#hey tony...

[officerwhitmore]

Hey, Tony...

Monday hit Vincent like a bullet in the back. Just like last Monday, when he’d dolled himself up to get fucked by Tony, ended up with a hickey that could’ve ruined his life, and then ran out on him—an act that, if he were being honest, actually had ruined his life (which was admittedly melodramatic but didn’t feel any less true). And honestly? Vincent should’ve been far more fucking concerned about the fact that he’d haphazardly handed this one, very mysterious, insanely attractive, and large-dicked man from Texas the power to wreck him completely.

Was this why parents—including Vincent—warned their daughters to be careful with boys? That they weren’t all they were cracked up to be? That they could stumble into your universe, claim the center of it like they had a right, and then destroy it with their fists like the goddamn Hulk while you stood there slackjawed, powerless to stop the devastation because ’but Daddy, I love him?’ And really, this whole gay situation only made the equation more impossible to solve because, sure, Vincent knew he was the Hulk in Tony’s universe right now—but sometimes it felt like the roles were flipped. Sometimes it felt like Tony had smashed both of their worlds to pieces just by existing. Just by being so infuriatingly sweet, impossibly tall and muscular, dangerous-looking with that deep, southern molasses voice, those dark brown eyes, and that shark-toothed grin that radiated unfiltered sexual energy—<em>even</em> in a dirty apron or someone’s dead grandma’s step-uncle’s ancient flannel shirt.

It was 6:00-something PM, and June was in her bedroom upstairs, battling the after-school Monday blues by screech-laughing on Roblox with some friends from school whom Vincent had carefully vetted in his own time. You couldn’t exactly run background checks on children—because, like Tony, they had no records to check—but their immediate family members? Fair game. DUI in the ’90s? Happens to the best of us. A few bounced checks or a minor shoplifting charge from a decade ago? Not great, but forgivable. An arrest for public intoxication during a rowdy college football game? Annoying, but not damning. An old citation for disorderly conduct at a neighbor’s backyard barbecue? Not ideal, but understandable after a few beers. However, a domestic violence charge filed just last year? Or a police call detailing a heated, late-night argument that ended with property destruction and terrified neighbors? Those were the kinds of things that immediately nixed a kid from his approval-to-play-with-June list, no exceptions.

Even as he scrolled through public records on his work laptop late one night—his personal laptop shoved aside, guilty by association—he couldn’t stop the nagging discomfort clawing at the back of his mind. This was overkill. He knew it was overkill. The logical, decent part of him reminded him that most of these kids’ parents were probably harmless screwups, the kind of people who racked up parking tickets or got into petty arguments with their HOA over mailbox colors. Not predators. Not monsters. But then, the darker memories crept in—the ones he didn’t let himself think about too often. That case in Coldwater, the one that made his stomach churn even now, years later. It had started with a routine tip about an unpaid parking violation and ended with something so insidious he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words aloud anymore. He shuddered at the thought, the bile rising in his throat.

So, yeah. He knew he was abusing his power. It wasn’t the first time he’d wrestled with that ugly truth. He hated that he had access to these records at all, hated that being a cop gave him the ability to dig into someone’s life just because he felt like it. There was a rottenness to it, the kind that made his skin crawl, but when it came to June, his guilt didn’t matter. Not compared to the nagging fear that he might miss something—something small, something buried, something that could put her in danger. He couldn’t afford to stop. Not after what he’d seen. Not after what he knew. It wasn’t right, though, and he couldn’t pretend it was. He’d look himself in the mirror afterward and feel the weight of his own hypocrisy pressing down on his chest, hot and suffocating. But he told himself it was worth it. It had to be. If it meant keeping June safe, he’d carry that weight. Even if it made him sick. Even if it made him hate himself.

