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creative-caramel-coffee · 1 year

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The Bear ch 5

Pairings: Wanda x R

Word count: 3.9K

Summary: You join your uncle tony in the avengers, it wasn’t your original plan but you never planned for your powers either so here you are. Now your at the avengers tower and falling for the girl of your dreams. With a haunting past and interesting abilities can you navigate your way through the challenges of being a hero? After a mission gone wrong and a cruel twist of fate the team starts digging for answers. Can tony keep them from finding out the truth?

TW: none really, canon typical violence (I guess?)

A/n Sorry this took so long im already working on chapters 6 and 7

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

You stood with Nat and Wanda at the front of the meeting room. Eyes downcast you fidgeted with your fingers only stopping when nat took your hand to hold it in order to stop you. Nat begun to explain squeezing your hand as your eyes were trained on your shoes. Wanda and nat carefully studied the face around the table. Taking note of the different reactions for later.

Steve just looked confused. Clint looked happy that he had someone else to sign with. Tony looked proud. Sam looked unbothered. Bruce looked excited about something new to study. Thor looked busy with his pop tarts. Peter smiled at you softly which you didn’t see. He was kind and understanding. Bucky looked sympathetic knowing how it felt to not be able to talk due to his own past with hydra torture. Wanda looked protective and nat just looked slightly exhausted.

After she finished explaining there was a brief silence in which peter shot you a thumbs up which you responded with the same thing still not wanting to talk.

“So is she nonverbal right now?” Steve asked not fully understanding and you nodded. “So how does she communicate then?” He asked and you signed a quick joke about Steve being old and confused to Clint who laughed. “Oh she does the hand thing too?” Steve said having seen Natasha and Clint signing before in the past.

“Yes the ‘hand thing’” Nat said “or sign language is what she uses when she doesn’t want to talk”

“So she doesn’t want to or cant talk?” Steve said.

“Depends.” Nat shrugged.

There were a few more questions mainly from Steve and some from Bruce as he wanted to make sure he had all the medical or mental accomodations he could have there for you if you needed them. Peter was eager to learn sign language now and had already started to bother tony into getting him a tutor. Bucky was now explaining it again to Steve who was still confused and tony and Bruce were now discussing alternate methods for coms now it was more than just Clint that needed a new method. While the team was engaged in their own little conversations about you and the new topic, Wanda noticed you starting to struggle under all the attention. It wasn’t bad but you simply hadn’t expected such a kind reaction and acceptance to come so easily.

When she saw tears gathering in your eyes she assumed the worst. Unable to know how grateful you were. Gently she took your hand and motioned for nat to follow as she broke off her ASL conversation with Clint. Carefully Wanda led you from the room with nat in tow. The two women led you back to the room and Wanda grabbed you sketchbook while you sat on the bed. They knew what you needed and you drew while snuggled in Wanda’s arms. Wanda lifted your chin gently to look at her.

“Are you ok my love? Was that too much?” She asked concerned at the tears still glossing your eyes. Without responding you held up the drawing. It was the team in the meeting room. But instead of seeing anything bad Wanda saw the looked of love on the faces you had drawn.

“Never expected them to be so kind about it.” You whispered and Wanda pulled you into her.

“Always my love. Always. We are your family and we love you.” She kissed the top of your head as she felt your small tears dot her sleeves.

the rest of the day you stayed in your room with Wanda. nat went to go brainstorm with tony how to tell the team about your past.

You were sat on your bed cuddling with Wanda and watching some sit com, but you weren’t really paying much attention. You were curling Wanda’s red hair around your finger and fiddling with the strands, she didn’t mind she quite liked it really. You were laid against Wanda side with your head resting on her chest.

“I love you Wanda.” You said. After a moment you realised what you said. “Shit sorry that just kinda slipped out. I get its a bit early and I-“ you started rambling but Wanda quietened you with a chaste kiss to the lips. She placed a hand on the back of your head and pulled the rest of your body so you were now laid on top of her looking into her eyes with your chin resting in her middle chest.

“I love you too Y/n/n” she said and placed another kiss on your nose which responded with a twitch that was like a bunny. Wanda grinned at the cuteness and proceeded to pepper your face with small kisses. You squealed and buried your face in her neck feeling her chest vibrate with her laughter. Playfully you lightly slapped her arm which one encouraged her laughter you were bright red now when Wanda peeled you away from her neck and cooed at the redness in your cheeks.

“I love you pumpkin.” She said and you squealed when she flipped you over and began tickling your sides.

“I y-yield. I-I yield.” You said through a fit of laughter. Wanda pulled you in and kissed your forehead.

Once more you found yourself in the crook of her arm after you formed a truce and you were dozing lightly in her arms when there was a knock on the door. Wanda frowned as she saw you rub your eyes with your fist.

“Come in.” You said. The door opened and Nat walked in. “Hi Natty.” You smiled and Nat greeted you and Wanda.

“So i spoke to tony.” She said and you groaned.

“Nothing good ever follows the words ‘I spoke to tony’” you whined and Wanda giggled. Nat rolled her eyes.

