight my purr more than we expected,” Peter looked almost bashful, the hand that wasn’t stroking her cheek running over the back of his head.

“Omegas on Asgard are very similar to her,” Thor commented quietly, still focused on his task, “its why I found them so meek when I first arrived—Omegas are willful and determined. She just needs to be trained, her behavior can be corrected.”

“I know there are omega protests sometimes, but I’ve never seen one completely reject packs,” the brunet alpha was frowning, “they have biological requirements for interaction with others—her body can’t generate certain chemicals without the necessary pheromones that the different presentations provide. It could stunt her immune system, damage hormone glands like the thyroid and—”

“We’ll get all of that figured out Peter, we can fix anything that’s wrong with her,” Steve told himself it wasn’t a false promise, “it’ll just take time and a lot of effort. Let’s get her dressed and up to the attic. Bucky took all of the extra bedding for nesting to wash but we can make do with what we’ve got temporarily, the scents might help.”

“Would you grab one of my shirts?” Thor asked, looking back at the other prime imploringly; it wasn’t just a simple request—Thor was asking that their shared omega be scented by his clothing first.

Steve hadn’t been born an alpha prime. Sometimes, he felt like a delta that had been gutted and pumped with morphine—his empathy had been stolen, replaced with strength and adrenaline and aggression. He missed the part of himself that allowed him the deeper connection with others, the amount of effort he had to expend to determine the emotions of his pack made him feel like an alien (especially if they weren’t telegraphed by scent), but sometimes it was okay. Sometimes, it meant he had a wider understanding than other alpha primes because while he didn’t retain the heightened sense, he knew where to start to unravel their puzzles.

With Thor it was easiest. All he really had to do was follow his own stream of consciousness—wanting the omega clean and warm and fed and scented. He wanted her to smell like him, wanted her wrapped in his clothes, his blankets, he wanted it beneath her skin and seeping from her pores. And so did Thor. The Aesir was asking Steve to take a loss, to not fight him for the right to scent her first.

It was a good thing he hadn’t been an alpha prime, or the request would’ve absolutely ended in some sort of dominance display. Aggression had immediately surged though his chest at the question, the challenge, the demand, he needed to prove he deserved it more—Steve shook his head firmly, cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back before making eye contact with the other prime.

“Sure thing, any in particular?”

There was relief on Thor’s face, along with understanding; he was fully aware of the sacrifice Steve was making and the effort it took to make it, “I know you’ll chose the right thing.”

They didn’t realize their omega was practically having an out of body experience—that she felt like she was hovering over her own body, watching in horror as the two alpha primes who’s mingled scents she was sure marked each and every one of their packmates, communicated like real people. The suppressants hadn’t completely brutalized her scent receptors or hindbrain; she’d known there was something too much about the blond alphas, something that whispered to her omega senses. They were alpha primes and that was a nightmare.

Because alpha primes weren’t supposed to co-habitate. They didn’t share. They were aggressive, territorial, verging on violent. The idea that the two had somehow weaseled their way through that instinctive disposition upon meeting, had managed to form a pack—it didn’t bear thinking about. All she needed to think about was getting out quickly, before something irreversible happened and she was trapped forever.

#avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #bruce banner x reader #carol danvers x reader #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #pocketful of posies #posies chapter 3 #will reblog w tags in a bit

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

I'll Take Care of You | Peter Parker

summary ↠ you’re a med student who falls into the habit of patching up Spider-Man

wc ↠ 4k

warnings ↠ some descriptions of injury (but nothing very graphic because I am a wimp), light swearing, fluff

a/n ↠ based off a request I had for a doctor/patient fic with Peter. I didn’t want to do that exact dynamic, so I put a spin on it and had some fun with it! I hope you enjoy, anon! any feedback would be gratefully received :’))

It’s 11pm on a chilly October night, and you’re hunched over one of the high wooden benches in your university’s lab. The only light in the room comes from the lamp you’re settled beside, and you’re completely lost in thought as you practice your running stitches on a rather beaten and bruised banana. You can’t quite seem to get it right, and with each failed attempt at securing an even stitch, you find yourself growing more and more frustrated. You’re about to pack it in and call it a night when there’s a loud crash behind you, and you spin around to see the shady figure of someone attempting to break into the lab.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. Your heart rate spikes and your mouth runs dry, fear replacing your irritation as you watch a dark stranger jimmy open the window at the other side of the lab. You freeze, eyes wide in fear, and cower back as the person topples through the window, cursing lowly. They scramble to their feet, brushing themselves down, and when they take a step towards the centre of the room, your eyes light up with terrified recognition. “Spider-Man?!” You exclaim.

It might be dark in the lab, but that doesn’t prevent you from making out the red and blue lines of the familiar spidersuit. You didn’t think it was possible to be even more shocked than you were, but then the figure stumbles towards you and crashes to the ground, and you realise the darker spots on the suit are patches of blood.

“Help me…” Comes a high, quivering voice.

Shaking like a leaf, you tentatively approach the figure. He’s curled up in a ball on the floor, and you grab a handy first-aid kit as you crouch beside him. The darkest patches seem to be around his torso, but you’re not sure how to access that without harming the suit. As if sensing your predicament, the man reaches up and presses a button on his neck. You gasp lightly as the entire torso section of his suit separates itself and dissolves into nothing, leaving you facing the exposed, clammy skin of New York’s favourite hero. Your eyes quickly identify his source of pain, and you find yourself wincing as you see the issue: there are several shards of glass impaled in his side, and they’re preventing his body from regenerating and healing. You know you’ll need to remove them.

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, steeling yourself. You quickly unzip the kit and pull out a pair of tweezers, some disinfectant, and a roll of bandages. You try to keep your voice as level as possible as you speak to the man. “You’ve got some glass stuck in your side,” you say calmly. “I’m going to pull them out and disinfect the wound. It, uh, it’s probably going to hurt, and I’m really sorry, but it could get infected if I leave them in.”

Spider-Man manages a breathless, “okay,” which you take to mean you can start working.

Trying to still your shaking hands, you press one palm to his chest as the fingers of your other hand wrap around the tweezers. You manage to get a grip on the larger shard of glass and slowly pull it from the wound. The hero tenses and curses, but he stays still, allowing you to quickly and safely remove the piece. Once the first one is out, you grow more confident and manage to clear the others within the minute. After inspecting the wound and deciding there’s nothing left in there, you drag a ball of cotton wool soaked in disinfectant over the gash.

“That’s you,” you remark. Your forehead has a line of cool perspiration over it, and you feel a wave of intense relief pass through you as you finish bandaging his side. You sit back and lean against a wooden bench, a deep sigh passing through your lips.

Spider-Man looks down at his side, the erratic movements of his chest slowly calming. It’s for the first time that you’re able to properly look at him, and you find your heart beating a little faster in your chest as your eyes make out the shadowed lines of his abs.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Y/N,” you supply.

You can sense the smile beneath the mask. “Thanks, Y/N,” Spider-Man finishes. He scoots himself back so he’s also leaning against a wooden bench, his body facing you. “I usually have to do that myself.”

A warmth tickles at your cheeks as you push your hair back and away from your face. “You don’t have, like, a team of people to do that for you?”

Spider-Man laughs, his voice light and airy. “Not exactly,” he replies. “I mean, I probably could if I wanted to, but I work better alone.”

Your lips curl into a frown. “Alone?” You echo. “Isn’t that kinda dangerous?”

Spider-Man shrugs. “I guess,” he says, voice drawling. “I’ve made it this far, though, so I must be doing something right.”

You laugh gently. “Yeah, right,” you tease. “If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve passed out and woken up with a nasty infection.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he says, raising his hands innocently. He tilts his head to the side. “What are you doing here, anyway? No classes run this late.”

It’s your turn to feel a little embarrassed. “Oh, uh, I’m a first-year med student. Sometimes I stay back late to practice some of my sutures.” You point up to the desk and where a pile of your abused, half-stitched bananas sit. “It’s the only time I can get some peace and quiet.”

He surprises you by nimbly climbing to his feet and walking over to your workstation. As he moves, he presses a button on his neck again, and his suit closes over his chest. You find yourself frowning as the suit hides the rippling muscles of his back, and you quickly clear your throat to suppress that particular thought. You get up and join him, lingering a little behind.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He turns to look at you, and you know from the way the suit’s mask twitches that he’s smiling. “Med student, you say?”

You nod. “Yeah. So far I only know the basics, but it feels good to be able to give back to people.”

Spider-Man nods. “I know what you mean.”

A silence falls between you both, and you lean down to grab a scrap piece of paper. You quickly scribble down your number before passing it to him, the hero accepting it cautiously.

“Take it,” you plead. “Just in case you ever need anything. I live just off campus, and I’m usually awake at night. If you ever decide you need a medical squad, I’m your guy, alright?” Your lips pull into a smile as he pockets the paper.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. He takes a few tentative steps back, looking at the window he entered through. “I should go. City to save, and all that. But… I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me tonight. Thank you.”

You manage a brave smile as you urge him towards the window, pretending it doesn’t shatter your dreams to bid farewell to the hero you know you’ll likely never see again. “See you around, Spider-Man. Stay safe!”

And he raises a hand in a quick wave goodbye before hopping from the window and disappearing into the night sky, leaving you, a messy lab, and a thousand thoughts behind.

You don’t hear from him for three months.

Over those long, twelve weeks, you start your first placement at the local hospital and soon become too busy to feel sad at his lack of contact. But still, occasionally, you’ll catch yourself with a dullness rounding out your heart as you think of the way he’d taken your number and since ignored you. A part of you is grateful he hasn’t needed you, but another is sad you only spent one night with him. Spider-Man has always been a bit of an idol to you, and the realisation that you’ll never see him again is a tough one to come to terms with.

It’s mid-January and 1.32am when your phone vibrates on your nightstand. You groan as you turn over, your body shifting beneath your rustling sheets as you blindly bat at the table before your fingers close around the device. You pull it in close, silently begging you’re not being called in to work a spontaneous night shift, and lazily force your eyes open as you read the texts.

[Unknown] hey where do you live ???

[Unknown] it’s spider-man

[Unknown] I need you

[Unknown] help

Suddenly you’re wide awake, and with trembling fingers, you quickly attach your location and send it off. You jump from your bed and turn on your bedroom light as you pull a hoodie around your torso. Luckily you live alone and have your own comprehensive first aid kit, otherwise, you know you’d be fucked.

You wait for about three minutes before there’s a sudden, loud knock on your bedroom window. Your heart catches in the back of your throat as you squeak loudly, spinning around to see a blurry figure behind the pane. You hurry over and quickly unlock the window, and jump out of the way just in time to avoid the very heavy, and very wet figure of Spider-Man as he rolls into your room, collapsing in a heap in the middle of your carpet. He’s groaning - loudly - and this time, he appears to have dislocated his shoulder.

“Pop it back in,” he whines, voice pulled tight with stress. He manages to sit up, hunched over as his good hand clutches at his shoulder. “Oh my god, I’m gonna pass out.”

“Calm down,” you manage, gulping. Luckily for him, you’ve just finished a rotation in orthopaedics, so you aren’t completely in the dark about how to help him. “Take a deep breath, Spidey.” You push his hand away from his shoulder and replace it with your own. “I’ll count you down. 3, 2, 1-”

He curses, expletives rolling down his tongue as you carefully, but decisively, pop his shoulder back into the socket. A sickening crunch fills the air, but a moment later, his entire body seems to relax. He sighs and slumps back.

“Thank you so much,” he manages, voice sounding a little weak. “I tried to do it myself but apparently that just made it worse.”

Your eyes widen. “Uh, yeah, that’s a terrible idea.” You pull yourself to your feet and quickly help him up, depositing the hero on your bed. “I’ll go get you some water, or something. You look terrible.” You don’t have to see his face to know that beneath the suit, the man is bruised and exhausted. His posture alone speaks volumes as he sits curled over on the edge of your bed, his head falling forward to rest in his hands.

When you return with a glass of water and a bar of chocolate, he lets you sit beside him as he gratefully devours them. To your surprise, the suit parts at his mouth and exposes the thin lines of his pink lips, letting you see his cheesy grin as he smiles at you.

“Always coming to my rescue, Y/N,” he says, voice a little stronger just after a square of chocolate. “Thanks.”

“It’s alright,” you reply. Suddenly you become very aware of the large, sagging bags beneath your eyes and the way you’re sure your hair is sticking up all over the place. “Anything for New York’s best.”

He chuckles slightly. Once he’s done with the water and the chocolate, he places both the glass and the wrapper on your bedside table and collapses back on your bed with a soft thump. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing gradually growing slower. “How’s college?”

You shrug. “Busy,” you explain. “I’m in the hospital most days, learning how to do stuff. Never thought it would be so demanding, but it feels good to be able to make someone feel better.”

“You should get extra credit for helping Spider-Man,” he ponders, voice quiet but sweet.

You laugh. “It’s not exactly been difficult to help you, so far. I can handle a dislocated shoulder and a few bits of glass.”

“Oh, so you want me to be more injured next time I visit you?” You can practically feel the smirk in his voice as your face heats up.

“No! Absolutely not. I don’t mean that at all.”

Spider-Man’s laugh warms your heart. “I know what you meant.” He sits up with a sigh. “Your bed is so comfy, Y/N.”

“Help yourself,” you tease.

He laughs again as he carefully rises to his feet, rolling around his shoulder as if testing its capabilities. “Feels as good as new,” he says. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Any time,” you reply. You stifle a yawn, and Spider-Man crosses his arms over his chest.

“Get some sleep,” he orders sternly. He hops over to your window and wrenches it open easily. “Thanks for the water, and the chocolate, and the life-saving,” he adds, already with a leg swung out of your window.

“Bye, Spiderman,” you say. The smile fades from your lips as he disappears once more, closing the window behind him with a quiet thud. But the grin quickly springs back as you realise he might contact you again, now he knows where you live, and you can’t help but find a little comfort in that thought.

Over the next few months, Spider-Man visits you semi-regularly. He has you text him your rotation schedule so to ensure he never bothers you when you’re busy at the hospital, and that alone causes your heart to warm to him even more. It’s always small things he visits for: bullet wounds, dislocated joints, grotty injuries. Things that would seriously harm any normal human, but since it’s Spider-Man, they only graze him. You fix him up and then send him on his way, and that’s it, simply. A fleeting encounter and then he’s off.

And it goes on like this for a while, until a warm evening in May. You’re sat cross-legged on your bed as darkness falls across the city, curled up with a nice book as you enjoy your day off from college. You feel calm and collected, and you’re about to light a candle and crawl into bed when there’s a loud banging on your window and you startle.

You stare outside, but there’s no one there. It’s dark, so you put your book down and tentatively creep over to the window, confused as to the source of the noise. Curiously, you pull up the window, and that’s when you hear Spider-Man’s familiar groans, and you look down to find him crumpled in a heap on your fire escape. Instantly you’re filled with dread.

It’s very difficult to actually get the hero into your apartment, but you manage to haul through your window eventually. You set him on the floor where he lies motionless, his breaths shallow and pained, and your blood runs cold as you take in the state of him. You crouch down beside him, first aid kit in hand, and find yourself at a loss of where to start. His suit is covered in lacerations and dark, bloody marks, but you don’t have access to him at all.

Just as you’re beginning to despair, you remember the buttons on his neck and carefully reach up. You don’t know which ones to press, and you certainly don’t want to betray him by accidentally removing his face mask, but when he releases another pained groan, you just push at a few random buttons. The suit deflates and retracts from his chest and lower half, leaving him in his gloves, face mask and underwear, but luckily exposing all the areas you need access to.

You survey the damage and feel despondent. He’s been very badly injured, and you’re terrified you won’t be able to help him. But that fear is quickly replaced by a determination as your brain shifts into doctor mode, and your hands start working before your mind can even process what you’re doing. You start by applying pressure to some of the larger gashes on his chest, stemming the steady flow of deep crimson blood until it’s a weaker trickle, and you feel confident bandaging them in a tight white wrap. Then you clean out some of the smaller wounds and stick a few smaller plasters there. Once you’ve cleaned him up a bit, the damage doesn’t look so bad, and though his pale skin has the beginnings of some deep, yellowy-blue bruises forming, you don’t think he’s got any internal injuries.

“How are you doing, Spidey?” You manage, voice croaking hoarsely.

Spider-Man groans softly. “I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore,” he quips, “But I still feel horrendous.” He pauses for a moment before grabbing at your hand. He’s still got gloves on, but you feel the tenderness in his touch as he squeezes your fingers gently. “Call me Peter,” he requests.

You nod as surprise settles across you. “You’ve lost a lot of blood but I think you’ll be okay, Peter. I don’t really understand how your body heals so quickly, but you’re looking stronger already. I think you just need to rest.” You glance out at the dark night sky. “You should stay here overnight.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t disagree. “Okay,” he says instead. His grip on your hand tightens as he slowly tries to get up. You help him out as much as you can and quickly settle him on your bed.

“I’ve got some clothes you can wear, wait.” You turn around and go to rummage through your dresser, pulling out a spare t-shirt. You toss it to the bed, and when you’re back by his side, he’s slid it over his chest. He looks very odd, sitting on your bed, your t-shirt on his upper half, his boxers on his lower, and a mask on his face, but at this point, you just accept it. “I’ll go crash on the couch. Yell if you need-”

“No, no. That’s not right,” Peter interrupts. You can tell he’s frowning. “You can, um, stay here, if you want. With me. In here.”

Your face shifts into a surprised o. “Oh, no, really, I… You should have space to spread out,” you say. You can’t ignore the way your heart beats deeply against your ribcage at the idea of cosying up against the hero.

“Please?” He asks, voice sweet. “What if I suddenly crash in the night? Or start bleeding out? How will I live if my doctor isn’t here to help me?”

You roll your eyes. “Dramatic, aren’t you?” But you walk over to him anyway and help him settle into your bed. You flick off your light and shut your window, and then you tentatively climb into the other side of your bed, slipping down until you’re beneath the covers, the warm figure of Spider-Man beside you. You’re tense, and for a moment you just lay there, breathing unevenly, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the fuck you ended up in this position.

“I’m, um… I’m gonna take off my mask,” comes Peter voice, quiet, but still loud enough for you to hear.

“What?!” You exclaim. You turn over on your side so you face him, your eyebrows pulling towards your forehead. “Why would you want to do that?”

He shrugs, his slim fingers knocking up against his neck. “It’s dark,” he reasons. “I trust you. And honestly, I’m feeling kinda delirious and this thing can be a bit hard to breathe through.”

You swallow deeply and watch carefully as Peter slowly pulls the mask up, up, up. It rolls up over his chin, his mouth, his nose, and his eyes, and with each feature it reveals, you find yourself holding your breath even more. Because it’s dark, in your room, but it’s not dark enough to hide his face, and you realise in a terrifying moment that he trusts you - Spider-Man trusts you - with his most hidden secret: his identity. And that makes you feel incredibly special.

“Peter…” You whisper, voice escaping into the air. Your eyes trace all over his face as he flings the mask aside. He’s got lovely dark, wispy hair, that stands up madly in all directions, and deep, caring brown eyes that watch your face intently. Your gaze shifts to his nose, and you smile as you notice it sits a little wonkily to the side, and then you find the air being pulled from your lungs as your eyes settle on his perfect, parted lips.

He’s beautiful. Utterly, completely, beautiful, and you really wish he’d kept the mask on, because he’s made it very hard for you to lie there as your lips quirk into a smile and your heart races in your chest, and just do nothing.

But then he does something.

With a shaky hand, Peter reaches up to cup your cheek. He shuffles closer, his musky cedar-wood scent filling your nostrils as he places his head on your pillow. His long, roughened fingertips move over your cheekbones, scattering trails of warmth over your skin as he gently caresses your face, his eyes gentle and loving. “Thank you for always looking after me, Y/N.” His breath fans out across your features, drawing a warmth to your face.

You swallow deeply, subconsciously nuzzling your cheek into his hand. You stretch out your legs and they tangle with his, and excitement rushes through your veins as his other hand finds your waist and he pulls you closer. Your foreheads are practically pressed together now, the warmth of his body heat surging through you as you gaze into his eyes. “I’ll always look after you, Peter,” you promise, voice soft and sweet. “I care about you.”

The tip of his nose brushes against yours softly. “I care about you too, Y/N. So much.” His eyes flicker shut, his long, feathery eyelashes falling to a soft rest at the top of his cheeks. You follow suit, and with your eyes closed, it’s as if everything else is amplified: his tender touch on your cheek, his warm hand wrapped around your waist, his legs tangled with yours. You find yourself straining closer, desperate for more.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, finally.

“Of course.”