Another thing that made him hate himself? What he was doing right now, sitting on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, the screen dimmed just enough to be soothing but not enough to hide the shameful sheen on his face. His thumb swiped aimlessly through a femboy subreddit (on his porn alt, not his main, because he wasn’t a complete idiot), his left hand softly pawing at his cock through his sweats, willing it to come to life. The carousel of scantily clad young men in skirts and thigh-highs blurred together, their poses coquettish and calculated to entice. Normally, he might have felt something—a flicker of heat, a stir of interest—but tonight it was like trying to light a match in a downpour. Nothing. Just static. His chest tightened with a pang of frustration as he lingered on one photo a moment too long—a dark-skinned man with dreadlocks leaning back against the trunk of some sleek BMW with his short velvet skirt pitched high by a long, hard cock only <em>just</em> hidden beneath the fabric. Though it made something tickle in his stomach, his hand softly tightening around the shape of his length, the image did little more than remind him how hollow he felt.

With a sharp exhale, he backed out of the page, his thumb finding its way to another subreddit. This one presented him with slim-muscular men: taut torsos, sharply cut jaws, and those broad shoulders he always gravitated toward, faces that exuded confidence and a touch of arrogance. The first few photos were strangers, all technically attractive, but as his thumb scrolled, their features started to shift. His mind twisted every sharp brow, every smirking mouth, every shadowed jawline into Tony’s. Every image became Tony leaned back against that green leather couch, his broad chest stretching the fabric of his red button-down, his sharp, lust-drunk eyes cutting through Vince’s defenses like a knife.

It wasn’t long before Vince stopped scrolling, his hand falling limp in his lap as he stared blankly at the screen. The air in the room felt heavier, his throat tight as if his body were trying to ward off the memories threatening to overtake him. But it was useless. Tony was everywhere now, inescapable, his image burned into Vince’s mind with a ferocity that made him ache. The screen was paused on a post—some curly-haired fitness model with a cock hard enough to knock down Sears Tower—but it wasn’t his broad shoulders or the careful line of his abs that Vincent saw. Instead, he heard Tony’s voice, low and rough, murmuring something that wasn’t even sexy but still made Vincent’s stomach tighten. He closed the app with a sharp flick of his thumb, frustration bubbling in his chest as his mind betrayed him again. “Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the phone onto the bed.

That led to the inevitable, didn’t it? The restless pull in his stomach, the ache that settled low in his body, and the gnawing need to exorcize Tony’s ghost any way he could. He jerked off like a man trying to erase a memory, forcing his focus onto something explicit—anything explicit—but it didn’t work. Not really. The man in the photo was there in his mind, sure—thick blonde curls and long, blushed cock—but it was Tony’s crooked smile that burned in the back of Vincent’s mind, the thought of his hands rough but steady on his hips, his broad chest warm and unyielding. When it was over, Vince let out a heavy sigh that sounded more like defeat than relief, staring at the mess he’d made and feeling emptier than before—just like it had the three other times he’d done it that day, numb and waiting for June to return so he’d have something to do other than jerk off and daydream about killing himself. He didn’t even bother cleaning up right away, just leaned back into the mattress and dragged a hand over his face, muttering, “You’re pathetic.”

Fifteen minutes later, hands washed, stomach cleaned, still feeling like total garbage, Vincent wandered downstairs and flipped on the TV out of sheer desperation, settling on a Bulls game because it was live and required no commitment. He let the mindless buzz of the commentators fill the room, his eyes tracking the movement of players across the court. It worked, for a little while. He could almost convince himself he was engaged—until one of the players stepped up to the free-throw line. Tall, muscular, with a cocky air and a predatory focus that practically radiated from the screen. Vincent felt his chest tighten, his mind whispering that familiar, unbearable name.

Goddammit, Tony.

Vincent’s jaw clenched, his fists pressing hard against his thighs, knuckles white as if bracing against the unbearable tension in his chest. He couldn’t take this—couldn’t sit here, drowning in his own head, as some random athlete on the screen reminded him of the man he’d spent the past week trying and failing to forget. The dull, pounding headache from the morning—courtesy of last night’s gut-wrenching sobs—had lingered all day, making everything feel muted, gray. It wasn’t pain anymore, not exactly. It was a heavy, numbing ache that pressed against his skull and made it impossible to focus on anything but the void gnawing at his insides.

His phone sat next to him, black and silent, like it was mocking him. It hadn’t buzzed all day, not with anything meaningful, and certainly not with the response he’d been stupid enough to hope for. He’d woken up that morning feeling gross and clammy, the fabric of his boxers uncomfortably sticky against his skin, and had immediately snatched his phone off the floor where he’d thrown it the night before. Nothing. No reply to the Kyle joke, no acknowledgment that he even existed. Tony’s silence had been like a slap to the face, but worse than the slap was the absence of surprise. Why the hell would Tony want anything to do with him after everything he’d put him through?