And then his lips are on yours, moving softly against your mouth. It’s tender at first, barely even a touch, but as you push back against him, it grows stronger, like a small fire gradually building heat. You reach for his figure and gently wrap your hands around his waist as you kiss him deeply, clinging to him, longing for him, enjoying the feeling of coming home as your lips move together. It’s soft, and warm, and perfect, and it seems to span an infinity as you kiss him in the dark, bundled up beneath the blankets together.

He pulls back after a few perfect minutes, his forehead pressed flush against yours as he pants for breath. “I love kissing you,” he murmurs. “I love being with you, Y/N.”

You drag a hand up through his soft brown curls, a permanent smile hanging from your lips. “Feel free to kiss me as much as you’d like,” you mumble.

He presses another sweet kiss to your lips and holds you close. “Oh, I fully intend to,” he promises. Then he drags his mouth to your forehead and leaves a scattering of light kisses to your hairline, and you relax back into his arms, a sense of fulfilment blossoming through your chest. He’s warm, and soft, and you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here, bundled up in Spider-Man’s arms, drifting off into a gentle slumber. And as he presses a final kiss to the back of your head, you know he feels the same way, too.

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

masterlist

taglist ↠ see this post to be added :D

@behind-my-hazeleyes27 @stiles-o-dylan24 @stilinskiswritings @stealth-spiderr @youngblood199456 @flyingburrito123 @kiwijulia @theraggedwerewolf @stixnstripesworld @mischiefandi @penguinchick100 @hcomet28 @aftrrglo @scottish-sim @cosmicholland @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @sweet-baby-cakes @apatheticanvas67482 @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @panadolle @rhapsodyparker @xxxxdelenaxxxx @blairscott @quaksonhehe

#Peter parker #Peter Parker oneshot #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker fluff #woohoo #I wrote this all this evening so if it's bad I apologise but ? I think it turned out kinda sweet n fluffy #any thoughts would be appreciated!#am still getting into the swing of writing #so any feedback welcomed #thanks for reading <3 #my writing #self-insert #y/n #y/n use #wahey #college!peter

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jeranasblog · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Discord

Rating: E

Pairing: Peter Parker/ Tony Stark

Summary: Peter spends a lot of time on a kink Discord server, talking about his sexuality and accepting his kinks. When he met CallMeDaddy70, he is drawn in and it immediately clicks between the two of them. How could he have known that everything leads to a huge surprise?

Warnings: No major warnings, but since it’s smut, check the tags on Ao3

Notes: The idea is from @itfeelssogoodmrstark (All the credits for this to her, pls). I hope you like it <3

Read on Ao3

Peter was nervous. He sat on the couch, squirming every second, and his feet tapped rhythmically on the floor. His mind was filled with anxious thoughts, thoughts about what could go wrong, how he could fuck it up, and he was close to screaming and hiding under his bed after. His whole life depended on tomorrow.

Since he had been a little kid, Peter loved engineering. He built his first robot before he even went to school, studied day and night to get into MIT, and worked hard to graduate early. Everything to get his dream job, everything to work for Stark Industries. It wasn’t only the company, the attempts to make clean energy and save the world, no it was also Tony Stark himself, Peter was gone for. Stark wasn’t only an engineer, he was an inventor, and Peter would die to work for him, to help him save the world.

And tomorrow, he had to prove himself. Peter had applied for the job at SI months ago and after a few tests, he was invited to a job interview, not with just anyone, but with Tony Stark personally. His stomach turned when he thought about it. Tomorrow would show if his dream would come true.

Peter tried to calm down, he really did. He made himself a cup of tea, binge-watched Netflix, and called his best friend MJ to calm down, but nothing worked. In the end, he was as nervous as he had been before and there was no way he would find sleep tonight. No way but… Wait, there was one approach he hadn’t tried yet.

Suddenly giddy with excitement, Peter grabbed his laptop and opened Discord. The familiar screen was greeting him, his most visited server already opened. He pondered for a second before he decided to click on the “general” channel.

WatermelonSugar: Hey, guys. KinkyBastard1: Hey, Sugar. LetMeTieYourHands: Hey, Sugar. How are you?

Peter smiled a little. The people on the Discord channel were amazing and he felt welcome in the small community that had built up over the years. They had encouraged him to talk about his kinks, to accept himself and the things he liked, and even though not all of them shared the same interests, they were kind and understanding.

When he had first joined the kink Discord MJ had recommended, Peter had expected to get a dick pic in the first five minutes. He knew the internet, knew some people were only there to get a few nudes they could jerk off to, but Peter wanted something else. Sure, he wanted to talk to people about sex, might even want to video chat with a few hot and older men, but he also wanted to talk to them.

WatermelonSugar: I’m fine. Just a little stressed. LetMeTieYourHands: Oh, I’m sorry. What’s up? WatermelonSugar: Important job interview tomorrow. KinkyBastard1: Definitely crossing my fingers for you, Sugar. What have you applied for?

Peter smiled at the question. He hadn’t even told them his real name, but they still cared about him, his life, and his sexuality and the thought made him warm inside. From his real-life friends, only MJ knew what he liked. She knew Peter wanted to be with an older man, someone who calls himself Daddy, someone who could hold him down and praise him until Peter was a shivering mess. It took him quite the courage to tell her what he liked, but it had been so worth it because she recommended to try out the Discord. Holy, the decision had been a good one.

Peter had spent hours online, chatting with other Subs who liked exactly the same and Daddies who made him feel things he hadn’t felt before. He loved the freedom he had online, the anonymity. Still, no one had ever woken the wish inside of him to meet, they were amazing, but it hadn’t clicked until one day, Peter had met CallMeDaddy70 who ticked all his boxes.

CallMeDaddy70 was kind and sweet. He asked Peter about his day and his friends, talked to him about his interests, which they shared by the way because Daddy was an engineer as well, and he encouraged Peter to talk about his problems and fears. Peter had learned a lot, talking about his desires in bed and he was grateful Daddy was such a good mentor.

But when the mood struck, Daddy could be the complete opposite. Once in a while, their private chats had turned dirty and Peter couldn’t get his hands in his pants fast enough. The other man was shameless, obscenely describing what he wanted to do to Peter, and the thought of someone dominating him like this had made him come all over himself. And yesterday Daddy had offered Peter to set up a face call.

He was a little disappointed when Daddy wasn’t online yet because he had hoped to see the man for the first time. He craved the other man’s presence, although he hadn’t even seen him yet, although he hadn’t even talked to him yet.

WatermelonSugar: I’m applying for an engineering job. It’s actually a job I wanted since I was a little child. KinkyBastard1: That’s amazing. I wish you all the luck. WatermelonSugar: Ty

After that, Peter only skimmed through the other channels. He read a discussion of two members talking about their bondage fantasies and he admired the picture of LetMeTieYourHands who tried Shibari on his Sub for the first time, but nothing caught his eyes for a long time until a private message popped up.

CallMeDaddy70: Hey, Sugar. I’ve seen you’re online. How are you?

Suddenly, Peter was excited again, shifting on his couch to be closer to the screen.

WatermelonSugar: Great, now that you’re there. How are you? CallMeDaddy70: That’s cute, baby boy <3 I’m fine. A little stressed because my secretary made me sign contracts the entire day.

Right, Peter had forgotten it. Daddy owned a big company and the thought made him even more irresistible. It wasn’t even the money the man probably had, it was the power that drew Peter in.

WatermelonSugar: To be honest, I’ve been waiting for you.

Peter swallowed after he had confessed the truth and stared at the three dots on the screen that showed that Daddy was typing.

CallMeDaddy70: Is that so, baby boy? WatermelonSugar: YES. You promised me we could call soon, Daddy.

Usually, Peter wouldn’t be so straight forward, but he had been fidgety all day and he needed to find a way to get all the emotions out. Talking to Daddy would make him think about something else, and to be honest, he couldn’t wait to figure out how the other man looked anyway.

CallMeDaddy70: I did that, didn’t I? Alright, baby boy. Give me ten minutes. I set up my cam.

Holy shit. Even though Peter had suggested talking, he hadn’t been sure Daddy would agree. Suddenly, he was terribly nervous. What if Daddy wouldn’t like him? What if he made a fool out of himself?

Peter sprinted to his bedroom and opened his closet door. There was no way he would wear his old joggers when he saw Daddy for the first time, so Peter pulled out his velvet sleeping shorts and a cropped t-shirt. He wanted to look nice for Daddy, wanted the other man to like him.

Thankfully, Peter was back before Daddy called. He sat down in front of the screen, anxiously fumbling with the hem of his shirt and waiting for the green button to appear. He was startled when he heard the sound, nevertheless.

“Hey, Daddy,” Peter’s voice was trembling with excitement when he accepted the call. The screen of the other man was still black, and it took a second before he came into view. Holy, whatever Peter had expected, this wasn’t it.

Daddy was the most handsome man he had ever seen. He was older than Peter, but it wasn’t obvious how much older, since his face was still hidden in the shadows of the room. The suit jacket Daddy wore was opened, revealing a muscular chest no one was allowed to have, and Peter’s mouth watered in anticipation. He wanted to climb this man like a tree, rub himself all over him and bounce on his cock. But the worst were Daddy’s thighs, thick and muscular, straining the suit pants and seducing Peter into giving himself away.

Peter hadn’t thought it could get even worse until Daddy opened his mouth. “Hi, Sugar. I’m glad we could finally call. I’m sorry for keeping my face hidden, but I appreciate the privacy for now.”

God, the voice, a deep baritone that vibrated through Peter’s body, lightening him up and making him shake in arousal. He didn’t even care that Daddy was hiding his face, too delighted that they could finally talk after all. Apparently, Peter had been quiet too long because the man spoke up again.

“God, Sugar, look at you,” Peter immediately blushed. “I’ve imagined a lot of things, but I haven’t imagined you looking like this. So innocent, so beautiful. Are you even legal?”

Peter squirmed in delight and the words made his cock twitch in his shorts. He was riled up from the entire day and such a gorgeous man on top finally made him break. “Daddy, you’re so handsome yourself. And don’t worry, I’m twenty-three.” The words came out shy and Peter giggled afterward, hiding his smile behind one hand.

The reaction he got was a growl. “Fuck, sweetheart. I’ve planned to talk with you a little first, ask you about your day and the things you’ve planned, but forgive me, I can’t. Do you even know how you’re looking right now, baby? Tight little shorts that show off everything. God, look at your creamy thighs.”

It was the moment Peter whimpered for the first time and there was no way Daddy hadn’t heard it. He could see how the other man shifted in his chair, one hand moving and pressing down on his crotch. Although Daddy hadn’t taken his length out yet, the tenting pants were enough to show that the man was well endowed, and Peter whimpered for a second time.

“Daddy, I’m so sorry, I need you so much.” Peter’s body burned and he was squirming on the couch. He sat on his knees, thighs spread in front of the camera and he could no longer suppress the urge to pat his cock through his shorts. The fabric was thin, and even though he wore his favorite pair of white panties underneath, Peter could feel every touch.

“I’m a bad man,” Daddy sighed while he opened his zipper and pulled out his cock, the rest of his clothes still snugly in place. “I didn’t want to be one of those internet creeps, but here I am, cock in my hand not even ten minutes after I’ve seen you for the first time.”

Peter’s mouth watered and he increased the pressure on his groin, his hips slowly started to move. Daddy’s cock was everything he had ever dreamed of, long and thick, oh so much thicker than his own, slightly curved and an angry red. It invited Peter to open his lips and take him as deep as possible.

The arousal was heady, pushing his fear of embarrassment and rejection in the back of his mind while he watched the man stroking his own cock. “Please, Daddy. Can I touch myself?” He felt the sudden urge to ask for permission.

The noise he got in return was outright obscene. The man growled, his grip getting tighter and Peter could see that his knuckles turned white. He did this, Peter made this man lose control and he whined, still doing nothing but keeping up the pressure on his cock.

“Be a good boy for me, Sugar,” Daddy commanded, his breathing still even although his cock looked like it would explode any second. “Take off your shorts. Show me, baby. Show Daddy what he’s working with.”

Peter sobbed in relief when the pressure on his cock lessened and he couldn’t get out of his pants fast enough. He was a little sad Daddy couldn’t admire the white panties he had picked out, but the need to get off was too strong to ignore.

“That’s it, baby,” Daddy praised, and the word went directly to Peter’s cock and made him moan. “Look at this, Sugar. Your cock is perfect. So cute and wet for me. Spread your legs a little more for Daddy.”

There was no way Peter couldn’t obey, so he spread his legs as wide as possible. He leaned back; his body propped against the back of the sofa while he double-checked the view Daddy had. While the man was sitting in an armchair, only his cock on display, Peter was almost completely exposed. The thought of Daddy still being fully closed did things to him and his cock twitched against his stomach.

“One hand on your cock, baby,” the man instructed, and Peter eagerly followed his command. “Don’t grip it, baby. Just a slight caress on the side. Tease, Sugar.”

“No, Daddy, please,” Peter whimpered, but he obeyed nevertheless, keeping his touch painfully light. If his mind had been clear, he might have been embarrassed about the sounds he made, but there was nothing he could think about beside Daddy.

His pleads seemed to be the last straw because he could see that the man picked up the rhythm. Daddy’s fist was squeezed tightly around his own cock and he jerked himself off fiercely. “Sugar, do you have lube? Would you finger yourself for me? It’s okay to say no, but Daddy wants to see your tight little hole.”

Yes, yes, yes. Peter wanted it very much. As much as he liked playing with his cock, feeling something inside of him was just this tiny bit more. Suddenly, he was glad he had prepared himself and he fumbled for the lube he had hidden behind a couch cushion, his other hand not once leaving his cock. Peter opened the cap and dribbled a huge amount on his free hand.

“Can I, Daddy? Please, lemme?” It didn’t matter if he had to beg or plead, he would sob and scream just to get this delicious friction inside of him. Daddy was pressing all his buttons and he knew he had never been this aroused, this desperate, in his life. He was barely touching his cock, didn’t even have a finger inside, but Peter could already feel that he was getting close. Just from a few words and a whole lot of tension between him and the older man.

The man paused for a second and it was the first time Peter would die to see his face. He understood it, the man was probably important since he owned a company and he couldn’t show his face to just anyone on the internet, especially because they were doing a lot more than just talk, but he still wanted to see the other man’s expression. Would he look firmly at Peter? Would he smile or would he be serious? A sob left his lips, he couldn’t wait anymore, and the anticipation was killing him.

“You may, Sugar.” Finally. He couldn’t wait for even a second longer, pressing in his first finger in one go. Peter was used to this, he was fingering himself multiple times a week, so he thrust in once or twice before he added a second finger, moaning when he felt the delicious burn. His eyes had fallen shut, the sensation too much but not enough, and he could feel that his own legs started to tremble.

“God, Sugar, look at this. Do you see how your hole is swallowing your fingers? I’ve never seen anything so greedy before. Tell me, are you a slut, Sugar?”

The words were too much, Peter cried. Daddy figured out every single kink he had. The longing for praise, the desire to be humiliated, and the urge to give the control over to someone else. His walls started to clench, squeezing down on his fingers and although he hadn’t even touched his prostate, Peter was coming.

Peter arched his back, sobbing when the sensation washed over him. His cock was spurting weakly in his hand, but his hole clenched as if it wanted to milk his fingers. Peter could feel his conscious slipping, black spots danced in his vision while his entire body was shaking on the couch. He had never come this hard in his life before, not even during sex. Daddy’s presence alone made him go crazy and his words were just the cherry on top.

When Peter finally came to, his body still buzzing with endorphins, he took a look at the screen and saw that the man had climaxed as well. He was a little sad that he had missed watching Daddy during his orgasm, but if he would be lucky, this wasn’t their last time together.

“Sugar, you were amazing,” the man praised, and Peter blushed a little. His shamelessness was a little embarrassing now that he was spent, but the man seemed to like it, so Peter tried not to dwell on it.

“Thank you, Daddy. You were amazing as well. Do you think we can repeat this one day?”

The man chuckled deeply. “Sure, Sugar, but I don’t wanna hang up yet. Go and clean yourself. You’ve mentioned a job interview in the chat? Tell me about it.”

Peter smiled. This man was everything he had ever dreamed about and one day he wanted to meet him. Daddy wasn’t only looking for sex, although the fun they had together was amazing, Daddy was also interested in him and the thought made him feel warm inside. He had completely forgotten the interview, and even though Daddy had just reminded him, the nervousness had lessened. It was manageable now.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Peter whispered to himself and when he got up to clean himself, he could feel a single tear running down his cheek. Whoever Daddy was, Peter fell for him.

~*~

The next day Peter was sitting in the lobby of Stark Industries, the biggest tech company in the US. His hands trembled a little, but the panic wasn’t overwhelming. Daddy had cheered him up last night, assuring him he would do great and Peter believed him. He had all the qualifications necessary and now he only had to convince Tony Stark. Daddy had told him over and over again, that Peter couldn’t fuck it up if he wanted it so badly. He was burning for it and everyone would see it.

“Mr. Parker? Mr. Stark is waiting for you.” A beautiful blonde woman picked him up and led him towards an elevator. “Just get in. JARVIS will get you to Mr. Stark’s office.”

Peter smiled at her words. However the day will end, he had at least met JARVIS. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

When the elevator doors closed behind him, Peter felt the familiar nervousness coming back, but he concentrated on his breathing. He would do it. He wanted this, he just had to show Tony Stark that he was suitable for the job.”

A ping announced his arrival and he could see a familiar figure sitting behind a huge metal desk. Peter was giddy. He had admired Mr. Stark for years and this would be the time he could finally meet him. The man wasn’t looking at him, occupied with the phone in his hand.

“Mr. Parker, please take a seat.”

Oh, no. Peter froze. He knew the voice, there was no way he was wrong. “Mr. St-Stark,” Peter stuttered, and the two words were enough for the man to look up abruptly. The figure fit, but when Peter’s gaze wandered lower towards the thick thighs straining the suit pants, he knew he was right.

In the end, Mr. Stark confirmed his assumption. “Oh Sugar, I definitely didn’t expect this.”

Peter shuddered, still unsure what to do. Daddy was Tony Stark, the Tony Stark and if he played his cards right, Daddy was also his future boss. What a disaster.

#starker

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imanativeofswlondondahling · 4 years

Text

Becoming A Stark? (1) Peter Parker X Stark! Fem Reader

A/N: This will eventually be a Peter Parker X Stark! femReader. However, there was backstory needed so Peter won’t be introduced until Chapter Six. This takes place after Iron Man 3 but before AOU. However time is wishy washy and will pass in weird ways so lol opps. Let me know if you want to be tagged.

Word Count: 3073

Warnings: Swearing

You feel it in your soul that you will hate Tony Stark for the rest of your life. It doesn’t matter that you’re related to him. It doesn’t matter that you’re his daughter. He ripped you from everything you’ve ever known. You were happy living with your grandparents. Sure they were getting up there in age, but you were happy. You had a life, you had friends, hell you had been working on moving forward with your crush and were hoping to have a date to homecoming this year. But all of that was ruined the day that Tony Stark waltzed through your front door. You can’t help but think back to that interaction.

“Nana, who’s this?”

“Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, Iron Man, to name a few things. I’d offer a hand but that’s not something I normally do. I guess, maybe I should due to the circumstances but…” It’s not the first time you’ve seen his face. The Avengers have saved New York a few times, but it is the first time you’ve seen him up close. The dark haired stranger trails off and you’re put off by his attitude alone. Why was someone this stuck up standing in your living room? So instead of saying anything, you turn your head back to your book. Tony decides to take a seat at the opposite end of the couch and tries again. “What are you reading?”

Instead of answering, you just hold up the book and let him read the cover. Once and Future, spelled out on the spine of the book that you had removed the book jacket from while you read. “Y/N, maybe put the book down for a few minutes. I think Mr. Stark-”

“Tony is fine.”

“I think Tony and you need to discuss something.” You hesitantly pick up the receipt you had been using as a bookmark and slide it into the book, not wanting to leave Ari Helix behind, but you wouldn’t be rude to your Nana on a good day. On a day that you had trudged through the snow in your converse, maybe, but not on purpose.

“I don’t know him. I don’t think we have anything to discuss.”

“You’re right, we don’t know each other yet, but I’m hoping that will change with everything that’s going to happen.”

“What’s going to happen?” You can feel your eyebrows fall towards your eyes as you feel as though something is about to change without your permission.

“Well Y/N, I’m… I’m your dad.”

“Bullshit.” You say quickly. “Tony Stark doesn’t have kids. And if he did, there would have been a fucking gossip blog screaming about it already.”

“Well you definitely have my mouth if nothing else.” Tony adds with a chuckle.

“I don’t have anything of yours, because you’re not my dad. I never want to see you again. Get the fuck out.” You push off the couch and turn to run off to your room.