But now, hours later, with the dim glow of the TV casting strange shadows across the room, that stupid little device might as well have been alive, daring him to pick it up. His heart thundered in his chest as he grabbed it, opening their chat before he could think better of it. His fingers hovered over the blank message box beneath Tony’s name, his breath catching as the pressure in his chest tightened into something unbearable. Vince knew he should stop—knew he should leave Tony alone and save what little shred of dignity he had left. But self-control had never been his strong suit, and the urge to text him again, to say something, anything, was an iron grip around his lungs.

And then, against every ounce of logic, he started typing.

Hey… 🙃

Just wanted to check in and see if you're doing okay. Also! Any luck on the jacket hunt? 👀 I know some places around town that have a good selection. I'd be willing to drop you an addy if you like.  (That means address. 😜)

@tex-mex-tony

[frederikvesti]

ALTER EGO | indycar & nascar drama ✨

[crowlixcx]

RIVALS 1.05

[worstloki]

I actually think it would be so funny if Thor adapted to Midgardian clothing and such, wearing t-shirts and jeans and after Asgardians start settling on Earth that's generally what has to happen. But Loki keeps wearing his complicated leathery Asgardian clothing for the apparent sole purpose of jump-scaring any visitors to New Asgard

[hurtspideyparker]

14 year old Peter Parker was such a menace

Practically asked for money a minute into meeting a billionaire ("Is this grant got, like, money involved or whatever...")

Used Tony Stark's credit card to watch porn

Snuck out while in a foreign country and partied with a bunch of older women

Made front page news for saving a German government official "Sticky Boy Saves Chancellor"

Started reading Sam Wilson his Miranda Rights out of nowhere (he was the one caught by Sam...they aren't officers...they aren't even in the USA...) his voice just makes me laugh every single time like why did he think to do that

Vlogged in the middle of a dangerous fight (when decades of a photography history devolve into Gen Z Spidey's influencer era)

Used pop culture for battle strategy

[ghostdoctor]

robin and chopper have my entire heart and soul

[is-that-sand-in-my-waffles]

I'm going to need B2EMO to stop being so "Sad old dog missing his owner" before I dehydrate from my tears

[wordsarelife]

—hey stephen

pairing: peter parker x fem!stark!reader

summary: you and peter have to fix a little mistake one of the avengers made. luckily you're a great team

warnings: flirting, theft lol

note: i realized too late i hadn't put it in the queqe lol!

the night sky loomed above you, a soft haze of stars disappearing into the city’s light pollution. a high-rise office building stretched into the clouds, and at its base, peter was already halfway up, scaling the glass like it was nothing. your fingers tapped the device your dad had insisted you bring, ensuring your escape route was intact—just in case.

"the probability of falling to your death is one in three," you called out, voice laced with dry amusement as you watched peter's slow climb from the ground.

from above, peter’s voice crackled through your earpiece, laced with sarcasm. "what do the statistics say about people with spider-powers?" he paused to look down at you, clearly rolling his eyes beneath the mask.

with a smirk, you tapped the small stark tech device on your wrist, instantly teleporting yourself from the ground to the roof he was climbing toward. when you appeared, you peeked over the ledge to see him still climbing, almost there. "they say, that they're kind of slow."

peter stopped climbing and turned his head in your direction, scowling up at you. "ha ha" he muttered, clearly unimpressed. still, you could see a grin forming under the mask as he climbed up the last few feet. "and what do they say about people with teleporting powers and stark-level egos?"

you quirked a brow, amusement dancing on your lips. "that we don’t have time to climb up buildings for fun," you shot back.

"whatever" he replied playfully, as he walked around you, to look through the glass of the roof and into the room beneath it. "do we have any information about the security system?"

"vision’s already taken care of the alarms and cameras," you answered, eyes still locked on the space beneath. "but we’ve got a problem."

you and peter stood shoulder to shoulder, staring down through the reinforced glass at the one obstacle neither of you had expected: larry, the security guard. he was patrolling the museum’s halls with an intensity that would put some SHIELD agents to shame.

larry was infamous for taking his job way too seriously, a fact that had somehow kept this museum entirely free of robbery attempts.

peter let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "that’s larry, isn’t it? guy’s basically the captain america of museum security.”

"yup," you sighed, arms crossed as you watched larry methodically sweep each room like he was guarding the crown jewels. "this mission is supposed to be high-stakes, not high-annoyance."

your father had pulled you into this last-minute mission, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of his over-the-top explanation for why this was necessary.

thor had accidentally packed one of tony's and bruce’s experimental devices in a gift box meant for this museum, and now that same device was on display, tucked away in some artifact. to tony, this was practically a world-ending catastrophe.

"couldn't you just, you know... build another one?" you had asked at the time, exasperation dripping from your voice.

tony had responded by rolling his eyes dramatically, as if you’d just suggested throwing away the mona lisa. "do you want the wrong hands getting this tech? because that’s how we all end up in serious, world-ending trouble."

that, of course, had been enough to get you and peter on board. especially after the last world-ending trouble, your father had been involved in, had led to robots invading sokovia and ripping it out of the ground.

but now, staring at larry pacing the hallway like he was auditioning for an action movie, you were starting to regret that decision.

"we’ve got to get him out of there" peter whispered. "or this is going to get messy fast"

you nodded. "and vision can’t mess with his comms or knock him out—he’s just a regular guy, after all. we can’t exactly web him up and call it a day"

"yeah" peter agreed. "but we can’t just waltz in either. larry’s about three steps away from spotting us and sounding the alarm. and there goes our quiet heist"

peter shifted beside you, fidgeting like he always did when he was thinking up a plan. you could practically see the gears turning in his head. he turned to you, his face half-hidden under the mask, but you could feel the grin even if you couldn’t see it. "how good are you at distractions?"

you raised an eyebrow. "depends on the distraction. what are you thinking?"

peter leaned down, pointing at the far end of the hallway where a ventilation shaft led into the room larry was patrolling. "you teleport down there, maybe drop something—make some noise. when larry goes to investigate, i’ll slip in and get the device"

you glanced at the vent, calculating the distance between it and larry’s patrol route. it could work. you could make just enough noise to pull him out of the main exhibit area without alerting him too much.

“fine” you muttered, already prepping yourself. “but you owe me.”

peter chuckled, tapping the side of his mask. "i’ll pay you back in kisses. how’s that?"

"disgusting, actually" rolling your eyes, you disappeared in a flash, teleporting down into the vent, making sure to land as quietly as possible. the cold metal of the air duct pressed against your knees as you crawled toward the room below, spotting larry a few feet away, completely oblivious.

reaching for your utility belt, you pulled out a small stark gadget—a harmless little device designed to make a loud noise when activated. with a quick flick of your wrist, you dropped it through the slats in the vent, watching as it clattered to the floor.

larry’s head snapped toward the sound immediately. his footsteps echoed through the room as he headed toward the noise, flashlight in hand. you teleported yourself back to the roof in time to see peter lower himself through the glass on a webline, slipping into the room like a shadow.

“good?” you whispered into your comms.

peter’s voice came back soft but smug. "good. i'm heading to the artifact now."

you watched from above as peter made his way through the room, quiet as ever. he moved between the display cases with ease, his eyes trained on the object in question—a small, unassuming vase, inside of which was the deadly device your dad had carelessly gifted to the museum.

"you think they’d put the dangerous stuff in a more secure spot," peter whispered, now crouched by the display.

"it’s a vase," you whispered back. "nobody thinks vases are dangerous."

peter snorted. "clearly, they’ve never been on a mission with you.”

“clearly, my dad is just as smart, considering he gave a kid a multi-million dollar suit” you teased.

"oh, shut up!" peter shook his head, but you could hear in his voice that he wasn't actually angry or offended at the joke. he carefully removed the vase from its display, switching it out with an identical replica tony had provided. “got it,” he said, holding the real one up to the light.

but just as he turned to leave, larry came back into view. peter froze mid-step, his eyes darting to the closest hiding spot—a decorative column far too narrow to be much help.