“See that’s going to be a little tough seeing as you're supposed to come live with me.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” You turn on your heels, the anger building quickly. You’ve always been a bit of a hot head, but in this moment you don’t even try to control your temper. “I have a home, thank you very kindly. I don’t fucking know you. And I’m not looking to find a dad anytime soon.” The words spit out of you before you can stop any of them.

“See the thing is, you’re fourteen and I’m your dad. Custodially, you’re supposed to live with me.”

“See the thing is,” you mock before continuing, “You didn’t care for fourteen years, so I don’t give a shit what you think you’re supposed to be doing custodially.” You can’t help but add air quotes around the word custodially. It burns as it leaves your lips. He hasn’t cared about you for fourteen years, why start now?

“That’s because I didn’t know you existed Y/N. I found out about you twenty four hours ago and I’m stepping up now.” The words leave his mouth in an exasperated tone, but he doesn’t raise his voice.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How did you find out about me?”

“Your high school.”

“What?”

“When you registered for school they had your birth certificate. They needed more information. Since it listed me as your father, they reached out to Nat- to my assistant. It was quite the shock to me that my child’s school was reaching out to me, since I didn’t know I had a child but the timing adds up and looking at you, it makes a lot of sense.”

“You were listed on my birth certificate?” This question was aimed at your grandparents more than at Tony-your father.

“We didn’t know if it was true or not. Your mom was in a bad place when she had you Y/N. So we had to take everything she said with a grain of salt. Was she beautiful and loving and did she love you? Yes completely. But did a lot of what she said during that time make sense? No, not at all.” Your nana says as she sits down on the couch, rubbing her knee. It’s probably another bad day. If you leave, who will make sure Nana and Pops are ok?

“I can’t go with you.” You cross your arms as you speak to Ton-your father.

“Why not?” His eyebrow raises over his square glasses.

“‘Cuz someone has to help Nana and Pops around the house.”

“I’ll make sure there’s a nurse helping them. Or better we can move them into a nursing facility where they don’t have to go up and down a bunch of flights of steps all the time.”

“Why would you do that.” The question came out as a demand, especially since you don’t want to believe this man that’s taking you away from the only family you’ve ever known would do something… nice.

“Because they’re your family. I’m not heartless. Well I guess that depends on what your belief on science is and arc reactors are, but technically I do still have a heart underneath all of this.” He points to where you know there would be metal and lights under his suit. “But for right now, we need to focus on getting you to the tower.”

“What tower?”

“Avenger’s tower? It’s closer than Malibu? And in less shambles.”

“So you’re moving me from the home that I know and love, but you don’t even live where you’re moving me?”

“I live there a lot of the time. And the Avengers are there most of the time which means you’ll be very safe. But I do have to travel for business.”

“Then I’ll stay where I am thanks.” Tony goes to speak when Wallace goes off. The beeping is only jarring for him since you and your Nana are used to it going off at random times.

“What the hell is that?”

“That is Wallace.” You say, not clearing up anything. Hmmm, your Dexcom says you’re 205 and rising? You could have sworn you had insulin on board. So you unclip the pump from your side and tap the screen to enter your blood sugar. No correction needed.

“You good babydoll?” Your nana asks from across the living room.

“I’m good. I have insulin on board.”

“You’re diabetic?” Tony asks, putting two and two together.

“Yup. Have been since I was four.”

“And Wallace?” He asks hesitantly.

“Do you honestly care?” You say before rolling your eyes and walking towards the kitchen. Mentally, you slap yourself. You should have grabbed your book. Now you’ll either have to start a new one or wait until your father, you roll your eyes at even saying it, leaves so you can continue your space adventure. Walking down the hallway you enter your room and close the door behind you. All you want to do is shut out the bombshell that was dropped on you and not deal with it. But for some reason you get the feeling that Tony Stark, freaking Iron Man, isn’t one to just let things go.

Giving up on the idea of starting another book, you open your computer and click your Spotify to start playing the playlist you had paused this morning when you had left to run errands with Pops. You only have two weeks of summer left, so you had spent time getting school supplies and groceries before returning to the apartment. While Hitchin’ A Ride by Green Day starts playing, you open Twitter, hoping for anything to distract yourself. But somehow you find yourself on Tony Stark’s Twitter. It was less narcissistic that you imagined for him. Some retweets about Stark Industries, a few comical tweets about wanting a cheeseburger, and then a tweet from twenty four hours that just said HOLY SHIT in all caps and nothing else. Could that be about you? Closing out Twitter, you find yourself opening up your Tumblr to scroll as Lithium by Nirvana played. Or well you tried to scroll, but a knock on your door interrupts you.

“Can I come in?” Tony’s head peaks in.

“If I say no will you go?” You say without looking up.

“Probably not. The people in my inner circle say I’m fairly stubborn.”

“Hmm.” Is the only reply you give him. To be fair, a lot of your friends would say you’re stubborn too so it’s not that surprising that your father is too.

“I know you don’t like it kiddo-”

“Don’t call me kiddo.

“-but we do need to head to the Tower soon. Happy’s been parked downstairs for about as long as he’s allowed to be there.” Tony continues as if you hadn’t said anything. “So how about you pack up stuff you’ll need for the next few days and then I can send Happy and some other people to come get the rest later on?”

“You’re going to send people to pack up my stuff? You know how invasive that is?”

“Ok, I’ll send you over with them, you can pack it up and they’ll move it to the tower, it’s your choice. Or to Malibu if you’d rather. Well that is once the rebuild is done. Long story. But if you stay at the tower, you won’t have to change schools.”

“Yippee. Everyone at school will get to find out that Tony Stark is my father. How much fun will that be.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I definitely wanted to be ostracized my first year at high school. Thanks for making it even better than I could ever imagine high school being.”

“Look I know this isn’t a win/win scenario, but we can keep your name out of the press until your eighteen if you want. You’re a minor-”

“Yeah, but when the paparazzi see me coming out of the tower, that won’t tip them off.”

“I’ll have Happy drive you. There’s a garage entrance. No one will see you coming or leaving.”

“Great so I just have to give up my freedom. That’s even better than I imagined.”

“Y/N, I know this isn’t what you wanted, or even what you want, but I think we can come up with something that works in the long run. Plus I’m having Pepper, you’ll meet her later, take over SI so I won’t have to do as much. I can try to stay in New York as much as possible. Because no matter what happens, you’re my daughter and I want to know you.” You don’t say anything in response. “I hope one day, you feel similarly.” He says softly.

“I doubt it.” You say honestly.

“Well even if that’s the case, right now we do need to pack up some stuff to take to the tower for now. Want me to hel-” He starts to pick up a sweatshirt from the end of your bed and you snatch it from his hand as you reply.

“I’ve got it.”

“Y/N, we’re here.” Your father’s voice pulls you from your thoughts and you look at the non descript parking garage that is under what you assume is the tower. The man you’ve figured out is Happy, though he’s the exact opposite of Happy, opens your door and you climb out, knowing that Tony will be behind you. Happy goes to grab your bags from the trunk, but you stop him.

“I’ve got it.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“I don’t have an issue carrying my own stuff like some people.” From the trunk you lift out your purple backpack, the black rolling suitcase, and the canvas bag that’s filled with all your pump supplies, sensors, and insulin. You follow Tony and Happy towards an elevator.

“JARVIS take us to the main floors.”

“Certainly sir.” You look up expecting to see a face or something but there’s no one there.

“JARVIS is the AI that runs the whole tower. If you need anything JARVIS is the one to ask. If there’s specific food you want or if you need stuff for school or, well, anything really, just ask JARVIS. I’ll get you added to the levels of clearance that allow you to order anything that you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Part of you living with me is that I’m going to provide for you. JARVIS is part of providing for you. I’m not the best at remembering to like grocery shop or send the laundry out so JARVIS helps with that.”

“Send the laundry out? Do you not have a washer and dryer in this whole place?” You cock an eyebrow at how spoiled he sounds.

“We do, but there are other things that take time away from me.” You add continue to do my own laundry to the mental list of things that will make you different from your father. Tony notices the disapproval marked in his daughter’s face and hopes that maybe meeting the Avengers will make up for the disappointment he’s been to her so far. The doors open and in the living room Natasha and Clint are sitting watching a movie while Steve sits in a chair reading a book. “Where’s Code Green?”

“In the lab,” Steve comments, not looking up from the page he’s on.

“That’s Capsicle. Legolas is sitting next to Nat. Big Green is down in the lab and Point Break is currently back at home but you’ll meet him eventually, though hopefully not his brother.” At the sound of being introduced the three in the living room look up and see the girl standing next to Tony in surprise.

“Uh, Tony, are we taking pint size Avengers now?” Clint asks.

“I might be small, but I can kick your knees out just as easily.” You pull on the strap of your backpack, not really wanting to be in this room much longer.

“Ok, before you kick anyone’s knees out. This is not an Avenger recruit. This is Y/N Stark, my daughter.” Ok taking on his last name was something you were going to have to talk to him about because you were perfectly happy being Y/N Y/L/N, not this Y/N Stark bullshit.

“You have a kid?” Steve asks, genuine confusion spread across his face.

“I do. I didn’t know until yesterday, but I’m doing the right thing.” You can’t stop the snort that escapes you. Tony looks over at you.

“Sorry,” You say although you don’t mean it. “Can I es- go to my room?”

“‘Yes, you can escape to your room. I’ll show you where it is.”

“I got it boss. I think you have some people that need answers.” Happy offers. You’re silently relieved that Happy offered to show you. If you had to spend another minute with your dad, you might lose your mind. Happy walks you into the kitchen and opens the fridge as you go past it. You look at him, trying to figure out why he’s opening it. “Tony told me you’re diabetic. You have insulin that needs refrigeration right?”

“Oh, yeah I just didn’t know he told you.”

“Head of security. There’s not much he doesn’t tell me.” Happy turns them towards a staircase leading away from where all the Avengers are. “But you know if you need someone to talk to, or grab a cheeseburger with, there’s things he doesn’t have to know about.”

“I don’t eat meat, but I appreciate it, Happy.”

“He’s going to say you’re not his kid if you don’t eat cheeseburgers.” And for the first time since all of this started, you actually let out a laugh.

Tony’s head turns towards the sound of the laugh. It’s unfamiliar, but he wants to hear more of it. He’s missed fourteen years of your life, but he wants to make things better, he does. He’s just not sure how.

“So you found out you have a kid?” Steve asks, his book forgotten now.

“Yeah, yesterday I found out I had a fourteen year old and then it’s been a whole process of finding out that since she’s mine I have custody technically.”

“So you took her away from all she knows?” Natasha's voice comes softly from the couch.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Did you give her a choice?” Natasha asks, harsher this time. In her eyes anyone could see the remainders of another girl that was taken from all she ever knew and replaced with a hard boiled assassin.

“In the eyes of the state she doesn’t really have a choice.”

“So you didn’t give her a choice.”

“She’s got a medical condition that was costing her family thousands a month on top of her grandparents’ conditions. I’m helping!” Tony’s voice raises for the first time this afternoon since he tried to stay calm around his kid.

“You think you’re helping, but you’re taking her from the only life she’s ever known and I’m betting you gave her no choice in this. All you might get out of this is four years with her and then she disappears from your life.” Clint says softly, not trying to upset Tony, but also hearing the points that Natasha was bringing up.

“You’re going to have to work hard to make this worth it to Y/N, Tony.” Steve says before picking up his book.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #stark!reader #tony stark daughter #peter parker fan fiction #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fan fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x you #imanativeofswlondondahling #tony stark x daughter!reader

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imwatermeloness · 3 years

Text

Trust me

Chapter 1 is out, go show it some love :)<3

Summary: 5 times Tony had to trust someone else to take care of Peter and one time he shouldn't have

Chapter summary: Tony and Peter go skydiving. Parker luck strikes and Peter pays the price.

Read it here!

__________

"I can't believe I let you rope me into this." Tony grumbles in the driver’s seat, fisting the steering wheel tightly in a white knuckled grip.

Peter rolls his eyes at the man and leans back in his own seat. “I thought you weren’t scared of anything.”

It had taken a lot of persuasion to get Tony to agree to skydiving with him, without Iron Man. With the suit there would have literally been no point to the activity. Peter had spent weeks talking the man into coming with him and only when he had accused Tony of being scared, had the man assented, though begrudgingly.

The billionaire fixes him with a glare. “I didn’t say that. I said I’m not scared of anything, except for Pepper and your aunt.”

"Then there’s no reason not to do this.” Peter countered with a self-satisfied grin.

The man scoffs. “Speak for yourself, guess who’s going to have his head torn off if I come back and tell them that I let you fall to your death cause I didn’t have the suit.”

“I’m not going to fall to my death, Mr. Stark.”

That makes Tony look oddly alarmed. “For that, I’m gonna need you to knock on wood, kid.”

There’s nothing in the car that’s made of wood, not even cardboard coffee cups or receipts. Tony keeps the car freakishly clean. So Peter knocks his hand on his head, eliciting a scolding look from the man. Tony doesn’t like when Peter plays down or mocks his own intellect, even if it's a joke. He makes a show of putting his hand back down. “I didn’t know you were superstitious. Didn't you say you don’t believe in magic?”

“I’m heavily relying on past statistics. You have a habit of getting into trouble right after promising me you’re not gonna get into trouble. I’m not risking it.”

Peter breathes out a laugh. “Oh come on, it'll be fun. It's supposed to give you the adrenaline rush of your life." He moves his hands in an arch to add drama.

Tony’s grip on the wheel tightens just a fraction. He glances at Peter briefly, an unreadable expression clouding his expression. "I get heart palpitations just from watching the footage from your suit. I'm good on adrenaline."

Peter huffs impatiently and turns nearly sideways in order to give Tony his full attention. The man looks like he’s about to tell him to sit back but Peter opens his mouth before the man does. "Don't be a grumpy Gus, please, just try to enjoy it, for me?" He only widens his eyes a little bit, but it does the trick.

Tony grumbles something incoherent under his breath that sounds a lot like ‘damn puppy dog eyes’ and blows out a breath. Then, “fine.”

----------

They’re in the plane and they're both attached to other people by harnesses that wrap around their upper bodies. Tony is going to jump first. He’s standing in the open doorway of the small plane, his back against the tandem instructor’s chest, looking wildly uncomfortable. Peter is not sure if it’s because of being so close to a complete stranger or the fact that he knows he’s going to be free falling through the sky in just a minute. Nevertheless, the man looks like he would rather be anywhere else right now. Mr. Stark turns around for the last time and locks eyes with the man Peter is strapped against. His eyes are steely and Peter is glad he’s not on the receiving end of that look.

“That’s my kid, you bring him down safe, capiche?” Peter’s cheeks heat up fiery red as he hears the man’s firm ‘yes, sir’. Tony nods once and looks back at Peter.

“You okay?”

Peter wants to roll his eyes again. Tony is such a mother hen. Deciding against it he simply smiles reassuringly and gives Tony a thumbs up. “Yup.” And it’s the truth. Sure, he’s nervous but it’s trumped by the adrenaline filled excitement that’s coursing through his veins now that it’s almost the time to jump. He honestly can’t wait.

Tony nods one more time and pats Peter’s shoulder. “Alright, kid. I’ll see you when you get down. Happy trails!”

And then they jump. Peter watches them float down until they’re merely a small dot against the large area of sand they’re supposed to land on. His heart is racing so hard that he can feel it in his ears.

“Ready, kid?” his flying instructor asks, walking them closer to the edge. Peter swallows down the bubbling anxiety and nods determinatedly, gripping the shoulder straps of his harness. “Yeah.” he says, “let’s do this.”

And suddenly they’re falling. It feels sort of like one of those amusement park attractions that drop down from really high up and make your stomach feel all wonky. it's exhilarating, insane, amazing, terrifying but so, so great. The oxygen is a lot thinner than down in the ground and for a second it's hard to breathe. His mouth is gaping like he’s seen fish do. He breaks out in startled laughter at the feeling that reverberates from the bottom of his stomach throughout his whole body.

It’s incredible.

Until they suddenly jerk violently and are flipped upside down, falling heads first towards the rapidly approaching ground. He hears the skydiving instructor yelp and it's only a half a second later that Peter registers a snap from somewhere in his lower leg, that is soon engulfed by absolute searing agony that emanates from his right ankle. It feels like someone is trying to rip his foot from the rest of his leg. He doesn't even realize that he has been screaming until he closes his mouth to grit his teeth together. His eyes fill with hot salt water and Peter can instantly tell from past experience that his ankle is definitely broken, there's no other possibility. He's felt this pain so many times.

They start spinning around wildly and Peter gets so disoriented that he is unable to tell up from down. He can't really see anything other than the chaotic blur of ground that he can make out occasionally and that they are nearing at an alarming speed.

The man behind him yells something at him but Peter can't concentrate on anything other than the unforgiving burning in his ankle. Peter looks up and what he sees makes his heart drop down to his stomach. The drogue chute has somehow inexplicably wrapped itself around his ankle. The sight of it makes the pain worsen tenfold and Peter bites his lip so he won't scream again. Oh man, what if this thing rips my foot clean off. It feels like it. Could he still be Spider-Man with only one foot? Tony could probably make him a really good prosthetic, with so many different features. He doesn't want a prosthetic, though. He wants to keep his leg and he doesn’t want to be an amputee. Oh God he doesn’t want to lose a limb because of something so stupid.

The rope squeezes his ankle so tight that Peter is half scared that it's cutting off the blood circulation to his foot. It feels worse than getting shot. Delirious from pain Peter thinks the rope might be caught on his shoe so he frantically kicks his sneaker off with his other foot, but it changes nothing. His ankle is still being strangled and no matter how much he flails his leg around, the rope won't budge.

Then finally his head clears enough to hear what the man is yelling in his ear.

"Kid! Kid, are you okay?"

Peter grunts, fighting to keep his voice level. "Y-yeah, yeah, it's just- my foot, it's-"

"Alright, you're okay.” The man sounds just as scared as Peter is although he is hiding it a lot better. “I'm gonna get us down! Just take a deep breath. I'll count to three and on three I'm going to pull the emergency chute. It's gonna get rocky but we'll be fine."

Peter pants because now the pain is on the point of being unbearable. He manages to nod shakily. "O-okay."

"Okay, one, two, THREE!"

It knocks the breath out of Peter's lungs. The abrupt stop in motion feels like getting hit by a car and he can already tell his whole torso is going to be bruised. He can't stop the yelp of pain that escapes through his lips when the movement jostles his leg violently. Deploying the emergency chute has flipped them back into the right position and now they’re floating down feet first.

Peter can't remember the rest of the way down. All he knows is the erratic race of his heart, the all consuming torment in his ankle and the strange numbness that he associates with shock. He thinks the tandem instructor might have talked to him but he can’t be sure. Once Peter's feet touch the ground his vision whites out and he almost faints when he feels the bones in his ankle creak. It suddenly strikes him that they could have very well died.

All the adrenaline drains out of him at once and he sags against the chest of the man behind him. Maybe he should faint. He wants to faint. He doesn't want to feel or think about the mess that is his leg. He can tell that it's bad, just from the feeling. Tears fill his eyes again and he tries to blink them back but then his lower lip starts trembling and he really wants May.

The man places a comforting hand on Peter's chest, rubbing it softly and shushes him quietly, all the while Peter trembles and shakes like a leaf. He's dazed and can't catch a single thought, his mind like a carousel, spinning out of control.

------------

Tony lands with the man and his legs feel like jello. That was… God awful. This is the last time he agrees to any of Peter’s insane ideas. The whole way down all he could think about was the chute malfunctioning or the harnesses malfunctioning or the tandem instructor having a heart attack or something. His mind went through every single worst-case-scenario where something went wrong and they fell down, only leaving two wet smears of red in their wake.

Nothing happened though, thank God, and they descended safely. Although, the sight that greets him raises his hackles right back up again. The people around him, even the ones helping him out of the harness are all mesmerized by something that is happening above them, in the air. He’s confused for a moment until his mind freezes on a thought. Peter. Heart pounding he leaps off the ground and gazes up. Sure enough, it’s Peter and his skydiving instructor.

Something is clearly wrong though, as they’re falling down in a completely wrong position, very different from what Tony and his instructor had done, plummeting towards the ground. The air hitches in Tony’s throat and his heart falls down to his stomach. His hand automatically slaps against his chest, and instead of connecting with the nano housing unit, his hand only meets fabric on top of the scarred surface of his chest.

“Fuck.” He had come without the nanoparticles. The realization clenches his heart in a terrifying grip. His kid… Oh god- he has to- oh God. Fuck, he shouldn’t have listened to the kid. He doesn’t know what to do. Frantically he looks around and settles his eyes on the nearest man, getting into his face.

“Hey! What the hell is going on?” He doesn’t care that his voice shakes, he doesn’t even care that everyone there can clearly see that he's scared out of his mind. The man only glances at him before turning his gaze back to the blue sky. It’s painfully obvious that the man is doing his best to act calm around the billionaire. It does nothing to ease the panic that’s clouding Tony’s brain. “I’m not sure, Mr. Stark. It looks like something might be wrong with the drogue chute.”

He frowns. “What, what does that mean?”

The man doesn’t answer his question but places a placating hand on his shoulder. Tony wants to push it off. “Hold on, sir.” The man says and leaves him to go talk to the man a few feet away from them.

“No, you hold on-” it falls on deaf ears when there’s a unified gasp from nearly everyone around him. He spins around to look back to the sky and heaves out a breath of relief. Peter and the man have deployed a parachute and are now approaching the ground in what Tony thinks looks like normal manner. He may have not done this before but even he knows that a parachute means not being in an acute danger of dying.

Or thought he knew, because suddenly the people around him go even more frantic than before and Tony’s heart skips another beat. He hears the word “ambulance” and his heart all but stops. “What…” he breathes when he sees one of the men lifting a phone to his ear. He spins around to find someone, anyone available to tell him what is happening but everyone’s busy discussing the situation with each other.

Tony finally runs out of patience.

“Hey!” he yells with the deepest, loudest voice he can manage and is satisfied when the employees of the place stop buzzing around like damn bees. “Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on before I sue this place six ways to Sunday and you ragtag gang of damn adrenaline junkies never see the inside of another plane ever again!”

The silence hangs heavy around them for a moment until the man Tony had jumped with steps forward. “They deployed the emergency chute. You can tell by the solid color.” he explains calmly, like talking to a frightened animal and points to Peter and the man where they’re floating down with a bright orange colored chute. “That means something’s wrong with the original parachute. Now, according to protocol we have to alert the emergency services and get an ambulance here, just to be sure.”

Tony doesn’t think he’s breathing. Emergency chute? An ambulance?

His arm tingles uncomfortably and in that moment he’s sure he’s actually going to go into a cardiac arrest. Tony hadn’t prepared for this. Yes, technically he knew that there was always the possibility of something going wrong, but statistics always applied to other people. The statistics were there to assure people that these mishaps only happened to a very, very small portion of people and that there was really nothing to fear.

“Right now they seem okay. Don’t worry, sir, Dave’s gonna get your boy down safe and sound.”

That is what bothers him the most. The kid could be dying for all he knows and he’s helpless to do anything. He has to trust his entire world in the hands of a ‘Dave’ he doesn’t even know. Tony hasn’t felt so utterly useless in a long time.

-------------

"Peter!"

Peter numbly lifts his head to see Mr. Stark sprinting towards him with what looks like at least ten people. His mind clears a bit more and he manages to calm himself down enough to uncoordinatedly pet at the vest that he is still strapped in.

Tony kneels in front of him placing his hands to Peter's cheeks, while a few of the people that came with the billionaire start working on detaching Peter from the man. The tears spill over without his consent.

"Oh my God, kid. Lordy, you almost gave me a heart attack."

In his state Peter can only mumble incoherently. "M-my, my foot-"

Tony glances down at Peter’s ankle and Peter can see him grimace when the man takes in the blood seeping through the fabric of the suit. "Alright, Jesus, we'll, uh, we'll get you all fixed up, okay. I already called Cho."

Behind him he can remotely feel the tandem instructor's body leaving his back and he very nearly slumps down but he hears Tony’s quiet ‘whoa’ and feels the man’s hands catch his shoulders, keeping him upright.

He hisses when he feels someone move his leg to assess the damage. He quickly looks away and settles his eyes on Tony again.

Peter moves his head in a shaky nod, blinking to get rid of the blur of tears in his eyes. Tony is looking at him with more fear in his deep dark irises than the last time Peter got stabbed, and it had been bad. He doesn’t like it when Tony looks at him like that. He doesn’t like it when Tony or May are so worried about him. The atmosphere suddenly feels too heavy and Peter needs to alleviate it somehow. He sniffs quietly, trying his best to form a believable smile. "Told you,” he mutters. “the adrenaline rush of your life."

So much is happening around them, but Peter can only focus on Tony and the stab of pain in his leg. Tony gapes at him like it’s the most ridiculous thing Peter has ever said. Very soon, though, he gets himself together and then gently brushes the wild ringlets of hair off of Peter's forehead.

Tony’s hand is warm against Peter’s chilled skin. "And I told you, little hooligan, that I've had enough adrenaline as it is."

Peter chuckles and smiles sheepishly, when the man lowers his hand to cup his cheek again.

"You scared the devil out of me, Pete,” Tony states suddenly and Peter’s stomach clenches in guilt. “I'm never letting you go skydiving again, at least not without my suit. And even then I need a year, at least, to recover from this."

Peter lowers his chin to hide the relieved expression on his face. After all, this had been his idea. "I think I'm okay with that."

The sound of tires on gravel breaks the moment and Peter looks up to see an ambulance approaching them. He almost groans in embarrassment. He doesn't want to get on the bus and he doesn't want people to make a big deal out of it. He nuzzles into Tony's hand and looks up through his lashes in hopes that Tony can read his mind.

He can apparently, but it doesn't get Peter what he wants. Tony only glares at him playfully and taps the side of Peter's head disapprovingly with the hand that rests against his cheek.

"You put those peepers away. The puppy dog eyes don't work when I'm scared for your life."

Tony points at his own hair where Peter can see hints of grey. "See this? This is your fault, now you face the consequences."

Peter smirks, assured now by the realization that things we’re most likely going to be okay. "It's my fault, that you're... old?"

Tony barks out a laugh and nudges Peter's shoulder. "You little shit! It's only broccoli for you for the next month."

"Jokes on you, I like broccoli."

"Yeah, cause you're a menace."

"Am not! You like me!"

"Don't know where you got that idea from."

"I'm your favorite intern."

"Intern? Doesn't ring a bell."

"What?" He laughs. "You know me!"

"Peter? Peter who? Never heard of him."

Peter cackles so loud his whole body shakes, not even caring that the action jolts his leg uncomfortably, and Tony joins him. They giggle like children until the ambulance reaches them and Tony wipes the remnants of tears off of Peter's cheeks.

"Alright,” his voice is almost a soft whisper. “let's get you to Cho." Then a smirk grazes his lips and he points at Peter.

"It's Peter, right?"

Peter shoves Tony's shoulder with a childlike giggle. "Stop."

Tony chuckles and places a hand on top of Peter's curls. He grins at him and adds softly. "You'll be okay." Peter smiles back at him, all bright eyed and trusting, just like he always is.

Tony will make sure of it.

A mischievous grin tugs at Peter’s lips again. "So,” he stretches the word. “who's gonna tell May?"

The smile on Tony's face falls.

"Shit."

#peter parker #tony stark #protective tony stark #hurt peter parker #worried tony stark #my ao3 #fic #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #peter parker whump

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cagestark · 4 years

Text

A Hole in the Head//4

Tw: Spanking, graphic depictions of violence (not between our ot3)

SORRY ABOUT THE REPOST. Still being shadowbanned. Always going to be pursuing why </3

The dining room table is far too big for two, but Barnes refuses to join them for dinner. He takes up residence in the doorway leaning against the frame, his eyes on his phone. Earlier in the day, Pepper had received an anonymous threat via snail mail that had everyone on high alert. Since it was impossible to tell by the ambiguity whether the letter was in connection with Toomes or just with her work at Stark Industries in San Francisco, no immediate quarantine measures were being taken.

Apparently Tony’s mother was so far off the map in Italy that her own security detail had spent the last three days just trying to find her. Tony had laughed and cursed in equal measure, surrounded by anxious men who couldn’t decide whether to laugh as well or apologize. Afterward, Tony and Peter had spent time in their room unwinding, and that was when he had given the man every last detail about his day. The car. The mall. Running from Barnes. The alley. Tony had listened, thoughtful. He’d stalked to the window and looked out over the grounds, and Peter (not for the first time, not even that day) regretted having such a big fat mouth.

Tony had enough on his plate without adding Peter’s bullshit.

Enough on his plate, including the vegetarian tabbouleh salad with edamame and feta that they’re having for dinner. It’s so rich with pesto that just the scent of it makes Peter’s stomach grumble eagerly. Tony selects the wine because Peter knows nothing about wines (“Your palate needs work, sweet thing,”) and pours a generous glass only to place his hand across the top before Peter can pick it up. The message is clear: wait.

Tony takes his seat, unbuttoning the top button on his suit jacket. He unfolds his dinner napkin, but before Peter can touch his fork, he speaks: “Barnes.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“Come and take Peter’s seat.”

There is no invitation. It’s an order. Peter finds himself slipping from his chair and standing awkwardly beside it while Barnes crosses the room with slow, thoughtful steps. He brings with him the scent of leather and cologne. It makes Peter grit his teeth.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” Peter asks. He tacks on at the end, “Sir?”

Tony points to the space between his chair and Barnes’s. To the floor.

“But it’s tabbouleh salad night,” Peter whines.

“I won’t repeat myself,” Tony says. His tone rumbles over Peter like thunder, makes the hairs on his arms stand on end and his head bow. As embarrassing as it is, Peter moves to kneel on the hardwood floor, sitting back on his heels. Tony’s hand cards briefly through his hair before returning to his fork. “Please,” he says to Barnes. “Eat.”

Barnes, who ‘hadn’t been hungry’ ten minutes prior, is no idiot. He picks up the fork.

“Peter told me about your eventful day together,” Tony says. Barnes just nods, the movement visible from the corner of Peter’s eye. “And now I want you to tell me your version of the events.”

“You left at a quarter ‘til seven. Peter slept until nine in the morning. Breakfast at nine-thirty. We left for the mall in the black Cadillac before ten. Traffic outside Manhattan was typical. We made it to the Brookfield Place mall at eleven-thirty, where I parked at the—”

“I’m so tempted to let you go on,” Tony says. “I really am. I bet I could quiz you about anything from what Peter had for breakfast to what the license plate on the Cadillac was and you’d know every last detail.”

Barnes bows his head.

“But I think we both know the parts I’m most interested in. Pick it up from inside the fitting room.”

“I told him to stay out of the fitting rooms from now on. He said that he wanted to grab a shirt to go with the pants he was wearing, and that if I let him, he’d come without a fuss. It was an error on my part. I factored thirty seconds for him to find and return with the shirt, but within ten, my phone pinged to say that he had gone further than twenty feet away from me—”

Peter’s head snaps up. “You’ve been tracking me? Are you kidding? That’s such an invasion of privacy!”

Tony grips Peter’s hair in his fist, close to the roots so that Peter can’t squirm away. With his other hand, he reaches out for his wine glass to take a generous sip. “You’re in enough trouble, Peter,” he says after he swallows. “Say another word without me explicitly asking you to and you’re looking at astronomical trouble, baby. The likes of which you’ve never seen. Understood?”

“Yessir,” he murmurs, lowering his chin when Tony lets go of his hair.

“Bucky—go on.”

“I figured there were three options. He would stay in the mall, he would leave the mall for the street, or he would leave the mall for the car. I took my chances and went down to the bottom floor to head him off should he leave. Based on his rising elevation, he rode the elevator or escalators up to the top and then took the stairs down. He went out onto Vesey heading east. It wasn’t hard to cut him off.

“Once I did, I lost my temper. I broke his sunglasses. I pressed him against the wall and threatened him.” Barnes stops speaking. In the abrupt silence, Peter feels like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for confirmation of what they all know is coming.

“It’s okay,” says Tony, face no more expressive than a wall of stone. “Go on.”

“He—pressed against me. And he felt it.”

“Felt what?”

“That I was hard.”

Tony hums. Barnes is no longer eating, just holding the fork in his hand with knuckles turning white. For a moment, Peter sees the knife with the silver handle clutched in Beck’s fist, the one they had melted down and destroyed afterward. He has to blink away the illusion. “And then what?”

“I told him it would never happen and to give it up before he got us both killed.” Barnes pauses, and when Tony doesn’t fill the silence immediately, he asks, “Are you going to kill me?”

Peter doesn’t believe that Tony would kill Barnes, but there is a seed of doubt in him planted by Beck’s betrayal and Peter’s own inexperience when it comes to strategy. His tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth, unsure whether he should speak up and try to save the man’s life (he doesn’t want Barnes dead ) or stay silent and out of trouble.

“Only one thing will ever get you killed here,” Tony says. “And that’s betraying me. Are you going to betray me?”

“No, Mr. Stark,” Barnes says. His shoulders lower a fraction, the only hint of his relief. “My loyalty—it runs deep.”

“Loyalty to me or to Steve?”

Barnes frowns. “Both.”

“Loyalty to Peter?”

Barnes gives Peter a glance where he kneels on his heels in his Armani outfit, stomach aching with hunger because tabbouleh is his favorite. Peter keeps his stare on the edge of the table, stomach doing rolls knowing that Barnes is looking at him. At last, the man nods. “Yes.”

“If he wished for it, you could bend Peter over this table and eat his ass instead of this edamame, and I wouldn’t kill you for it.”

“I’m—always grateful not to be killed.”

Tony laughs, the sudden noise startling a flinch out of both of them. “You really are hard to get a rise out of. No wonder Peter was so, ah, animated telling me about your time together in the alley. I think if I managed to get a reaction out of you like that, I’d probably do cartwheels.

“My point is that if a part of this...tension between you and Peter centers on fear of me?—that’s needless. Baseless. I knew from the day you volunteered in my office to watch him that you must have had an ulterior motive. I didn’t think there was anything in the world that could have parted you from Steve’s side, but there you were, begging him to let you go. I knew then, and I was fine with it. Peter is handsome, he is smart, he is fun. I’ve seen straight men get hard-ons for him. It’s nothing new, and if we’re having honesty hour? I like it .

“You’re valuable to me, and I am not willing to lose you for any forgivable indiscretion. Understood?”

“Yes,” Barnes says, voice raspy. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiles. “Call me Tony. Actually, don’t , I like the way you say my name like that, Mr. Stark . Fucking gold. Now, Peter on the other hand is in very big trouble. I had a long talk with him just the night before about how important it was to listen to your directions and follow any rules you laid down. Running away from you in a crowded public place definitely broke those rules, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Peter, apologize to Bucky.”

“Sorry,” Peter mutters.

Tony laughs as if Peter’s sulking insincerity is the funniest joke he’s heard all day. “That? That was just the preliminary apology, Bucky. You will be given a second and much more sincere apology as well, and he will keep apologizing until you see fit to forgive him. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony stands, the legs of his chair scraping against the hardwood floor. He removes his jacket and lays it gently over the back of his chair so as to minimize wrinkles. Peter’s eyes fall to the gun on his hip on instinct, even though he feels no fear from it. Next to come off are Tony’s cufflinks, two palladium rectangles that he sits beside his half-eaten plate. Both Barnes and Peter are entranced watching him roll up his sleeves to the forearms, revealing tanned, scarred skin. Those hands break men all the time, and tonight they are meant to break Peter.

“Peter, Peter,” Tony sighs. “What the fuck am I going to do with you, kid? Give me an answer, just for giggles.”

“Forgive me, sir?” Peter asks, showing every last tooth in a winning smile.

“Of course, sweet thing,” Tony says, petting a fond hand through Peter’s hair. He grips it tight, like slapping away the softness of a kiss. “ Eventually . Now, stand up and drop your pants.”

“What?” Peter gasps. His eyes flicker to Barnes who stares hard at the plate in front of him, fork still clenched in his fist. “What for, sir?”

“For a spanking. What else do rotten little boys get?’

“In front of him ?”

“They were his rules you broke.”

Peter shakes his head. The idea of Barnes seeing him that way is a delightful cocktail of embarrassing and arousing. He wants it and dreads it in equal measure, and for much the same reasons. Humiliating himself in front of people has more repercussions than just making his cock hard. It changes the way people see him.

Then the fear rolls off of him like water off a duck. Maybe he doesn’t want to give in. But a larger part of him wants to be forced to give in, and tonight, it’s exactly the thing he needs. Choices (he’s always fucking up these days, always making choices that get him in trouble or get him hurt) wrenched from his hands. Except that, for them to be taken away, he has to be holding on to them in the first place.

On the other side of the table, Tony plants his palms flat on the glossy wood, his eyes glittering because he knows . Their safeword sits between them like a dish they know neither of them will touch. Not tonight.

“No, sir,” says Peter, prolonging the inevitable. “I won’t.”

“Would you like a choice?”

His eyes narrow—Peter knows that when Tony gives a choice, it’s only because either will benefit him. His tone alone hints at a scheme, but begrudgingly, Peter nods. Curiosity killed the cat.

“You can bend over this table and take a spanking. Or ! You can sleep in the guest room tonight.”

Oh , he thinks as numbness prickles over his skin. Right. Either Tony knows he will win either way, or one option is so terrible that he knows it won’t be chosen at all.

Spankings are barely punishments—both of them know that. Tony had to find a real way to discipline Peter many years ago, and the options are all loathsome to the younger man: spending time in the corner without acknowledgment, eating dinner separate from Tony, or sleeping alone in the guest room. In all their time together, Peter had never done something serious enough to warrant sleeping alone. The meaning is clear. This is the worst thing Peter has ever done—and this is the angriest with him that Tony has ever been.

Peter doesn’t bend to his will, he breaks to it.

His eyes prickle as he stands and unbuttons his chinos. He undresses with shaking hands, taking off the jacket to lay it over the back of the chair atop Tony’s and then slipping his pants down past his hips. Leaning forward, he puts his elbows flat on the table, choosing instead to look down at the swirling wood grain rather than stare Barnes in the eye.

“You don’t need to count them,” says Tony, putting a hand on Peter’s flank and squeezing gently. It’s tears on a pillow to Peter’s hurt, the knot in his chest that’s wound tighter than a fist. But he appreciates it. “You can make whatever noise you need to, including your safeword . Understood?”

“Yessir,” Peter mumbles. His lips feel a little tingly, like when he gets stung by a bee.

Tony begins a strong rhythm over the fabric of Peter’s boxer-briefs. Peter braces himself so the force of the spanks don’t have his elbows squeaking across the polished wood, and still he can’t bring himself to look up at Barnes. He doesn’t want to see himself being seen.

When Peter’s skin is warm and red, Tony tugs the boxers down. Across the table like this, Barnes can’t see any of the goods, not Peter’s cock (which is hard, though he’s hardly enjoying this, it’s nothing but a reflex thanks to the Terrible thought of sleeping alone poisoning Peter’s arousal) and not his ass, but still, Peter feels exposed. Even more so when Tony begins to speak, his sentences punctuated with spanks from the flat of his palm that crack like thunder in the large room.

“You think I’m being unfair, sweet thing? Threatening you with the guest room?” Peter doesn’t answer or look up. With his head ducked down, at least if his eyes go misty, no one will be able to see. “I will do whatever it takes to make you see that there is a time for play and a time to be serious. You think one night apart would be rough? Imagine if Toomes took you. Killed you. Imagine how many nights both of us would spend alone then, Peter.”

“Quit, please,” Peter says around the lump in his throat, eyes burning with imminent tears. He’s got that fuzziness in his brain, the kind that reduces his world down to only Tony. Tony, who he let down today. Who he is always, always letting down. “I get it now.”

“You don’t . I bring in my most capable man to watch over you; he agrees to put his life before your own, and you put him at risk in every way. My fucking heart lives in your chest, and you put it at risk.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says through his chattering teeth. Tears drip from his eyes onto the wood beneath his face and he wants to reach out and smear them away with his hands, but he’s worried he won’t be able to support himself again. As it is, he feels them shaking, sapped of energy.

“Will you run again? Next time you’re bored, next time you’re scared, next time you have a few moments too long to think, are you going to run again?”

“No!” Peter cries, his whole body shivering with the force of Tony’s strikes. The pain goes deeper than his skin, deep, deep inside him. One arm gives away, sliding against the glossy wood and he lets himself go, clothed-chest pressed flat to the table. He cradles his arms around his head and lets himself shake with tears inside his hiding place.

But there is no hiding. Not when Tony presses flush against him, leaning over his bent form to take a handful of his hair and coax his head up from his arms.

Directly in his line of sight is Barnes. The look on his face isn’t something Peter can identify. There is no pleasure there, but no disgust either. His brows are lower than ever while he watches, still as a statue, like a man trying to be polite at the strangest dinner-and-a-show. Tony uses his free hand to take one of Peter’s wrists in a gentle grip, and Peter realizes that Tony has spoken only for it to be lost.

“Tell him you’re sorry, sweet thing,” Tony says again in his ear.

“’m sorry, Mr. Barnes,” Peter says, tears dripping off his chin. He searches the other man’s face, looking for the forgiveness that he needs. It feels like life or death.

But all Barnes does is nod and say, “Call me Bucky.”