“uh, y/n?” peter’s voice was tense. “i think larry’s about to spot me”

“how close are you to the exit?” you asked, already preparing to teleport in if things got messy.

“close enough... but not without being seen” peter muttered. he shifted, trying to move around the column without larry noticing.

you sighed, rolling your eyes. "fine. hold tight."

in an instant, you teleported into the hallway just a few feet behind larry, making just enough noise to catch his attention. he spun around, his flashlight sweeping the area where you had appeared.

peter took the opportunity to slip past, barely making a sound as he darted for the exit.

larry's flashlight landed on you for just a second before you teleported again, this time to the roof, heart racing as you reappeared beside peter.

"that was close," you breathed, watching as larry scratched his head below, completely unaware of what had just happened and probably blaming the hint of your figure on his sleep deprivation.

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you realize this was extremely stupid, right?”

you raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. “what, you worried about me?”

peter shrugged, not quite meeting your eyes. “i mean, if you got caught, who else would pull me out of this mess?”

you gave him a playful shove. "please. i’d just teleport out, and you’d be stuck explaining to larry why you’re playing spider-man in a museum."

he grinned behind his mask, shaking his head. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“yeah, well, you’re the one who drags me into these missions,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “besides, i saved your butt down there.”

peter held up the vase, the light glinting off it's surface. "i think we're even now. how about we call it a tie?"

you smirked. "tie? not a chance, parker. you owe me big time for this"

peter's eyes crinkled at the edges, the grin behind his mask unmistakable. “all right, all right. i’ll buy you dinner.”

“dinner?” you arched an eyebrow. “is that how you plan to repay me?”

he shrugged, but the mischievous spark in his eyes was impossible to miss. “seems fair, right?”

before you could reply, vision's voice chimed in over your comms. "y/n, peter, congratulations on a successful retrieval. the quinjet is ready for extraction."

peter gave a mock salute. "see? mission accomplished. we’re golden."

you couldn’t help but smile as you rolled your eyes. "fine, but next time, you get to deal with larry."

peter paused for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “you sure? i think larry kind of likes you. he was definitely staring a bit when you teleported in behind him.”

you scoffed, shaking your head as you turned to head for the extraction point. "do you ever stop staring at me?"

peter’s voice was soft but completely sincere as he jogged to catch up beside you. “no, not really.”

you shot him a sideways glance, trying not to let the warmth in his voice get to you. "smooth, parker."

he grinned again, slipping the vase into the protective case tony had provided. “hey, can’t help it. you’re kind of hard to ignore.”

"right," you muttered, suppressing a smile. "let’s just focus on not getting caught next time, yeah?”

“deal,” peter agreed, but his voice held that familiar teasing edge. "but maybe we should stick to flirting only after we’re out of danger.”

you rolled your eyes. “maybe you should stop flirting in near-death situations.”

peter shrugged, a playful glint still in his eye. “what can i say? i work best under pressure.”

[this-is-a-person]

I uh. Just finished camp here and there. 🥲

Worse fanart under cut

My only good tony and tony fanart is a tma joke

(Jk jk i love them both. Just so you know. (Not elijah.))

This has been done before probably. (Love showing this to my friends and telling them its the 1st episode)

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Oh yeah, I really liked Francis' nervous little "yeah you should... you should see the other guy" when Kelsey points out the blood on his legs. What's the matter Francis? You're not feeling guilty over what happened to Shane, are you? Or are you worried about Kelsey finding out what you did? That's how I read it anyways. I think it's a fun direction for his development, and to me personally much more interesting than him simply becoming increasingly trigger happy without any remorse or regret. I hope it eats away at him more and more the longer he holds it in (with appropriate mechanical consequences) 🤞.

[rainbowbatsy]

MONSTER PERRIADO 🗣️🔥‼️‼️

[heyitsmetonid]

Cute Little Quiz

I found this on BlueSky, so I'm bringing it here to see what you guys get. Basically, you take the quiz and post your results and your bias. There's no pressure though! Here are my love pawsona results:

Also, why is this 100% accurate?! 😭 Especially the part where I pretend to be annoyed when I'm having a blast -- because it's so true!!!

Tagging: @edenesth, @igbylicious, @yuyu1024, @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna, @hils79, & whoever else wants to do it.