-BUCKY-

In the den, Bucky pours the drinks. Help yourself to whatever you like, but grab me a whiskey neat, Tony says from his spot on the couch. Peter lays with his head in the man’s lap, dressed in nothing but his little see-through sweater and navy pants, the boss’s jacket thrown over him to keep him warm. The kid’s eyes are closed in rest though not in sleep, not for the way he shudders and sniffles.

Bucky keeps his eyes on the glasses while he pours expensive whiskey for the both of them, but in his mind he sees the young man bent over the dining room table, the arch of his back, the defeated slope of his neck as he braced himself on his elbows and took a pounding from the flat of Tony Stark’s hand. It’s a sight he won’t forget.

Something inside him has shifted now, maybe something that’s been shifting all along but slow, like tectonic plates moving against each other until an earthquake brings down everything. He won’t be able to look at either of those men the same.

His hands don’t shake when he crosses the room to hand Tony his glass, not even when the man tilts his head back baring his throat and drains the two fingers’ worth of alcohol in one gulp that has Bucky’s mouth feeling dry. God, to put his lips against that throat, to suck livid bruises and leave the imprints of his teeth on that throat...

“Thanks,” sighs Tony. “I could use about a dozen more.”

Bucky takes the glass back to the bar where he shrugs one shoulder and pours another drink. “It’s your whiskey,” he says.

“Don’t enable me,” Tony says, half his handsome mouth lifting in a smirk. He takes the drink, one hand slipping warmly through the kid’s curls (and curls have no right looking so soft, Bucky thinks bitterly) before nodding towards the armchair closest to his end of the sofa. “Sit, will you? Peter won’t be up for conversation while he’s locked in like this. But I have something I want to discuss.”

Bucky sits, hoping that the pounding of his pulse isn’t visible.

Tony is right about Bucky having an ulterior motive for offering to guard Peter, but it doesn’t seem like the man has any clue about the real reason, about the effect the older man has on him. It was grossly self-indulgent and more than a little masochistic for Bucky to take a job just beneath the boss he has an unhealthy obsession with.

And that was before he met the terror (the wild, beautiful terror) that is Peter Parker.

“He’s special,” Tony says, stroking the hair back from Peter’s forehead. Bucky realizes that he’s been staring at the kid’s face, glass of whiskey unsipped in his hands. Wincing at being caught, he lifts the glass to take a generous drink, savoring the flavor. “Like holding a live grenade. I knew from the moment I met him, but I thought even then that if it all exploded in my face, it would have been worth it.”

Bucky says nothing. He’s never experienced anything like that.

“But I didn’t keep you here to wax poetry. The explicit information I’m about to tell you is information only three other people have—” Tony smiles, coldly. “And one of them is dead.”

In his lap, Peter shivers where he’s feigning sleep, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. Maybe it’s easier that way. Bucky stands and goes to the closet where he knows the linens are kept (he knows every closet of this house, every nook and cranny). The blankets are the softest he’s ever touched, thick and rich. He drapes it over Peter and only notices at the end the tender, grateful look Tony is giving him.

After he takes his seat again, Bucky says the name: “Beck.”

Tony touches his nose with the finger of the hand that holds his whiskey.

“Quentin Beck. Born in California. Moved to New York after a less than sensational acting career finally was pronounced dead. He came to me the same way all of you do: through a friend of a friend, through some relation or acquaintance who refers you to me. He was good at stealth and had a flair for creative liberty during the year he worked under Vis in the Bronx. When the time came for promotion, he was lifted through the ranks and had the chance to come and work here at the house.

“Peter acted the way I would have expected Peter to. He flirts. Maybe his mother didn’t hold him enough as a child,” Tony says, smirking when Peter wrinkles his nose and pinches the man’s thigh. They all pretend not to see it. “But he craves the attention and the flattery. He’s always had my permission to find enjoyment when and where he can—I’m a busy man, and not nearly as young as I once was. But it seemed like every time someone began to return his, ah, affections, Peter would lose interest.

“Beck was the first to keep him enthralled. He was handsome enough. Sometimes, I would walk in on them kissing like teenagers, and getting caught just seemed to make Peter burn hotter. He wanted me to watch. I wanted to watch. We spent so many nights fucking and talking about it; we built it up in our minds, the way we expected it to go.”

Tony pauses, and Bucky finds that he’s been leaning forward more and more, entranced by the story. After Tony’s injury and Beck’s death, there had been much speculation about what had happened. The basis was obvious and well known: Beck had fucked Peter, and Tony had killed him. But in the details—that’s where the devil is. That’s where Bucky is right now, lost.

Beck, you lucky son of a bitch, Bucky thinks to himself. You didn’t even know what you had, and you fucked it up.

“I made a mistake, though,” Tony says at length. In his lap where Peter lies with his eyes closed, the kid reaches out, looking for his hand to lace their fingers together. There’s no room there for Bucky’s hand, he thinks to himself. God, he’s fucked. “Whenever they were together, I was looking at Peter. And that meant that I never really saw Beck.

“The sex between them was poor. Maybe Beck was nervous, maybe Peter was too. Maybe he was too used to me and the tastes we’d, ah, cultivated together. Anyway, it was a bad show, and I could tell that Peter was disappointed. He hadn’t even cum before Beck was blowing his load—into a condom, of course. I wasn’t letting anyone fuck my boy raw. After they fucked, we were supposed to end it, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Peter looked half-debauched. Hard, annoyed, naked on the bed we made together. Before I knew it, I was unbuckling my pants. Just the look in Peter’s eyes—God, I’ll never forget it. He knew what was coming. A real cock. A real man to fuck him within an inch of his life. I pressed his legs up, nearly folding him in half and then I gave him what he needed. He was just a little loose from Beck’s cock, no more than if I had opened him up with a few of my fingers.

“The whole time, my mouth never closed. Fuck, the things I said to him. Asking him how it felt to be with a real man, asking him if he’d even felt Beck inside him, telling him how no one else could ever fill him up the way I did. It made me all the hotter to know that Beck was right where I left him sitting in the armchair, tugging on his clothes, ready to slip away and take his walk of shame. Peter looked fucked-out, his hands clutching the bedsheets, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open. But—! That was always my problem, wasn’t it? Whenever I was looking at Peter, I should have been looking at Beck .

“Maybe Beck was in love with him; I wouldn’t have put that past him. Peter is very easy to fall in love with. We didn’t factor that in, didn’t consider that Beck might not be up for sharing. I still remember Peter’s face when he saw Beck coming up behind us. I turned, and for a moment I thought he was trying to come and join us, can you believe it? I barely felt the blade. It struck my sternum and slid off the bone, down and away from my heart, piercing a lung. Beck had poor form.

“Peter was the one to crawl to the bedside table for his gun. Beck had dragged me from the bed down to the floor, and I think he was planning to finish me off—that was his mistake. He was looking at me when he should have been looking at Peter. The kid is only an okay shot with a handgun, but at close range, he blew Beck’s fucking head off. The end.” Tony’s hand pets at Peter’s hair, tracing the shell of his ear. “Kept pressure on the wound, too, until Bruce could get there and get me to one of the hospitals where I have pull. The kid saved my life.”

“Jesus,” says Bucky. “That’s a hell of a story.”

Tony smiles. “He’s a hell of a kid. I thought it was important of you to know all this. If you’re going to be afraid of anyone, you should probably be afraid of Peter. He’d kill for me. Won’t you, baby?”

Peter hums. His eyes begin to flicker beneath his lids, thin mouth going lax as he drifts off into sleep.

“We have that in common,” Bucky says without thinking.

“What’s that?” Tony asks.

Bucky finishes his drink, stalling, trying to think of an explanation that doesn’t sound so fucking lovesick. When none comes and he’s stuck with the truth, he resigns himself to it. To how lame it sounds coming from his clumsy lips and in his rusty voice: “We’d kill for you.”

Tony stares at him with an inscrutable expression, and for a moment Bucky thinks that he’s gone too far, made himself too obvious. Then it’s almost worth it for the way the man’s mouth slips up into a half-smile. So handsome it hurts, but it’s a good hurt, the kind Bucky would subject himself to again and again.

“I’ll drink to that,” Tony says, holding out his cup in solidarity before draining his glass.

#starker #winterironspider #nff

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xxx-cat-xxx · 5 years

Text

A little broken

Over a year after defeating Thanos and almost losing Tony, Peter is still haunted by the final battle. In an attempt to outrun the memories, he starts college far from New York.

It takes a visit from his mentor and an ill-timed flu bug that brings them both to their knees until Peter realises that he doesn’t have to take on the whole world alone.

Some Irondad hurt/comfort for everyone who’s quarantining at home (and those of you who have to work. Stay safe!) This is my @marveltrumpshate fic for Heyriel. Great thanks to @whumphoarder for doing so much more than beta reading. I hope you enjoy.

______________________________

The first time they meet, Peter isn’t sure what to make of Tony Stark.

The man shows up unannounced to Peter’s apartment, chewing on May’s date loaf and walking around Peter’s room as if he owns the place—talking as if he owns the whole world. Peter is both awed and appalled, May’s occasional comments about greedy billionaires ringing in his ears. But then Peter starts talking about his motivation for doing what he does, and for a moment something in the older man’s face seems to break. That’s when Peter knows that there’s more to him than what makes the tabloids.

Germany is both a thrilling adventure and an unparalleled disaster. Peter watches the group of heroes he’s looked up to since childhood break apart before his very eyes. The fight is grueling, taking more out of Peter than he knew was possible. He is lying there on the ground, trying to catch his breath, when Tony bends over him. And for a moment, there it is again: the broken facade on his face—below it, pure panic. The way Tony looks at him with thinly masked worry reminds him of Ben’s expression whenever Peter was little and having an asthma attack, and it does something to his insides that he can’t really explain.

Then, a few months later, Peter inevitably screws up and slices a ferry in half. The two of them are standing high above the city when Tony takes his suit away, and Peter feels tears pricking at his eyes. He cries later in his room, alone, because it’s so much more than just the suit; he feels that by disappointing Tony he’s lost his chance at something so much bigger.

It’s a miracle he manages to fix this one.

After Siberia, Tony is darker and quieter and indisputably older—like he’s finally grown up. Peter is sad for him, but it’s not all bad either. This new Tony starts taking more of an interest in Peter’s training—starts acting like a real mentor to him. There are afternoons spent together in the lab, dinners at the tower with Tony and Mr. Rhodes, and even the occasional low-stakes mission. Slowly, Tony’s world starts to feel like a place where Peter might one day belong.

But then, the universe gets ripped in two and somewhere on a red and war-torn planet, Peter clings to Tony in desperation, feeling first his body, then his thoughts slip away from him.

When he wakes again, there’s another battle to fight, but this time there’s no thrill to it. It’s his personal horror film come true.

He can hear the moment when Tony’s heart stops. Peter cries openly this time.

In the end, Tony makes it through. He loses an arm and much of his physical strength, but he’s stubborn as hell and fights his way through recovery. But somehow the day of the battle never fades from Peter’s brain like memories should.

When he finishes school, May proposes NYU, Tony naturally wants MIT, but Peter chooses Culver University. It might be good for him to get out of New York, is what he says. It might be good for him not to be in a place that has Tony’s legacy lurking around every corner, is what he thinks. And maybe moving away will make things easier when he returns.

Three months into Peter’s first semester at Culver, Tony accepts a guest speaking gig at the university and decides to stay at a nearby hotel to spend the weekend with Peter.

And that’s when it all goes to hell.

“Hello? Earth to Peter.” Tony waves a hand in his face. “Who are you daydreaming about?”

“Huh?” Peter looks up at Tony, then down at his half-finished iced tea. “Nothing,” he evades. “Nobody, I mean. Sorry, I’m just—just tired. And I have a lot of work left this weekend.”

“Mh-hmm.” Tony looks as if he isn’t quite believing it. “You want more spring rolls?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll wait for the main dish.”

Peter hasn’t eaten much today, but he’s not quite hungry either. He’s nursing a headache and the tiredness is not just an excuse. As happy as Peter is to see his mentor, Tony’s timing in showing up the week before midterms really could’ve been better. Peter feels like he might fall asleep right here at the restaurant table, but he already knows that he’s going to have to stay up until late to finish his readings.

“You’re doing it again,” Tony points out. “You’re being awfully quiet, kid. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, seriously.” Peter manages to hold eye contact for a few seconds and then takes another sip of his iced tea. “So, you said we could fix the suit while you’re here?”

Tony takes the bait (or maybe just lets it drop intentionally) and the talk quickly turns technical.

After a few minutes, they’re interrupted by the waitress—a student Peter thinks he recognises from his Python lab—who stares at Tony for a moment, her gaze lingering on the scars decorating his right cheek and ear before dropping down to his bionic arm. Then she catches herself and asks for their order.

When their food arrives, Peter observes Tony take out a box of different coloured pills and swallow a couple of them dry.

“I know, not sexy,” Tony remarks, noticing his look, “but sort of necessary if I want to keep this baby ticking.” He taps his hand over his chest with a wan smile.

Peter grins half-heartedly in return, even while he can feel his insides clench. The comment reminds him of the time Tony’s heart actually did stop, of the battlefield with the dust of Thanos’ army still hanging in the air, of the utter helplessness he felt when Tony snapped, of―

“Uhm, excuse me?” It’s the waitress again, her voice shy, cheeks blushing. She extends a piece of paper toward Tony. “Could I, uhm, could you, maybe give me an autograph for my sister? She’s a big fan. I mean, we all are, of course, but she’s got her room decorated with posters of you and all that…”

Tony looks her up and down with a raised eyebrow and a smirk playing around his lips. “What’s your sister’s name?” he asks finally, making a show of producing an integrated pen from his bionic arm. The waitress is visibly impressed, and Peter resists the temptation to roll his eyes―it’s far from the first time he’s seen this trick. If Tony was famous before, it’s nothing compared to the status he earned since dusting Thanos and saving the universe.

Tony gives the waitress an easy smile along with the paper he passes back, and then turns back to Peter with a smirk. “Fangirls,” he whispers. “Gotta love ‘em. Did I tell you about the kid who offered me all of his allowance for a hoofprint from Gerald?”

Because Tony is Tony, it takes a long time before he has caught Peter up on anecdotes of Morgan, Happy, and Gerald’s newest misadventures, and by the time Peter gets back home, it is already late evening. His studio apartment is small and rather old, with walls that have turned grey over time and windows that don’t fully close anymore, but it’s got its own kitchen and bathroom, which is much better than a dorm room―especially since Peter wouldn’t know how to explain the odd hours he keeps or the regular blood stains in the shower to any of his fellow students.

Peter’s head has been throbbing painfully for the better part of an hour, and the lights from the screen when he pulls out his laptop don’t make it any better. All his body seems to want is sleep, but if he’s going to spend the next two days upgrading his suit with Tony’s help, he really needs to get these chemistry readings finished.

He tries for several hours, but the words don’t seem to want to stick in his mind and it takes longer than expected until he feels that he has understood the chapter. Peter drops into bed around 3:30 in the morning, too tired to even change out of his jeans, and falls asleep immediately.

Peter is woken up by someone knocking on his apartment door to the beat of “We Will Rock You”, and it’s all he can do to stifle a groan. He drags himself out of bed and over to the door.

“Finally,” Tony sighs when Peter lets him in, shoving a reusable thermal to-go cup in the kid’s face and causing him to flinch backwards. “I thought I’d have to actually start singing.” Then he gives Peter a once-over and his face falls. “What happened to you?”

“I think I’m sick,” Peter replies, realising it is true the same moment the words leave his mouth. His head is hurting even more than the night before and his throat feels raw and painful, but the worst is the utter weakness in his body and the chills running down his back that tell him he has a fever.

“What kind of sick?” Tony asks suspiciously. To Peter’s surprise, instead of turning on his heel and leaving the surely germ-infested apartment, Tony steps over the threshold and raises a hand to cup to Peter’s forehead.

“Dunno.” Peter shrugs. “Just feel like garbage. Flu was going around the school last week―it’s probably that.”

“Aw, kid,” Tony sighs, something like compassion in his voice. “Yeah, you feel really warm.”

“Sorry about the suit,” Peter says, moving back to sit down on his bed heavily. “I guess you can just go back to New York early then.”

“What? You think I’m coldhearted enough to leave my former intern alone on his deathbed somewhere in the Virginian wilderness?”

“Culver’s not that bad,” Peter defends. “And I’m not alone either.”

“So that means you have someone here to take care of you?” Tony raises a sceptical eyebrow.

Peter hesitates. “I… May’s a nurse,” he evades. “I can call her.”

Truth is, there actually isn’t anybody. He hasn’t really made friends yet―at least certainly not the kind he would consider asking to take care of him while he’s down with the flu. He calls May twice a week, skypes with Ned—and occasionally still with MJ—on the weekends, and he’s friendly enough with his classmates when they’re working together in classes. But his downtime is mostly spent studying on his own and patrolling the city at night.

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening.” Tony looks him over appraisingly, then seems to make a decision and presses the cup of hot chocolate into Peter’s hand. “Guess I’ll stick around for a bit. Here, drink that.”

“I don’t really feel like it.” Peter is definitely queasy, bordering on nauseous, and the thought of drinking something as rich as hot chocolate almost makes his stomach turn. He shifts on the bed so that he can lean against the headboard, feeling too tired to hold his body up without support.

“Well, you need to have something. Super metabolism and all that.” Tony strides over to the small, definitely not tidy kitchenette and starts opening cupboards, most of which are empty. He comes up with a few packets of shrimp-flavoured instant noodles and a box of Coco Puffs. “Really, kid?”

“I was gonna get groceries today,” Peter says defensively.

“Yeah, I’m gonna do that now,” Tony states. “What do you say to buttered noodles? That’s all Morgan ever wants when she’s sick.”

“Yeah, that’s...that’s fine,” Peter says, dumbfounded at the idea of Tony Stark going to the supermarket and making pasta for him.

“Good. Glad that you agree, since that’s about as far as my cooking skills go.” He zips up his jacket and grabs Peter’s keys from the table. “Don’t do anything stupid till I’m back.” With that, he’s out of the door.

Peter doesn’t feel like he’d be able to do anything stupid even if he wanted to. He can’t remember the last time he felt this bad, and with his Spider-Manning lifestyle, that really says something. He’s thirsty, but his throat hurts in a way that doesn’t make him want to swallow anything. There’s an ugly taste in his mouth and he really wants to brush his teeth, but the bathroom could just as well be a hundred miles away.

If May were here, she would have set him up on the sofa with Star Trek: TOS playing on the TV while changing his sheets and airing out the room, he thinks. And suddenly the homesickness hits him like a train. He misses May. He misses New York and his friends and even the busy schedule that high school provided him with, but mostly he misses coming home to an apartment that’s not empty, having someone to eat breakfast with in the mornings and share his day with in the evenings over burnt teriyaki chicken. Just the thought of May’s disastrous cooking skills almost brings tears to his eyes.

He stays like this for an indefinite amount of time, feeling miserable and blinking back tears, until Tony eventually returns. He sets down the shopping bag on the table and closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge between them with his fingers, the telltale sign that he has a headache.

“You okay?” Peter asks hoarsely.

“Yeah. You live in a village, kid. Took forever to find a parking spot and then everyone and their mother wanted an autograph. Basically fought my way out of there. Might have to give my lawyer a heads up, actually.”

Peter can’t even bring himself to force a laugh. A part of him wants to tell Tony to just go home already; the other part of him really, really doesn’t want to be alone right now. He sniffs hard and swallows to keep his nose from dripping.

“Hey,” Tony’s expression sobers as he sits down next to him on the mattress. “Did I miss something?”

“I just―” Peter rubs a sleeve over his watery eyes, feeling embarrassed. He thinks for an excuse and suddenly remembers the very real problems of college. “Ah, crap.”

“Huh?” Tony asks.

“I have two tests next week,” Peter admits miserably. “I haven’t done anything for them yet―I was going to study this weekend in the evenings―”

“That’s fine, kid, we can deal with that. We saved the universe, remember? Schoolwork is nothing compared to Thanos, trust me.”

“I know,” Peter sniffs. Then, before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I‘m just missing home.”

“Ah,” Tony says. He lays his bionic hand on Peter’s shoulder and rubs it. “Yeah, that makes more sense.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter goes on, “I didn’t mean, I’m just―”

“You’re just sick and tired and emotional,” Tony assesses, but there’s no judgement in his voice. “Come on.” He gestures for Peter to lie down and pulls the blanket up to his neck. “Go to sleep, kid.” His tone is almost soft. “I’ll be here.”

Peter falls into a feverish, exhausted sleep. He’s dimly aware of an icy cold gripping him and chills wracking his body, and then of Tony putting an extra blanket on him. At some point Tony offers food, but Peter’s too tired to even fully open his eyes. He mumbles something that he hopes Tony understands and turns over to the other side.