[idk-bruh-20]

rip ultron Tony Stark would've loved to call you ChatGPT

[maydayprkr]

I am feeling oddly emotional abt how sentimental dante devil may cry is, someone is nice to him once and he's holding on to it for the rest of his life

[prettyboy-parker]

changing

tony gets out of rehab.

tws for addiction, substance abuse, vomiting, angst.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It’s day 73 when the call comes. 

Peter is technically on the clock, hunched over his notebook in one of the staff laboratories. He’s supposed to be working on the project proposal he was assigned over a month ago, but he shoved those papers somewhere in his office when he hit a mental roadblock. He’s thinking about the various applications he saved on LinkedIn, about how his time at Stark Industries is creeping closer and closer to being over, when his phone lights up and vibrates on the desk.

Tony, the screen reads. 

Peter feels like he could throw up, cry, scream, and throw something all at the same time. But instead he very calmly picks up his phone and answers the call.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Pete,” Tony breathes, and hearing his deep voice for the first time in months makes Peter’s heart ache. But he reminds himself to stay neutral; he knows how Tony can sweet talk. “How are you? I told Pepper to wire you enough money to keep you okay for now, but I don’t know if she actually did. I heard about the whole penthouse thing, I get it’s a liability but god, I wish I could’ve done something to help-“

“Hey.” Peter interrupts, grabbing his keys and heading into the hallway to take the call. “I’m fine, Tony. When did your program end?” He knows when the program ended. He’s been counting the days on his calendar. 

Tony is silent for a second. 

“A couple weeks ago. My therapist told me it would be best to wait a bit until I called you. I’d rather not have her boss me around but I know she’s probably right.”

Tony laughs dryly, and they fall into an awkward silence.

“Look, Pete-“

“It’s going to take time, Tony,” Peter says softly. “You sound like—you sound good. But I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

It hurts him to say. He loves Tony with his entire being, but he wants to cry and cuss him out and curse him for something that he was never totally in control of. It would be so easy to say nothing, pretend like nothing ever happened, to go back to how everything was. But Peter can’t do it. He can’t do it all again.

“Yeah, that—yeah. Okay.” 

Peter stares at the white wall in front of him. There’s a vinyl graphic printed on it in black: Everyday is another step towards shaping the future. A mouthful of a slogan if you asked him. 

“I’m going to go, Tony. I’ll call you later.” 

“Sure, yeah. I lo—I’ll talk to you soon.” 

Peter ends the call.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Make you a drink, Pete? It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”

Peter looks up from his textbook at Tony, who’s standing behind his personal bar. It’s a bar so impressive he’s sure it rivals the most exclusive clubs in New York. Tony looks good—dress shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened around his neck from a long day of work.

“No thanks,” Peter says with a smile.

“More for me, then,” Tony replies.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Tony Stark went to rehab for the first time after he graduated from MIT.

His dad said he’d either get clean, or he’d be completely cut off from any future involvement in Stark Industries. If it wasn’t for the contract presented to him, Tony would’ve thought Howard was just bluffing. 

He was sent upstate to some egregiously expensive rehabilitation center, away from the prying eyes of the press. He jerked around and didn’t take it seriously, but it was enough to convince his father that he wasn’t going to end up dead off a bender. He still drank a lot after that, but he saved the coke for special occasions. 

And then—well, and then his dad died, and it was his turn to run the company, and he almost died in a cave in Afghanistan, and then there was the whole Iron Man thing. 

So, he drank. When being Iron Man started wearing down his body, the alcohol helped ease the pain. He’d show up to board meetings with a drink in hand and get trashed at his own charity events. Everything became impossible to do on his own. And then the coke came back, making him pull all-nighters in the lab, so wired he could barely keep his hands still. And that’s just how Tony was—how he became.  

But then he met Peter. 

Tony’s never changed for anyone. He’s stubborn like that; too caught up in his own habits to ever want to change them. But Peter fell into his life in a whirlwind of eagerness, wits, and a heart too big for his own good. Years went by, they saved the world, and then Peter walked away. 

He tried picking a fight with him. Probably over something stupid, he can’t remember. He said mean things. Loving someone means you know all their insecurities, their fears. He knew which buttons to press to make Peter really hurt. Tony has always gotten a thrill out of riling people up, whether at press conferences or company meetings. And then he did it to Peter. He was crying so much, could barely form a sentence as he hurriedly packed an overnight bag. Goodbye, Tony, he had said, stepping into the elevator and asking FRIDAY to take him downstairs.

Tony can’t remember much of the week after. He completely cleared out the cabinet where he keeps his good liquor and made the mistake of reaching out to old acquaintances from his 20s. Once a bad influence, always a bad influence it seems. 

As soon as he was conscious enough to listen, Pepper flipped out on him. She screamed and cried a little and turned bright red, before telling him he needed to go to rehab or she’d get the board to vote to remove him as a shareholder.

There was a lot of back and forth. He would almost ask FRIDAY to wire over the tens of thousands of dollars treatment would cost, but then back out at the last second. He’s Tony Stark, he can do whatever he wants. He doesn’t have to listen to Pepper or the board, they’re not his parents. 

He thought he’d made up his mind. That was until Peter wanted to come by the penthouse to get the rest of his stuff, but requested Tony to be vacant during the time he was there. 

He flew to California the next day.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

Peter smiles, sighing happily as he leans in to press his lips to Tony’s. Tony licks along his lower lip, but Peter winces when he tastes the whiskey on Tony’s lips. He’s lowered gently onto the bed, sinking into the soft, silken sheets as Tony climbs on top of him. 

“Tony,” Peter breathes, the scrape of Tony’s facial hair against his neck making him shiver. Peter jerks his hips upwards, searching for the friction of Tony’s cock against his own.

“Just give me a bit Pete, I promise I’ll be ready for you soon,” Tony murmurs between kisses against Peter’s flushed skin. 

Peter is just about to ask him what he means when he’s flipped over onto his knees.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

They see each other for the first time in three months at a coffee shop.

Tony is standing outside awkwardly, waiting for Peter to arrive. He has his hood pulled up over his head and his hands are shoved into his pockets. He looks anxious, continuously looking back and forth across the street. Peter watches from afar as he mutters something under his breath, most likely to FRIDAY. 

Peter exhales deeply as he turns the corner for real (he was not stalking, okay?) and clears his throat to get Tony’s attention. The older man whips off his sunglasses, hands shaking ever so slightly as he tucks them into his pocket.

He looks good. Better, most definitely. He’s gained some of the weight back that he’d lost, and the circles under his eyes are much less dark than before. He still seems unsure of himself, missing that signature Tony Stark charm.

“Peter!” Tony calls out. On instinct, they both move to do something—hug? Shake hands? Kiss? But Peter decides on a shy wave instead.

“Hey, Tony. Good to see you made it in one piece.” 

Tony smiles. “I’m lucky I didn’t get jumped the moment I stepped out of the tower.”

Peter laughs, genuine this time. Tony holds the door open for him, gesturing to him to go inside first. They find a small booth in the corner of the cafe, tucked away from prying eyes. 

“You look nice,” Tony says once they sit down, looking at Peter’s layered top and sweater. “Very librarian chic. I like it.”

“Ha. When do I get to tell you you’re being too loud?” He snorts, and that makes Tony laugh.

It’s so easy. Being with Tony is so easy, it feels so right. It makes him feel good, especially since Tony’s jokes feel softer around the edges. He’s being careful, obviously, but he so clearly wants Peter to be pleased. Tony has never been subtle. 

They stay in the cafe for another hour and a half. When they leave, Tony gives him a warm smile and waves him goodbye. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

He can barely look when he does it. 

He can hear the tap tap tap of Tony’s metal Amex card on the lab table, the soft scrape of the metal against the steel. Peter tightens his grip on his pencil, trying to focus on scribbling out whatever note he started to write. He doesn’t know what’s worse: pretending not to care, or watching with disdain. Peter hates watching Tony when he does a line. Hates how his hands shake while cutting it, hates how he scrambles for his handkerchief as his nose begins to bleed. It makes Peter feel sick.

“You okay, baby?” Tony asks from behind. He's still sniffing. 

“Yeah,” Peter replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Peter’s filling out an application for a bio engineer position at a new medical startup when his phone buzzes.