The next time he fully surfaces, it’s from Tony gently shaking him awake. “Hey Pete, I know you’re tired, but you really need to eat something.”

“Don’ wanna,” he mutters, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Peter. Come on, kid.”

He blinks himself awake. The apartment is dark now; it must be evening already. The faint smell of food lingers in the air. “D’ I sleep all day?” he asks, confused.

“Almost. You can still catch Saturday Night Live.”

“Hmm.” Peter sits up slowly. He feels woozy and weak and his head is still hurting, which is ridiculous considering how long he slept for.

“Just let me check your temperature.” Tony takes off his smartwatch and presses it against Peter’s neck, just under his chin. The cold metal sends shivers down his spine.

“102.6,” Tony reports. “Yeah, that’s not great. A pity that fever reducers don’t work on you.” Tony’s voice sounds rough. Peter squints up at him just as the man turns his head into his shoulder to cough. He looks tired—really tired—and, as far as Peter can make out in the dim light of the bedside lamp, his face is kind of flushed.

“Are you okay?” Peter croaks.

“Uhm...” For a moment it looks like Tony wants to lie, but then he falters. “Not really. Guess I caught the same bug you did.”

“Shit,” Peter says. This sucks big time.

“I already texted May—she’ll probably be up here tomorrow. As soon as you’d had something to eat and drink, I’ll go back to the hotel and get out of your hair. You don’t need an old sick man around.”

“What? No!” Peter blurts before he can stop himself. He feels his breath speeding up, horrified at both the idea of Tony leaving him here alone, and of Tony being on his own in some hotel room feeling as miserable as Peter does now. “Please don’t go.”

Tony looks taken aback. “Pete, I don’t think I’m going to be much help soon.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Peter feels himself blushing. “It’s nice not to be alone,” he admits in a small voice.

Tony gives him a long look. “Okay, fine,” he agrees eventually. “But that means you have to listen to me. And the first rule is: eat your dinner, kid.”

They eat quietly. Tony is visibly making an effort not to let on just how bad he’s feeling, but Peter has learned to read the signs during his mentor’s long period of recovery from the snap. Tony is rubbing his shoulder whenever he thinks that Peter isn’t looking, which means that his prosthesis is hurting him. His shoulders are slumped, showing how tired he is, he’s nursing a headache, and then there is the fairly obvious sign of him hardly having eaten anything except for two spoons of pasta and his medication.

After dinner, Tony calls Pepper while Peter calls May. She gives him a run-down of the usual flu advice―“Stay hydrated, try and rest, and for god’s sake, don’t pile every blanket you own on yourself like that time you had strep, Peter—keep the curtains on the windows”—and promises to drive up tomorrow if she can get her shift covered. Then she asks to talk to Tony. Meanwhile, Peter uses the bathroom, brushes his teeth and changes into pyjamas. Observing himself in the mirror, he realises just how run-down he looks. He splashes some water on his face, which does nothing except make him shiver.

“She asked whether you built that Lego ship she got you for your birthday,” Tony announces when Peter returns.

“Oh.” Peter hasn’t, of course. He’s neither had the time nor the motivation to do so without Ned.

Tony makes a show of looking around the room. “This place is less personal than an airbnb. I told her there’s not even a poster on your wall.”

“So what?” Peter sighs. He feels the need to defend himself, but he’s too sick to come up with anything.

Tony doesn’t press it, luckily. He borrows a pair of sweatpants, which end up being a bit short around his ankles and make it look like he’s outgrown them. It almost makes Peter smile. They pull out the sofa-sleeper that May insisted on him getting, but which he’s had no opportunity to use until now. When everything is set up, Peter is almost dizzy from being on his feet for so long. He’s both sweating and shivering and very glad to lie back down under the covers.

Tony turns on the TV, but neither of them is really paying attention. Peter is half asleep a few minutes into the news and Tony seems visibly uncomfortable, shifting around every few minutes on the couch.

“Do you want to switch to the bed?” Peter asks him, secretly hoping for the answer to be no―he really doesn’t want to get up again. Tony shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. Then he gets to his feet faster than Peter would have thought possible for someone in his condition and bolts to the bathroom.

Peter hears nothing for a while. Then there’s a few weak coughs, followed by a retch and the sound of splashing. Peter cringes, his own stomach twisting in sympathy. The small size of the apartment and his enhanced hearing make it impossible to tune out the sounds as Tony continues to be sick into the toilet for the next ten minutes. When the retching tapers off, Peter shakily gets to his feet and fills a glass of water from the kitchenette.

He knocks on the bathroom door, then leans heavily against the frame. “I got you some water,” he calls, hearing Tony’s ragged breathing inside. “Can I come in?”

“Just go to sleep, kid,” Tony croaks.

“Yeah, sure,” Peter mumbles under his breath. After a few moments, he hears the sound of the flush and then the door opens. Tony is covered in sweat and looking about as bad as Peter feels, plus there’s a greenish tinge to his face. The smell of vomit wafts out and hits Peter’s nostrils, turning his own stomach.

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony croaks says hoarsely and takes the water from his hand. His metal fingers feel cold against Peter’s burning skin when they brush the back of his hand. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

“‘S okay,” Peter mumbles. He suddenly has a hard time focusing on Tony. His head feels so heavy that he has to rest it against the doorframe as well.

“Jeez, kid,” Tony comments. Then his face drains even more of colour and he presses his knuckles against his lips, swallowing thickly. “Go lie down, okay? I’ll be out in a bit.” With that, he turns and disappears back into the bathroom.

For once, Peter listens to him, unsure whether he will be able to keep standing much longer anyway. After a moment of consideration, he curls up on the couch, leaving the softer bed for the older man. He drifts there for a while, trying to tune out the sounds of sickness coming from the bathroom.

Eventually, he is dimly aware of someone entering the room and switching off the lights. There’s cold metal touching his neck as someone takes his temperature and tsks, then softly brushes back his hair and lays a cold washcloth on his forehead. It feels amazing against Peter’s burning skin.

“Thanks, May,” he mumbles.

Waking up feels like resurfacing after diving into a deep pool of water. Peter’s eyelids are sticky with sleep and his brain feels like it’s been through a potato masher. He’s disoriented, so it takes a bit until he realises that it was Tony’s voice that woke him. “Pete,” he hears him calling again weakly. Something about it shakes him out of his half-awake state.

“Tony?” he asks, sitting up. There’s a rustling sound and a thump from the bathroom, confirming his worry. A quick glance at his phone on the bedside table tells him that it’s just after 4am. Definitely not the time to take a shower.

Peter’s head swims when he gets up from the couch. He takes a few unsteady steps towards the bathroom and then stops to lean against the wall until his vision clears and he can open the door.

Tony is on the ground next to the toilet, wrenched in between the bowl and the shower, looking about ten times worse than earlier. His face is almost grey except for the scars on his right cheek, which are flushed in an angry red. His dark eyes are glassy and deeply exhausted. Sweat sticks to his hair and t-shirt, the prosthesis off and one sleeve dangling empty. The smell of vomit hangs thickly in the air, much stronger than before.

Tony slowly lifts his head when Peter steps in. “Hey,” he croaks, attempting a smile and giving up somewhere halfway. “Sorry for waking you. ‘S just that I could use some help.”

“With what exactly?”

“Getting up?” Tony asks sheepishly. “I tried and almost took down your shower curtain.”

Peter blinks. “Well, shit.”

“You said it, kid.”

Peter extends a hand and Tony grabs it gratefully, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Peter closes the toilet lid and Tony sits down on it with a heavy sigh. He shudders convulsively, then closes his eyes and swallows rapidly a few times, as if trying to stop himself from being sick again.

“How long have you been in here?” Peter asks while checking Tony’s temperature on his smart watch. He finds it to be at a worrying 103.6.

“Uhm,” Tony makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Midnight, maybe? Kinda lost track of time.” Peter frowns. “Sorry for waking you up, kid,” Tony says again, taking his expression the wrong way. “That’s kind of why I didn’t want to stay.”

“You should have called me earlier.” Peter fills a glass of water from the tap. “And yeah, really reassuring to think of you spending the night on the bathroom floor of your hotel because you can’t get up on your own.”

Tony mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Not like I haven’t done that before.” When Peter hands him the glass, the man’s hands are trembling so much that half of the water spills out onto his shirt.

“Shit,” Tony mutters. “All my spares are at the hotel.”

“I can give you one of mine,” Peter offers.

“Yeah, that... that would be great,” Tony says earnestly. Peter wonders whether he’s maybe a bit delirious. “This shit didn’t use to happen before the snap, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter says, surprised at the admission. He fetches a clean sweatshirt from the dresser and hands it to the older man. His mentor’s whole body is shaking violently with chills. While Tony changes, Peter notices that the scar pattern around his shoulder stump is an angry red. It looks painful, but Tony doesn’t seem to care too much.

Something twists within Peter. It reminds him too much of the time just after the snap when he saw Tony in the hospital, weak with fever from the infected limb.

“Ready for bed?” Peter asks, shaking the thoughts from his head.

“Yeah,” Tony says, although he doesn’t look too sure. Peter pulls him upright and almost staggers under the man’s weight and his own weakness. Tony doesn’t comment, and when Peter turns towards him, he sees that he is biting his lips, eyes largely unfocused.

“This really hit you hard, huh?” Peter asks when they have made it to the bed, sitting down next to Tony. His mentor is bending forward, head in his hands, panting and shaking like he just finished a mission in the suit. That’s not the only thing, though. With his advanced hearing, Peter can pick up Tony’s heartbeat, which is slightly arrhythmic.

“Tony?” he asks suspiciously. “What’s wrong with your heart?”

“Yeah, about that…” The other man raises his head, but avoids Peter’s gaze.

“What?” Peter can feel his own heart rate speeding up in worry.

“I, uh...remember my heart medication?” Tony says casually. “I threw up the last dose. It’s not dangerous, don’t worry,” he adds when Peter stares at him, alarmed, “Or, well, at least not yet. Just sort of increases the nausea and dizziness.”

“Can’t you take another dose?” he asks.

“I don’t think I can keep anything down right now,” Tony admits. “But I’ll try in the morning.”

“Hmm.” This doesn’t really do anything to make Peter feel better.

“Don’ worry, kid” Tony adds with a tired slur to his words, which only achieves the opposite. With a lot of effort, he pulls his legs up to the bed and then lies down under the blankets. “Let’s both sleep for a bit and things will look brighter in the morning.”

Peter gets himself a glass of water and then curls back up on the couch. He hears Tony’s breaths turn heavy and even out before long, but although he feels exhausted, he has a hard time going back to sleep. The sofa feels like rocks under his achy body, and he keeps turning around, unable to find a comfortable position. His head doesn’t fare any better. With his brain cloudy from fever, it’s even harder than usual to stave off the memories from the battlefield.

His eyes finally fall shut and back he goes, right into the middle of dust and blood and death looming around every corner. He knows that there should be screams and shouts everywhere, but it’s silent, dead silent, except for the underlying thump-thump-thump of Tony’s heartbeat, becoming ever quieter.

Peter rounds a heap of rubble and almost stumbles over Tony, who is lying on the ground, half his body eaten away by the radiation. The beating gets weaker even as Peter falls onto his knees and tears stream down his cheeks. He’s been here a hundred times, unable to save the man who saved him, and he knows exactly how this is going to end.

A beat, almost indiscernible. A breath leaves Tony’s lips for the last time.

Silence.

He wakes to the feeling that everything in the world that possibly could be wrong, is wrong. His whole body is hot and he feels nauseous, almost as if he will throw up. Sick, he remembers. He’s sick. Tony’s―

Peter forces himself to take a deep breath that comes out more like a choked sob. He sits up dizzily, and is surprised by the light streaming through the windows. His eyes immediately wander to Tony’s still form on the bed, covered by blankets. Peter can make out his slightly ragged breathing, but he’s way past the point where he would feel calmed by this.

Unsteadily, he makes his way over to the bed and sits down on the floor next to it, shivering uncontrollably from the coldness of the tile, but not wanting to wake Tony up. He tries to calm himself, but his heart won’t stop racing. Everything feels kind of surreal and he can’t shake the image of Tony’s body on the ground, so still and lifeless. There are tears burning in his eyes. He shoves his knuckles in his mouth to keep himself from sobbing loudly.

“Kid?” Tony’s groggy voice asks. “What ‘appened?”

“S-Sorry,” Peter manages. “G-Go back to sleep.”

“Hey.” Tony rubs his eyes and tries to push himself up, only partially succeeding. Looking at Peter, his face takes on an alarmed expression. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Peter whispers, feeling infinitely stupid. “J-Just had a nightmare.” He bites his lip, but with the admission, a dam seems to break. He can feel his eyes overflowing.

“Hey, kid, hey,” Tony says softly. “It’s alright.”

Peter just shakes his head, tears dripping down his cheeks onto the floor. Tony extends a trembling hand to wipe them away. “Do these nightmares happen often?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” Peter evades. He wonders why he doesn’t just tell the truth. That there’s rarely a night when he doesn’t go back to the battle against Thanos, or the dust on Titan, or even the Vulture in flames―an enemy that seems ridiculous now compared to the ones they’ve fought since, but sometimes still makes it into Peter’s dreams.

“It’s gotten worse again, hasn’t it?” Tony asks. “Since you moved here.” His hand drops down to Peter’s shoulder and squeezes it lightly.

“‘S okay,” he lies. “I’m fine. Jus’... just the fever.”

“Mmh-hmm, sure. Come here.” Tony nods his head towards himself, weakly lifting an arm, and Peter lets himself get pulled into the hug. “Woah, kid. You’re on fire.”

“Hmm,” Peter mumbles. “You too.”

It’s true; Tony’s body feels even hotter than his. The sweatshirt Peter had given him is already damp with sweat. And, most concerningly, his heart is still beating out of rhythm. It reminds Peter way too much of his dream for him to ignore it.

“You need to have some water,” Tony says, ignorant to Peter’s thoughts. “And eat something. It’s been a while.”

Peter’s queasiness increases at the thought. “Stomach’s not feeling great,” he admits. “How are you doing?” he asks then, into the older man’s chest. “And don’t lie.”

He feels Tony grimacing. “Like a clock someone forgot to wind up.” His remaining arm lets go of Peter as he brings it to his chest to massage the area around his heart. “But hey, don’t worry. I’m gonna try my pills and some water and then I’ll be back on my bullshit before you know it.”

But he isn’t. Half an hour later, Peter has to support Tony to the toilet to once again throw up the medication and the few sips of water he’s just managed to get down. He stops trying to reassure Peter after the second bout of painful dry heaves wrack his body and doesn’t even resist when Peter wipes down his grey face with a wet cloth. On their way back, halfway across the bedroom, they almost lose balance when Tony’s legs suddenly give out. Peter just manages to stabilise him before they can faceplant all the way.

“That’s it. You need to go to the ER,” Peter decides after all-but carrying Tony back to the bed and sitting him down. Peter’s own body feels heavy with exhaustion. Tony weakly shakes his head and opens his mouth to object. “Please, Tony.”

There must have been something in his voice that gave away his desperation because Tony shuts up mid-inhale. He gives Peter a deep look and then nods shakily. ”But only if you eat something first.”

“Okay.” He checks Tony’s temperature, which has climbed even higher, to 103.8. Peter’s own is hardly any better at 103.2, but at least he can still stand―kind of, he realises when he has to sit down to be able to concentrate on his phone screen long enough to call a cab.

The walk to the kitchen feels like it’s a mile long. Peter surveys the meagre food choices and decides that cold pasta with salt looks like the best option. After the first few bites, his queasiness abides a bit and he manages to finish his small plate, suddenly realising how hungry he was. He drinks two glasses of water with it and finally feels a little less lightheaded. Then he goes to the bathroom and, on a whim, swallows a small handful of painkillers from the bottle of Advil Tony has sitting beside his pill box. They will hardly do anything for him, but hopefully they’ll keep him upright until they reach the hospital.

When Peter comes back, he expects Tony to be lying where he left him and is already wondering how he’s going to maneuver him down the stairs from the second floor with the man's balance shot and his own legs feeling like noodles. But Tony is sitting up and in the process of putting on his shoes. His determination, however, falters a bit when it comes to actually standing up.

“Just go slow,” Peter directs, supporting Tony to the door and taking on most of the man’s weight. “One step at a time.”

They make it down the first staircase before Tony holds up a hand. “Just need a minute,” he exhales, sitting down with a sigh and leaning against the wall, his eyelids fluttering shut. His breathing is ragged. Peter looks at him worriedly, the unsteady thump of the man’s heartbeat loud in his ears. Tony, as if feeling the gaze, opens one eye to squint at him. “Not dead yet, kid. Come on, let’s get downstairs.”

Maybe it’s the fact that the painkillers are wearing off faster than expected or that Peter’s anxiety is finally getting the better of him, but the cab ride is kind of a blur. He just remembers Tony sitting with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, looking deathly exhausted, and at some point grabbing the older man’s hand and holding on.

Peter only lets go of it when he has to fill in the forms once they reach the hospital. The ER nurse takes one look at Tony’s scarred face and missing arm and then directs them to a private room. Peter’s hand is shaking so hard that Tony’s name on the form looks like a child’s scrawl. Behind him, his mentor is already being connected to a heart monitor, while another nurse is bringing an IV stand.

He hands the form to the elderly nurse and then has to steady himself against the wall when he stumbles a bit.

Her brow furrows. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“Y-Yes,” Peter answers quickly.

“Bullshit. He’s got the flu too,” Tony mutters from the bed behind them.

“I’m fine,” Peter insists, feeling his heart rate spike. They’ve done a great deal to keep his secret identity, well, secret while he’s at Culver, and he’s not about to let his powers be discovered just because of a flu bug. “Really, I’m okay. Not a big deal.”

“Honey, you can’t be here as a visitor if you’re sick,” the nurse says, her tone kind, but firm. “You’ll risk infecting the other patients.”

Peter looks up, taking a moment to understand the implications. “What? No, please don’t make me go!”

The nurse eyes him critically, then sighs and relents. “If you’re going to stay, you’ll have to be inside this room at all times. I can’t have you walking around spreading germs.”

“That’s okay,” Peter agrees immediately. It’s not like he was planning to walk the halls anyway; his legs feel like they might go on strike any moment. When the nurse turns around to start working on Tony, Peter wobbles over to an uncomfortable chair in the corner and collapses into it.

He feels like the next time he takes an actual breath is once Tony is hooked up to painkillers, antiemetics, and something for his heart, the fluids dripping steadily into his arm through an IV and the heart monitor finally—finally—reverts back to a steady rhythm of beeps. Tony isn’t conscious anymore to notice; after spending the better part of the last 24 hours on Peter’s bathroom floor, his exhaustion has finally gotten the upper hand. He drifts off as soon as the meds start kicking in.

Once the nurses leave, Peter drags his chair over next to the bed. Tony looks—there is no other way to describe it—frail. Like he might fall apart any minute if Peter stops watching. His fever is still much too high at 103.3 and he is sleeping fitfully, as if the dreams are haunting him as well. Peter can still see images from the nightmare in his mind. Not clear, but looming, like he might find himself on the battlefield any time he turns around.

He doesn’t want to fall asleep, but he’s dead tired. Now with the adrenaline fading, it feels like his body weighs a thousand pounds. He suddenly doesn’t even feel able to keep his head up, and instead lets himself slump forward, crossing his arms and resting his head on top. His cold hands are a sharp contrast to his burning face.

His mind feels oddly detached from his body, like he’s floating, and he has no idea how much time has passed when suddenly the nurse shakes him awake from where he’s slidden down onto the edge of Tony’s mattress. “Can you just move for a second, hon?” she asks gently. “I need to hook up some more fluids."

"Oh yeah, sure, of course..." Peter nods groggily and goes to stand up a little too quickly. The moment he is on his feet, he can practically feel the blood rushing away from his head, and a wave of darkness rolls over him. Peter grabs for something to hold on to but comes up empty. He feels himself sway into the nurse, who grabs his shoulders and just about manages to keep him from face planting on the hospital floor.

“You’re really warm, dear,” she observes after helping him sit back down on the chair. "You really can't be here if you're not a patient. Let me call someone to get you a bed."

“But I—” Peter feels panic swelling in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave Tony alone, especially when he can’t be sure that the man’s heart won’t stop again, but he can’t let anyone find out about Spider-Man either―

"Peter, it's fine,” he hears a thin voice. Tony, just woken up, is shifting wearily under the blanket, turning his head towards them. “They'll sign NDAs and no one will know. Just do what she says and get in the bed, alright?"

So Peter does. The nurse calls her colleague, who sets up a bed next to Tony’s and takes Peter’s vitals. After Peter groggily explains that fever reducers won’t do anything to bring down his 103.5 degree temperature, the nurse hooks him up to fluids to counteract the dehydration.