Tony: Hey Peter

Tony: If you’re not interested, no problem, but what do you think about a picnic on Saturday?

Tony: I can rent out the park 

Peter snorts as he unlocks his phone. Renting out a public park is as Tony as it gets.

Peter: Sounds fun. I’m not that spoiled, I can exist with other plebeians in public 

Tony: haha very funny. Be ready at 2

Peter feels like he has butterflies in his stomach as he adds the date to his calendar. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Their alarm clock says 2:03 AM.

Peter is staring at the ceiling. The warm light from the master bathroom spills over into the bedroom. He hears Tony heaving, groaning into the toilet bowl. He’s already thrown up what little contents were in his stomach—now he’s just dry heaving. 

Peter’s been listening. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“I think all my problems are solved when I lay in the sun.”

Peter’s sprawled out on the picnic blanket, their finished meal pushed to the side. Tony’s looking at him through the tint of his sunglasses. 

“You’re telling me.” He chuckles softly, taking a sip of his sparkling water. “Maybe they were right about Vitamin D.”

They sit in silence for a while. Peter listens to the chirping of the birds, the fluttering of their wings. The wind rustles the leaves of the trees above them. In the distance, a child squeals in delight as their parent kicks a soccer ball to them. He listens to the soft rise and fall of Tony’s breathing.

“Hey Pete?”

“Hm?” Peter asks. 

“I’m sorry. For everything—for the voicemails, for it all. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“I know, Tony.” Peter replies. “Thank you.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“You embarrassed me, Tony.” 

Peter shucks his suit jacket off, tossing it onto the couch. He’ll get it tomorrow morning. Tony sinks into the big leather chair across from him, loosening his tie.

“I didn’t embarrass you.” Tony barks out a laugh, but it comes across more bitter than it should. “Get me a drink, will you?”

Peter scowls, shooting Tony a look. His partner is staring at him expectantly, eyes bloodshot.

“You almost got into a fight with Osborn. You insulted an attendee’s mother. You made a scene when I said I didn’t want to dance with you. Of course I was embarrassed.”

Peter feels frustrated tears prick the corners of his eyes. He toes off his shoes while Tony gets back up and heads to their drink cart. He doesn’t even bother getting a glass, just grabs the bottle of bourbon.

“If anyone should be embarrassed, s’me,” He slurs, nearly tripping over Peter’s dress shoes as he approaches the other man. “M’sorry. I can make it up to you.”

Peter tenses with anger when Tony grabs him by the wrist and kisses the top of his head. 

“No, Tony. I’m going to bed.” Peter wrenches his wrist out of Tony’s grip. His eyes blur with tears. He tries to wipe them away with the back of his hands; he can’t look Tony in the eyes. 

“Fuck you,” Tony spits, and Peter cringes. The coke makes him so, so mean. “Refusing to dance with me, even after all I’ve done for you, un-fucking-believable-“

Peter’s shoulders shake as he disappears into the guest room. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A month later Tony takes him out to dinner to celebrate his new position at a private lab, working for a researcher named Dr. Reed Richards.

It’s extravagant and familiar. The menu has no prices on it, and most of the dishes Peter can’t even pronounce. The waiter keeps calling them sirs. 

Tony’s cleaned up nicely. He’s wearing a three piece suit in a dark grey, his beard and hair freshly trimmed. Peter likes Tony like this: healthy. He likes when Tony laughs at his jokes, smile lines wrinkling around his mouth and eyes. He likes catching Tony listening intently as Peter describes the new projects he’s working on. 

They’re leaving the restaurant as they discuss Peter’s prototype for a regenerative bandage based on his web fluid. It’s so normal, this intellectual back and forth. God, he misses working with Tony in the lab. 

Peter is in the middle of describing a possible equation change for a prototype when he realizes Tony has stopped listening. Peter trails off, meeting Tony’s heavy gaze. 

“Can I kiss you?” Tony asks softly. He waits for Peter’s answer, but he doesn’t have to wait long. 

“Please,” Peter murmurs, reaching out to grab Tony’s waist, and—

They kiss. 

[judesbway]

I- I don’t know what to say 🫦 Miu Miu looks good on him though