The world goes blurry again and he is half asleep when he sees Tony slip something into the elderly nurse’s hand on her way out the door.

When she’s gone, Peter gives Tony a confused look. “You bribed her to let me stay in the room?”

“What are you talking about?” Tony scoffs lightly. “I just asked nicely and told her you took part in saving the world―that was more than enough.” He shrugs a bit. “And I might’ve signed an autograph for her son.”

Peter would have rolled his eyes if his head wasn’t hurting so much. “Still a bribe,” he mumbles.

“Go to sleep, kid,” Tony says warmly.

He closes his eyes but then opens them again to see Tony watching him. “You’ll be okay, right?” Peter asks.

“Of course,” Tony replies. “I’m always okay.”

When Peter wakes up again in the early evening, it’s to May lightly stroking his curls out of his face. A tension he didn’t even know he was holding seems to fall off his shoulders.

“Hey, baby,” she says softly when he hugs her. “Rough weekend, huh?”

It is decided that neither of them has to spend the night at the hospital―Tony has to fight to be discharged, but they eventually let him go after making him promise to rest, take his medicine, and tell May if his heart acts up again. In turn, Tony collects each of the staff members’ contact details to have his lawyers send NDAs later.

The drive back to the flat is quiet. Tony attempts small talk for the first five minutes, but is still too out of it from the combined force of illness and drugs, and quickly gives up again. Peter is just relieved that May is there.

Once they’re home, May makes both of them eat some toast and then ushers them off to bed. Peter feels like he hasn’t slept since he moved to Virginia, and maybe that’s true in a way. But now with Tony and May both there, he finally feels like it’s safe to let himself go.

He wakes up to May opening the windows to let in the chilly morning air.

“C’n I have some water?” he mumbles.

May hands him the glass. “Your fever has come down a bit overnight. Feeling any better?” she asks.

“Hmm.” He’s still weary and headachey, but the chills are gone and the world seems much less frightening now. “How’s Tony?” he asks.

“Still asleep. We talked a little last night—he didn’t get much rest, I’m afraid. But you should wake him up and tell him it’s time for food and medicine.”

Peter sits up and is rewarded with a lack of dizziness. He goes to the toilet and washes his face before trudging over to the bed and sitting down carefully on the mattress next to his mentor’s sleeping form. Tony’s eyes are moving rapidly behind his closed eyelids as if he’s in the middle of a dream. His hair is a greasy mess, the scars as red and angry as before and his cheeks still flushed with fever, but the rest of his face isn’t as pale as it was the previous day, and, when he listens carefully, Peter can make out his regular heartbeat.

“Tony?” Peter whispers, gently touching his flesh shoulder.

Tony grunts and rolls himself over. “Pep?” he asks in a muffled voice.

“Not exactly.” Tony blinks awake and squints up at Peter. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh…I want my hospital drugs back,” Tony half-jokes. “But not on the verge of cardiac failure anymore, so that’s a plus.”

“Hmm.” Peter reaches for his hand to check the smart watch. “Your temperature’s down.” Tony’s is at 101.5, whereas Peter’s is at 100.7. Tony gives first the numbers and then Peter a critical once-over before closing his eyes again.

“Don’t go back to sleep,” Peter warns. “May said you need to take your medicine and eat something.”

Tony groans audibly. “Nurses never let you have any fun...”

The first time they met, Peter wasn’t sure what to make of Tony Stark.

Times have changed, Peter thinks, as he surveys the scene in his apartment.

After a painfully slow shuffle to the bathroom and back, Tony decides that he doesn’t feel up to walking around just yet, so they all eat breakfast in bed, assembled on various pillows and blankets, while Star Trek plays on the TV in the background. With his appetite returning and worries temporarily lifted, Peter devours two pieces of toast with chocolate spread and a glass of orange juice while Tony sticks to saltines, tea, and the pills he swallows under May’s watchful eye.

When they’re done, May announces that she’s heading out for groceries. “No crime-fighting until I’m back,” she orders with a smile. “And I want each of you to finish the water bottles on the table.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Tony salutes sarcastically. The moment May shuts the door, he sets down his half-finished cup of tea and slumps visibly into his pillows.

“You alright?” Peter asks immediately.

“Jeez, kid, you’re worse than Morgan,” Tony comments, not without affection. “I know last night was scary for you, but honestly, this is not even in my top 20 for life-threatening events I’ve experienced in the last few decades.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Peter retorts. “Because it really doesn’t.”

He must have come across less playful than intended, because Tony’s expression sobers. He regards Peter with the deep look that always gives him the feeling of being x-rayed.

“I know,” Tony says. “But that’s kind of the point. I’ve been through so much shit in my life that I know pretty much exactly how you feel.”

He drags himself a bit more upright and lays a warm hand on Peter’s forearm. “I know how it is when your thoughts circle back to the same moment over and over again and the nightmares won’t let you rest. I know how easy it is to isolate yourself because the memories are eating you up and you feel like nobody can help you.”

He pauses for a moment and rubs a hand over his forehead. Peter remembers the darkness on Tony’s face the first time they met and wonders whether that’s what Tony sees on his now.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Tony continues, “you don’t have to pretend to be fine if you’re not. At least not in front of me or May.”

The irony of it almost makes Peter smile, despite the lump forming in his throat. Tony just spent the last 36 hours trying to downplay the pain he was in. “You are one to talk,” he remarks.

Tony chuckles quietly. “Still learning, kid.” He picks up his tea cup and takes another sip before continuing in a softer voice. “Just trust me, it‘s okay to be a little broken, even when you’re not sick. And you don’t have to hide it. I know what loneliness looks like. I’ve been through all of it and it took me years to understand that the only thing that can help is to let other people in―the right kind of people.”

The thoughts are running a marathon in Peter’s head and he’s dimly aware that he’s trembling. He swallows hard before speaking. “It’s just… sometimes I don’t even want to remember. It’s just so hard to start talking. About”―he takes a deep breath―“the battle. And the dreams. And everything else.”

“Yeah, it is. I never said it would be easy.” Tony seems to hesitate for a moment, but then he pulls Peter toward him one-handedly so that they can lie side by side. He covers both of them with his blanket. Peter turns his head into Tony’s shoulder and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. “And we don’t have to start today. But I’ll be there whenever you’re ready.”

________________

If you liked this, you might also enjoy my other post-Endgame fic (in which Tony is obviously still alive): What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood

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Taglist: @toomuchtoread33 @yepokokfine

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evendeadlmthehero · 5 years

Text

The Five Year Promise: A Rainy Night (3/10)

Summary: Y/N Stark, 20 year old superhero, makes a promise with a 16 year old Peter Parker after being cheated on, that if she hasn’t found love in the next 5 years, they’d finally go on a date. Then the snap happens. Y/N is gone and Peter isn’t.

Warnings: Angst, swearing

Twitter// BuckysLemons

The Five Year Promise Masterlist

Part 4

A/N: this is probably my proudest chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Based on before Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

You smiled to yourself as you walked inside the Osborn building, holding a little gift by your side. It was a black box encased with red wrapping paper and inside it? It was a high tech watch you designed yourself, that allowed people to call, holographic video chat and set reminders and countdowns.

Why you might ask? Well it was yours and Harry’s three year anniversary. Yes, despite the cautioness from your father and what the media had thought, Harry and yourself had been going strong for 3 years.

So you decided to surprise him at his apartment. You were wearing a red dress, his favourite, and a limo was waiting outside to pick you up.

You had it all planned, with the help of Peter of course.

“I’m so scared Peter,” you shook your head, looking at all the possible Limo services you could rent as well as restaurant options. “I want this to be perfect.”

“Well, if he really loves you, he wouldn’t care what you guys do as long as he gets to spend time with you,” Peter spoke, playing with hands.

Peter didn’t want to help you plan a date with Harry, of all people. It was painful to watch someone he loves talk about planning a perfect date with someone else when he knew he loved her more.

But then you pleaded with him, and he couldn’t say no. Almost a year ago, Peter thought that he had lost you. And he wanted to spend all the time he could with you in fear of losing you again.

“C’mon Peter, it has to be special!” You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you searched for good restaurants. “The day has to be perfect.”

You let out a sigh, and stared out the computer. Peter watched you, all tired and frustrated, and of course he felt bad.

Brushing his hair out of the face, he swallowed his pride and spoke. “Where did you guys first meet?”

“We met at a small Avengers Charity Event at a restaurant called Masa in New York-“ you stopped, beaming at Peter, knowing what he was insinuating.

You jumped up from your seat and gave Peter a bone crushing hug.

“Peter, you’re a genius!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he forced out a laugh, as his arms wrapped around yours. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of warmth radiating from your body.

His eyes opened, as he realised you were taken. You were in love. And you were happy.

But it was never going to be with him.

You smiled at the receptionist as you made your way to the elevator. The door closed, and you pressed level 72; the highest floor in the building.

“Name?” A voice spoke in the elevator, already doing a retinal eye scan.

“Y/N Maria Howard Stark,” you spoke, fixing your dress.

“Access accepted,” the voice responded, making you smile. You were so estatic, you couldn’t wait for today.

You were going to take Harry to Masa, show him the present you got him and then take him to your favourite little get away in the woods were you would tell him how much he means to you.

You had been planning this for 4 months now, wanting everything to be excecuted flawlessly.

You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes as you tried to calm down your nerves.

‘52, 53, 54’

You were almost at his floor. Your stomach felt queasy, but you assumed it was because you were afraid he hated this date you took forever with Peter to plan.

‘65, 66, 67’

Only a couple more secounds, and you were almost there. It felt like the elevator was moving in slow motion as you patiently waited to surprise your boyfriend.

You smiled at yourself as you were one floor away from his room. The elevator dinged, and you couldn’t stop smiling.

‘I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I surprise him,’ you had though to yourself. You were about to hop off before you stopped dead in your tracks as you saw Harry.

He was in his bed, hair all ruffled up and his face a deep shade of red, like he had ran a marathon. But he wasn’t alone.

No, there was a blonde girl in bed with him.

Your breath couldn’t make it past your throat. You felt like your throat was slowly swelling up, like you were suffocating. Your heart was racing, because this was a dream.

It was a dream wasn’t it?

But it wasn’t. This was real. The person who you devoted your whole life to just ripped the heart out of your chest and left you to die.

“Y/N, I can explain!” Harry spoke, getting up from his bed, quickly putting on his pants. You looked at the girl in bed with him, who gave you a little smirk. Like she was taunting you.

And why wouldn’t she taunt you? She had broken the heart of the world renowned superhero-tech-genius and one of the original Avengers, indirectly.

This hurt. This hurt a lot. More than when you had a bullet go through your chest last year. No, emotional pain was worse than physical pain.

Because physical pain never kept you up at night.

You looked back at the love of your life. The person who you stuck your neck out for. Tears almost fell from your eyes, but before it did, you pressed the ‘ground level’ of the elevator.

Harry ran towards the elevator, but before he reached it, the door closed on his face.

You took a deep breath as the elevator begun descending.

‘64, 63, 62’

You could see the reflection of your face staring back at you as you went down. You were quiet, numb and felt completely and utterly destroyed.

But you couldn’t cry. No, not yet.

‘47, 46, 45’

You spent 3 years with him. 3 years. And he left you for a blonde. How long had this been going on for? Has he done this before?

Your thoughts kept racing in your head, 100 miles a minute. You kept thinking, what did you do wrong? Did he not love you?

‘3, 2, 1’

The elevator dinged as you fixed your hair. You then held your face high and walked out of the elevator.

You gave the reception a small smile, but she could tell something was wrong and gave you a sympathetic smile. You looked away from her and continued your walk of shame towards the limo.

Shame because you weren’t enough for him.

The driver got out of the limo when he saw you coming and opened the door for you. “Take me back home.”

“But Miss Stark, I thought you wanted to go to-“

“There has been a change of plans,” you spoke in an emotionless tone, as he closed the door of your limo. You sat back on your seat closing your eyes as you leaned your head back.

You then pressed a button that made the window divider move up so you could get some privacy away from your driver.

And that was when the first sob raked your body.

Peter yawned as he ate cereal from his bowl. Vision was sitting in front of the Parker boy, reading one of the Game of Thrones books and Rhoudey was on his right, reading the newspaper.

He looked to the your seat and realised it was empty. He was confused, you were usually the earliest one awake to go to the gym before having shower and then eating breakfast with everyone else.

But you weren’t there.

“Um Mr- Mr Rhodes,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “Cornel Rhodes. Do-do you know where Y/N is?”

Rhodey put down his newspaper and looked around the table before going back to read his newspaper. “Probably asleep or at that rich asshole’s apartment.”

“Miss Stark is not at Mr Osborn’s apartment,” Vision spoke, not taking his eyes of the book. “I heard her come in yesterday so my guess is she is tired and is in great need of rest- oh no they just killed Robb Stark. I did not see that coming.”

“You should watch the show Vis,” Rhodey spoke, rolling up the newspaper. “It’s better than the books. And I have a feeling the last season is gonna be a hit.”

Peter tuned out Rhodey and Vision’s conversation and kept thinking about you. Surely you’d come out of your room eventually, right?

But you didn’t.

Peter was with Tony, doing his internship and you hadn’t come out to experiment with them like you usually did.

“That’s weird,” Tony spoke as he realised you didn’t show up. “Can you go find her, see if she’s fine? I’ve got an interview with a major jackass and a bunch of other jackasses trying to get the major jackasses’ job.”

Peter nodded and went off looking for you when the clock struck 6pm.

Outside was pouring of rain, as the end of winter started approaching. There was no sign of snow, meaning the cold days were over and spring was slowly approaching.

Before Peter knocked on your door, he heard sniffing. His eyebrows furrowed as he spoke out.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The sniffing sound immediately stopped and it was suddenly quiet in your room.

“Just a minute,” you spoke back. Peter heard rustling and movement as he waited outside. You then opened the door, a smile was once again on your face. “Come in.”

Although your eyes were still red, he pretended like he didn’t see it and walked inside. He looked at your room, looking at all the tissues you tossed in your bin, before sitting on a chair near your bed.

“So,” you begun, sitting on your bed awkwardly, playing with the sleeve of your sweater. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m just worried about you. I haven’t seen you all day because you didn’t come to breakfast, then I didn’t see you at the lab working on your suit and you didn’t even show up to our nightly lab tradition with Mr Stark-“

Peter stopped, his eyes looking elsewhere. You were confused on why he had went quiet, following where he had his eyes trained.

The gift you had wanted to give to Harry was still there, still perfectly wrapped up.

“Oh,” Peter spoke, his eyes widening in realisation. “You didn’t give Harry the gift. Why didn’t you give Harry the gift?”

He heard a little sniff, looking over at your direction only to see tears falling down your angelic face. One tear fell, then two, before a sob left your body and your hand moved towards your mouth as you started shaking your head.

“I don’t- don’t know what I d-did wrong Pete I- he just- he just-“

Peter quickly moved towards you, grabbing you into an embrace and holding you as you cried in his shirt, the sound of the rain silencing your cries. “Hey, Hey. Everything’s alright, okay? It’s just me Peter, you can speak to me.”

You shook your head in his shoulder as you continued sobbing. “Peter, he cheated on me.”

At first he didn’t think he’d hear you right?

Someone had cheated on you? Y/N Stark? That wasn’t possible in Peter’s mind.

But then he thought it was possible in the despicable mind of Harry Osborn. The man who cared about three things; money, his father’s approval and keeping his name famous.

Of course Harry would do something like this, it didn’t come as a surprise.

Peter closed his eyes, anger consuming his body. He couldn’t believe it. A boy who had the most gorgeous woman around his arm had slept with another woman that Peter knew wouldn’t even come close to you. Even if he didn’t know how she looked like.

But he couldn’t be mad around you. He couldn’t let his anger get in the way of your state right now. “He’s your first love, right?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your voice cracking as you held Peter close to you, sniffing in his smell. It gave you a somewhat feeling of calmness. “Yeah he is.”

“Well, sometimes, that’s just how life is, right?” Peter spoke, trying to find the words to express was he’s trying to say. “You find love, and get your heart broken. But- but that’s okay. That just means you’re closer to finding your one true love. Your soulmate.”

“But I thought it was Harry,” you sobbed, shaking your head. That stung Peter a bit, but he ignored it. He had to, for you. “I wanted it to be Harry.”

“Harry was blockade. He was an immature arrogant blockade that stopped you from finding true love,” Peter spoke, brushing your hair with his fingers, which eased your cries a little bit. “You’re gonna find someone Y/N. Someone who’s going to remember the small things. Where you first met. Your favourite food. Even stupid things like how you like your coffee. And then, Harry is just a little memory.”

You stopped crying, looking up at him. Your faces your millimeters apart, making Peter gulp. “Where did we meet?”

“What?” Peter replied confusedly.

“When we met,” you repeated, looking at him in the eyes. The rain got heavier and heavier, now slamming against the roof of your room. “Where was it?”

“In Germany,” Peter spoke, trying to look anywhere other than your soft and inviting lips. “At the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. You were wearing a red top, red lips and a leather jacket. You smiled at me and introduced yourself.”

Your heart stopped, looking at him in bewilderment of how he remembered not just where you met, but your clothes. “My favourite food?”

“You like penne pasta with taco seasoning, corn, cheese and bolognese sauce,” he replied back, as he his eyes flickered to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Because um- because it reminds you of that time you went to Mexico with Mr Stark when you were ten. You make it every Tuesday for dinner. And you always give me some when I’ve been working hard or studying.”

“And how do I like my coffee?”

“You like iced mocha,” he answered, letting out a breath. “You don’t like normal coffee, because it tastes like crap and you like to add a little chocolate in it for taste. And you also don’t like it hot because you usually burn your tongue.”

Peter chuckled at his last comment, shaking his head as he stared at the wall.

You continued looking at him before nodding. Peter watched you as you got up to walk near the present you were meant to give Harry.

You ripped off the the wrapping paper, and walked towards the bed once again. Peter watched as you played around with the gift, before looking at him and handing it over to him.

He looked at the watch and read what it said.

1824 days, 24 hours and 43 secounds

“I-“ Peter begun shaking his head as he stared at the countdown on the watch. “I don’t understand-“

“Put it on,” you cut him off. Peter furrowed his eyebrows but followed your instructions nevertheless.

He placed it around his wrist, clipping it on carefully due to his fear of breaking it. He knew you worked hard for it. He saw you up at 4 am making it. And then he had made you breakfast just in case you hadn’t been eating.

Peter had awaken at 4am in the morning due a strong toilet urge. He had just finished washing his hands before he stopped, hearing the sound of electricity and metals clanging.

Naturally, Peter went to investigate. He thought he’d see Tony working on a new suit, but it was you. And you were working on what looked like a watch.

You looked horrible. Your hair was in a messy bun, there was bags under your eyes and you looked like you were in dire need of sleep.

But Peter of course still thought you were the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

He could sense your tiredness. And if you’re up this late making something, it usually meant it was important.

When something was important, that equals you skipping meals. Peter knew that, so he head to the kitchen to make you some early breakfast.

He found a pancake mix and all he needed to add was some milk. He then turned on the stove and poured the mixture.

When he flipped the pancake, he then added some blueberries just for an extra pack of nutrients to make sure you were full.

Adding some maple syrup and some icing sugar, Peter was satisfied with the outcome and walked towards you.

He was being quiet, careful not to scare you, but when he knocked on the door of the lab you of course jumped and dropped your tools.

“Peter, oh my god,” you gasped, holding your chest. “You scared me so much that my 13-year-old one direction fan girl self came out from deep within me after being burried for so long.”

Peter chuckled at that, before going quiet, his shyness coming out once again. And he hated himself for it. He wish he was just as extrovert and funny like Harry was. He wishes he was him.

A billionaire man who had a father and you.

“I remember once my dad was so shocked when he opened my door once and saw me making out with a Niall poster,” you chuckled at the memory, shaking your head. You then looked at Peter and noticed he was holding a plate. “Whatcha’ got there Spidey?”

“I- I,” he stuttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I made you pancakes with blueberries. You just looked a bit tired and I thought...”

His eyes went around the room as he nodded to himself.

You let out a smile. No one had ever done something like this for you, ever. Peter was a true gentleman. But you couldn’t cross that road. You just couldn’t.

“Thank you Peter, but,” you fakily sighed, looking at your nails before flipping your hair. “You can’t possibly think that I, Y/N Stark, would eat this by myself.”

Peter smiled at you before grabbing a secound fork and sitting down with you to eat pancakes together.

You guys talked about everything, from random stuff like concerts and Star Wars to more personal stuff like how you miss Natasha and Wanda and what you’d do just to see them again. You miss gossiping with them, painting each other’s nails, talking about boys and other female stuff.

But you couldn’t tell your father that, he’d blame it on himself.

Peter told you about his parents and Uncle Ben, and how it was hard for him. He even told you about Ned and his high school bully; Flash. You told him that if he ever needed help, that your dad and yourself were both there. Even if it meant kicking a 16 year old’s ass.

Peter was going to remember this night for a long time.

But so were you.

When he was done putting the watch on, he then looked at you for answers.

“You like me Peter, don’t you?” You had asked. Peter’s face turned red as he stuttered, unable to form a coherent sentence. “It’s okay, Peter, just listen.”

Peter nodded, but his cheeks were still tinted with a slight shade of pink.

“This watch is counting down till five years from now,” you explained, nodding down at the watch. You then breathed before looking at his eyes, finding it hard to say the next words.

You haven’t been this nervous since your father went up a portal with a missle.

“For what?” Peter had asked, awaiting your answer. You let out a little sigh, and closed your eyes.

“If I haven’t found love and if you haven’t found love either,” you begun, grabbing his hand and placing it around yours. “Then we will have our first date.”

And that was it.

That was the comment that made this day single-handedly Peter’s favourite day in his life.

Because for the first time, Peter had hope.

Taglist (CLOSED)

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barnesandco · 5 years

Text

Nikah: June

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of guns. Angst. Captivity.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. I’ll be honest, I don’t really know how to feel about this chapter. Please let me know what you think.

For the first time in nearly eighty years, Bucky wants to be a soldier. Wants to bark orders, organize his troops, pull the goddamn trigger, because this isn’t working. The troops are in disarray, another off-the-clock meeting in the living room going nowhere. The area is dark, their handwritten notes illuminated by Peter’s floating lights. Like enlarged fireflies, they hover above them, casting soft shadows across the contraband paperwork, but do nothing to soothe Bucky. It’s going to take more than that to take his mind off his missing wife.

He’s busy counting. It has been 13 days, 11 hours, and 34 minutes since she walked out the door. She never came back. Every moment since has been only disaster, catastrophe. A complete blur. He tries to put together the jagged shards of the course of events that lays splintered in his mind, recaps the case like a private eye in a noir film, but the storyline is overwhelming. He can only remember the noise. The television static that was the police station he reported her missing in the morning after the fallout. The mind-numbing white noise of the press, of the investigators, his concerned teammates. They’re still concerned, naturally, watching him pace behind the sofa, mind clearly in another dimension.

Peter himself is absent. Has refused to show up to meetings, says he’s taking a break. As if they don’t know that he spends his free time patrolling as much of the city as possible, looking for her. A few amongst them would again suggest that she has run away, if it wasn’t for the notes.

Whoever took her has been sending cruel, little messages, in varying unpredictable fashions. On social media, in the mail, a temporary web domain. All made impossible to track and each more infuriating than the next. No ransom demand, no explanation, just taunts.

Forensic specialists have nothing, behavioral analysts are at a total loss, and Bucky’s at the center of the circus that this investigation has become. He is at the eye of the storm, although currently, he feels like the storm itself, even while it surrounds him, raging and powerful, it threatens to drown him, but he cannot afford that. Not when someone else’s life is at stake.

“Man, that’s enough. Get some rest and we’ll get back to it tomorrow.” Tired and weary, and above all else, worried, Sam decides to call it a night. Bucky doesn’t have the heart to argue. As they file out, Sam stays behind, looking at Bucky, still standing with a manila folder in his hands. The captain comes up to him and takes it away gently. “You’re going to collapse, Barnes. No good to her like this. Sleep,” He says, pointing the folder like a scolding finger at him on his way out, and Bucky sighs. Knows he will not obey this order.

The night is temperate, a gentle blanket smelling of grass and gun-cleaner around him as he steps onto the balcony outside his room. They must have cut the lawns today. It’s a beautiful evening, and he’d appreciate it if there was room for any such thing in his heart. At present, the cavity in his chest is overflowing with fear. He hasn’t been this scared since he was a 20-something soldier in Azzano, Zola’s wicked face above him on the operating table. The intensity of this fear frightens him further. How is he this scared, for someone else? When did the cold metal Hydra poured into him to forge their sword melt into the lava bubbling ferociously with rage and hurt inside him? He has spent his whole life, scorning the cold, and now he is being burnt from the inside out, the fury in his veins sparking a fire in his belly.

Taking a deep breath, he reminds himself to calm down. Remembers that the magma can and will pour into his lungs if he lets it, will stifle his air supply until he is as helpless as his wife probably is, wherever she is. Sleep is not on the cards, so he comes back into his room and picks up the Glock under his pillow. Sits to clean it again tracing the indentations and following the lines.

“Sign here, sir,” The official’s baritone voice requests, pointing to the dotted line on their accepted marriage license. The black fountain pen is cold in his hands, and he hurries to sign. Their witnesses - another married couple that were waiting in line for their ceremony - shuffle impatiently. The document is slid over to her, and she does the same. Bucky doesn’t know whether his sigh of relief is releasing the burden of anticipation from his shoulders, or making room for the burden of a false marriage on them. The formalities are discussed in short time, prenuptial agreement non-existent, and the man congratulates them professionally behind half-moon glasses.

She nods, smiling, and they get up to thank the witnesses as their own file in, along with their few guests. Courthouse marriages are popular, Bucky notes, buttoning his jacket. They leave the building, walking a few blocks to grab a taxi, silent and cold. Night falls by the time they get home, the elevator ride feeling like weeks instead of minutes. The keys jingle as he turns the lock, and he and his bride step over the threshold of his house. Not their home, not yet.

Sam’s frantic knocking rouses him from his uncomfortable sleep, his back against the side of his bed and legs splayed out in front of him, gun still in his hands. He thanks God the safety’s on, and goes to open up.

“What?” He says shortly to the man who is breathless and alert, bursting with something to say. Sam holds up a key.

“The agent who gets sent to check your mail in Brooklyn just got back with this,” He says, giving it to Bucky. He looks over it, the silver glinting and reflecting off the metal of his arm. It’s vaguely familiar, and he thinks he should recognize it, but he does not. Not until he reads the number, and his heart drops to his knees, last night’s scarce dinner threatening to resurface.

“The storage unit,” He murmurs, tracing the number on the plastic keychain attached to the key. 3-8-4.

“What?” It’s Sam’s turn to ask as he takes in his friend’s expression, knowing this means something.

“We rented a storage unit to put her stuff in when she moved in with me,” Bucky explains, rotating the key in his hands, as if there is a hidden clue in it. “This is the key to that unit.”

“Then we should go,” Sam determines, throwing a call to suit up over his shoulder at him, and ordering Friday to gather the others.

Two hours later sees them at the storage facility, heavy red gate imposing in front of them. They can hear the ambulance on standby outside, the buzz of media attracted by the movement of armed forces inside the city. The SWATs nod for him to open the gate, rifles on their shoulders, and Bucky sarcastically thinks this might be one hell of an anticlimax, until the gate slides up with an unholy groan to reveal his wife.

The smell of sweat and stench and human waste, along with those curse MREs slaps him across the face harshly, but he needs to get to her. This is nothing, compared to the hell of the past few weeks without her.

Finally, here she is now- his bruised, tired, but very much alive wife. Her bloodshot eyes widen at the sight of them all, black-clad special ops and a team of Avengers, him still at the side of the entryway. They all lower their weapons, but she scrambles back, gag in her mouth biting at the corner of her lips when she gasps, frightened. Then she sees Bucky, and it’s like an ocean wave washes over her. She is clad, well-covered, yet he slides his combat jacket off, approaches slowly and drapes it around her shaking form before doing anything else.

Maintains eye contact while cutting the ropes the bind her hands and feet and pulls off the gag. For a painful moment, she stares at him, frozen in time, and then the dam breaks, and she collapses. Falls into his arms, great, gasping sobs erupting from a chest he didn’t know could hold that much sorrow as she cries against him. Her sanctuary is ripped away when the medics arrive, as they ask for her to be taken to the hospital, she needs to go, Mr. Barnes, but she clings to him. Screams hoarsely until they stop insisting and give them space.

Bucky nods to them - telling them he’ll bring her to the ambulance - over the top of her unwashed head, the tiny jhumkas from the iftaari still in her ears, one blood-stained, digging into his shoulder as she tries to hide in him. Tries to bury herself in his body, tries to make herself disappear. Again. Sam’s calling for everyone to back up, and Bucky’s grips grows tighter. He’s going to bend down to pick her up bridal style when she passes out, dead weight in his arms. The medics rush forward again, but he waves them off, carrying her back himself.

She wakes up in the ambulance on the way back, fraught like a tense rope, but doesn’t open her eyes. His only indication of her consciousness is how she squeezes his hand feebly, and he squeezes back, thinking: it isn’t fair.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer @redhairedfeistynerd @geeksareunique @samingtonwilson @alyxkbrl

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x desi!reader #bucky barnes angst

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bellero · 5 years

Text

The Parker Twins - Part 3.

Summary: This is just a reimagined version of Homecoming but Peter has a twin sister.

Warnings: The occasional swear, arguing, mentions of dead parents.

Authors note: I haven’t updated this in forever, however I want to get back on track with my writing. Also, I decided to miss out the trip to Washington so it gets straight to the angst! Also remember to leave feedback!!

The Parker Twins Masterlist

—————-

May had allowed you to stay home from school after learning about what had happened at the party. You had spent the majority of the day moping around alone, Peter was in school and May was at work, you were bored. Tony had managed to get every trace of the video removed, of course that didn’t fully undo the damages as the entire school was present and saw you punch Flash in the face but still, it was something.

You were currently in bed, facing the wall with your duvet up to your neck and earphones in your ears, music at full volume. The feeling of dread was still prominent throughout your body, you knew you’d have to go back to school, you knew you were going to have to face up with what you did. I mean sure, Flash deserved it because he was being a total dick but that didn’t stop the pounding voice in the back of your head yelling at you for reacting so irrationally.

You let out a groan when you heard a knock on the door, you ignored it and threw the blankets over your head letting out a small sigh when the knocking stopped. You turned up your music all the way, blocking out any noise from the outside world. You were about to fall asleep when somebody ripped the blanket away from your body. You shot up and glared at the figure in front of you, “what do you want?” you grumbled as you took out your earphones.

Tony leant against your desk with his arms crossed, “a little birdie told me you didn’t go to school today… I was just wondering why” you frowned with a furrowed brow, “I punched a guy in the face, Tony, in front of the entire school. I’d rather not show my face in that hellhole again, thank you very much.” You reached down and grabbed your blanket, “now, if you don’t mind, I was going to take a nap. You may show yourself out” You said gesturing towards your door, you led back down and pulled the blanket over your face. You heard Tony let out a sigh, “fine, I guess I’ll need to find somebody else to test out my new lab equipment”.

You quickly climbed out of bed and onto your feet, “test out what now?” you asked, pushing hair out of your face. Tony smirked, “we’re moving the headquarters upstate, I got a bunch of new lab equipment. Thought it’d be boring to test it out myself” you nodded your head.

“Yeah, I already know about the move upstate. Hello, I hack you for a living. But- why did you come here?” You asked, Tony rolled his eyes at your hacking comment “Peter left Happy a voicemail saying how you were moping about, thought you’d rather do something useful with your time other than lay in bed listening to, whatever that crap was”.

You furrowed your eyebrows at his comment about your music taste, “gimme 10 minutes” you said, pushing him out of your room.

You stepped out of your room but stopped at Tony who was looking at the photos on the wall, “that’s my uncle Ben… He died a few weeks after Peter got his powers” you said as you walked over to stand next to him. He pointed at the one next to it “those your parents?” he asked, you nodded your head “I don’t really remember them, same with Peter. Most of our memories have come from photos and home videos… It’s weird, they’re my parents. I should be able to remember them but I just… don’t. Peter remembers way more than me, I don’t get it” you shrugged, you walked towards the fridge and started writing on the magnetic notepad attached to it.

Gone out with Mr. Stark. Be back soon. Love, y/n.

You grabbed a jacket, “what’d you mean you can’t remember your parents?” Tony asked, you shrugged your shoulders, “I dunno. The only memories I’ve ever had of them have been from photos and stuff. Peter remembers them, he can’t remember much but he remembers them” you explained as you walked out of your apartment, Tony stood around as you locked the door.

You and Tony walked side by side as you exited the building, you let out a whistle “nice car” you said as you ran you hand along the bumper, you opened the door and sat down. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a car person” Tony remarked as he turned the engine on, “seatbelt” he said which made you roll your eyes. “I’m not a car person, I just know a good car when I see one” you muttered whilst clipping in your seatbelt.

“How’s Peter handling the whole Spider-Man thing?” Tony asked quickly glancing over at you as he drove, “I mean… he’s handling like you’d expect a teenager to handle it. Although he has quit band practice, and he almost quit the Decathalon. I don’t know, I think he feels like he HAS to protect people, I mean he’s still a kid… he shouldn’t be throwing away his life to be in some dumb suit” you finished with a huff. Tony pondered over what you had said, he slowly nodded his head “I get it… I was like that when I first became Iron Man, I was obsessed with the suits. It made me feel complete, y’know?” you nodded your head, “also, I designed that suit so stop insulting it” you grinned and shook your head.

————

You were stood outside of the Avengers HQ with Tony stood next to you, “so, what’d you think?” he asked looking over at you, he started walking towards the entrance, you quickly followed. You looked around, “I mean… it’s a bit… loud? I thought top secret military bases were supposed to be inconspicuous… This is a huge white building with Jets in the front yard” you observed whilst putting your hands in your pockets, “okay. One, this isn’t a military base, it’s a headquarters- don’t roll your eyes at me, and two, I chose the design so shut up” he said causing you to let out a snort.

You walked into the building, you stopped for a second and slowly spun around taking everything in, “holy shit. This place is huge!” Tony looked smug, “but seriously, your design sucks” he flicked the back of your head, “ouch! You don’t have to be a dick about it, jeez” you muttered whilst rubbing your head, “let’s go show you that lab” he said, changing the conversation. He placed his hands on your shoulders and started to steer you in the direction of the elevators.

You waved at Happy who was exiting one of the elevators, “is everything set up?” Tony asked, Happy nodded his head “yeah, there’s still some stuff at the tower but they’ll be going out with the plane” he explained whilst ignoring your little wave. They exchanged a few more words before you and Tony stepped into the elevator, “bye Happy!” you yelled just before the doors closed, “so, is his name really Happy, or is that just a nickname because obviously it doesn’t match his personality…” you trailed off causing Tony to laugh a little, he shook his head before stepping out of the now opened elevator doors, you followed. He spoke as he walked “his real name is Harold, but I wouldn’t advise calling him that” you nodded your head and followed him through a sliding door.

You froze in your spot and gaped at the room you were currently stood in, “you’re going to catch flies” Tony muttered before walking over to a table. You slowly walked around the room, running your hand over different machines and work tops, you stopped and pointed towards a robot with a dunce cap on its head “why did you put a dunce cap on a robot?” you asked, Tony looked over at you “oh, that’s Dum.E. He tipped coffee on the worktop and caused some water damage” you frowned at his comment, you took the cap off and patted the robot on the head. You walked over and stood next to Tony, placing the small cap on the table next to you. He pressed a button on the side of the table making a hologram appear in front of you, you let out a small laugh “that’s awesome” you held out your right hand and made the hologram of your brothers suit spin. Tony waved his hand again “I wanna figure out some upgrades for your brother’s suit-” he began before you quickly interrupted him which caused him to look at you in surprise “yeah sounds cool, but, how about instead of working on my brothers already perfect suit we make me my own suit…” you trailed off, he cocked his head “yeah. We can make it white and gold… it’ll be great! Plus, it’ll give you the chance to really challenge some of this newer equipment” you turned to him, he pondered it for a moment before bringing up a clean slate on the hologram, “okay, kid. You’re in control” he said, you bounced on your feet for a moment, “I was thinking of making it like yours… Y’know with thrusters since I can’t exactly swing from buildings. Obviously, I don’t have the room to hide a giant suit so I’ve been playing around with the idea of nanotech… I could hide it in a small bracelet or something, I don’t know” you quickly shied away when you realised you were rambling. Tony nodded his head “you’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?” you shrugged your shoulders, nodding your head ever so slightly “I mean… I guess? I see what Peter does, helping people… I want to do that; I want to help others… I mean, I’m pretty useless in every other department” Tony frowned at that, “so why not put what I’m good at into use” you shrugged your shoulders.

Tony was about to respond when your phone pinged, you looked and saw a text from Aunt May, you let out a groan “Peter hasn’t come back from school, May’s freaking out because he isn’t answering his phone” you quickly replied and pocketed your phone, “could you drop me back?” Tony nodded his head.

As he drove you back Ned rang you, “he’s done what?! Okay, thanks for telling me. I’ll see you at school. Bye” you hung up the phone and let out a groan of frustration, Tony glanced at you “everything okay?” he asked, you sighed and shook your head,

“Peter found this weird glowing thing from these criminal guys who are using them to make weapons, he put a tracker on one of them and found out that there’s a buy going down on some ferry so he’s gone to stop it” Tony tensed up slightly and pulled up outside your house, “thanks for today. I really needed an excuse to leave my bed” you said whilst climbing out of the car, “bye!” you waved before stepping into the apartment building.

————

It had been a few hours; Peter still wasn’t home. You and May had seen on the news about being split in half, you knew Peter was part of it. You were sat down as May was pacing the room. Your head shot up when the door opened, you furrowed your eyebrows at your brothers’ state, he was wearing hello kitty pyjama trousers and an oversized ‘I survived my trip to NYC t-shirt “hey” he whispered at May, she inhaled deeply and walked over to him,

“I’ve been calling you all day. You didn’t answer your phone. You can’t do that. Then this ferry thing happens. I’ve called five police stations” she spoke, she was clearly still panicking, “five, I’ve called five of your friends”

“May, I’m okay. Honestly. Just relax, I’m fine” Peter spoke quietly trying to soothe her.

May turned to face Peter, “cut the bullshit. I know you left detention. I know you left the hotel room in Washington. I know you sneak out of this house every night. That’s not fine.” She took a breath “Peter, you have to tell me what’s going on. Just lay it out. It’s just us” she said motioning between you and her. Peter’s eyes suddenly welled up with tears “I lost the Stark internship” he said quickly glancing at you, you stood up “what? What happened?” you asked walking over to him, he collapsed onto the sofa as tears started streaming down his face, he shrugged of the hand you placed on his shoulder which caused you to step back a bit. May shot you a sympathetic look, assuming he was too emotional to want comfort.

Peter let out a sigh “I just thought I could work really hard. I screwed it up” May started stroking his back “it’s okay” she repeated softly,

“I’m sorry I made you worry” Peter said with a sigh, May shook her head

“You know I’m not trying to ruin your life… Just- I used to sneak out too” she sniffed Peter’s hair, “and take a shower. You smell like garbage” she said making Peter laugh slightly, he shook his head at her comment “I know” he stood up and walked towards the bathroom, not giving you another glance.

You turned to May “do you think he’s mad at me?” you asked wringing your hands together, she cocked her head to the side “why would he be mad? This isn’t your fault” she said, you nodded your head.

“Anyway, how was it hanging out with Tony?” she asked, you smiled and nodded your head “yeah it was really fun, he let me test out a bunch of new equipment” May smiled at your excitement, “that’s great. I’m going to head out and grab some Pizza, will you talk to Peter for me? I know he’s holding back about something and I know he’ll tell you” you nodded, she placed a kiss on her forehead “be back soon” she said and walked out the door.

You walked over to Peter’s bedroom and knocked on the door “hey, can I talk to you?” you asked, you didn’t hear anybody respond so you slowly opened the door and frowned at your brother who was lying in bed, “I’m sorry you lost the internship… I know how much it meant to you” you said whilst leaning against the door frame, “if it helps May’s gone to get some pizza”. You sighed when he didn’t reply.

“He took the suit… Mr. Stark took the suit” he swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood up, “he also said that you told him I quit band. Why would you do that?” he asked, you narrowed your eyes “he asked how you were coping with being Spiderman, I said you quit band. So what?” you asked crossing your arms, still confused by his irritation towards you. He let out a groan of frustration “you were with him all day today?” he asked, you nodded your head “I know you told him where I was, this happened because of you” he spat, you quickly sat up straight and stared at him, “excuse me? What happened was not my fault. You’re the one who thought it would be a good idea to chase after those men despite me, Ned and Tony saying that it was a bad idea” he went to speak but you interrupted “and you know what? I’m glad Tony stopped you. You could’ve hurt those people, Peter. You could have died” you sucked in a shuddering breath “I’m sorry you lost the internship. I really am, but I’m not getting the blame for your screw ups” you turned and slammed the door before storming off to your room.

——————

The Parker Twins Tags-

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