“Well he wants you to stay in the compound or with someone at all times. He’s worried now hydra knows your alive they’ll attack and try to get you back.” Wanda felt you stiffen against her when Nat said hydra and she hugged you tighter to ground you.

“T-thank you Nat.” You said neither of them missed your nervous stutter. Nat placed a soothing hand on your thigh and used her thumb to rub up and down to calm you.

“It’ll be ok Y/n/n Wanda or I will be with you at all times. Your safe here.” Nat said and you gave them a weak watery smile. “Alright enough sadness who wants to train with me?” Nat asked standing.

“I could use some training.” You said.

“Me too.” Wanda echoed the sentiment.

“Alright I’ll meet you both down there in fifteen.” Nat said smiling and closing the door behind her as she left.

“Are you sure your up for training?” Wanda asked.

“I need to use my powers it’s been a while and I hate not using them regularly especially the shifting. It’s comforting to be able to hide in small places as small animals or feel safe being a bigger thing like a bear.” You admitted and Wanda nodded.

“You know you can take whatever form you want around me or the team we don’t mind.” She said.

“Really?” You asked perking up.

“Of course. Is that why you haven’t been using your powers more? You though we wouldn’t accept you?” Wanda asked mildly concerned.

“A little yeah. Its also force of habit. You know, trying not to draw attention to yourself and all that. Lately I’ve been teleporting more than shifting.”

“Im curious can you teleport while shifted?” Wanda asked.

“Yeah but it takes a lot of concentration to stay as an animal when i teleport. I often end up human again mid jump.”

“We can work on that.” Wanda said. “Right we should probably get up and dressed.”

After changing into active gear you stood by Wanda.

“Hey wands wanna try something?” You grinned.

“Oh god I’m scared. What?” She asked eyeing you.

“Take my hand and find out.” You said extending an arm palm up.

“You better not kill me.” She said and once her hand was in yours you grinned and teleported you both down to the training room surprising Nat.

Wanda stumbled and you held her upright.

“That was cool and all but next time a little warning would be nice.” Wanda said and you shrugged.

“Wheres the fun in that.”

“Nice to see you two made it. Neat trick Y/n/n I imagine you can play some pretty great pranks with that.” Nat smiled and you grinned.

“Could. Have. Same thing.” You said and winked at Wanda.

“Right lets start. First I wanna spar with Y/n to see where your at before we get into some drills.” Nat said stepping into the ring. Wanda stretched and sat on the bench to watch she was also curious of how well you could fight especially against Nat.

“Y/n before we start i want to say this isn’t like hydra training. You can tap out at any time if somethings triggering or too much for you. No maiming or grievous injuries. I’ve seen you fight in Tony’s tapes of your earlier missions.”

“He showed you those?” You asked.

“He did.” Nat nodded.

Wanda stayed silent she also knew about your time doing missions with Tony pre avengers and you had shared your history with her and Nat plus Tony already knew.

After your fight with nat you had impressed both her and Wanda with you. Abilities. You were an avid fighter with good technique and pose. You didn’t rely on your powers to fight but when you used them they bled seamlessly into your tactics.

After a hour of so of training the three of you were hot and sweaty and exhausted. You had been using your powers with Wanda, mainly teleporting which could be draining if used too much. As the three of you left the gym and got in the elevator yo steadied yourself against the wall. Nat shot you a worried look.

“You ok there L/n?” She asked.

“Peachy.” You responded.

“And how are you really?” She asked again.

“Fine just a bit dizzy, sometimes if i use my powers too much this happens. But I’m fine.” You waved off her concern and once the three of you reached you shared floor Wanda steadied you and walked you back to your room.

After a quick shower to get rid of the sweat you and Wanda went back down to the kitchen where you ran into nat who was going through the cupboards like a raccoon.

“Dammit. Friday add peanut butter to the shopping list.” She said sighing and running a hand through her hair.

“I can make you something if you want?” Wanda said and nat spun around looking sheepish.

“Thanks wands.” She said.

“You and Y/n/n go sit at the counter and I’ll whip something up.” Nat and you did as you were told taking seats next to each-other at the bar on the island kitchen counter.

“So Y/n earlier you said you like being shifted and you haven’t had much chance to.” Wanda said as she pulled out some pans. You squirmed in your seat glancing at nat and relaxing as she looked unbothered.

“Yeah.” You said a bit flatly.

“If you want its just us. And I’ll tell you a secret Natty’s a big softy for animals.” She said and nat glared at her with no real heat behind it.

“Really now?” You asked and nat turned to glare at you. A second later you turned into a small black and white ferret and crawled into her lap taking her by surprise. Nat looked down at you in shock before relaxing and cautiously lifting a hand to scratch behind your little ears. You made a happy squeaking noise and nuzzled into her stomach and nat couldn’t hold back her grin. Wanda watched amused and excited to cuddle with you later. Turning back to her cooking nat began to play with your little paws as you curled up and began to doze in her lap. She cooed at how cute you were and tony walked into the kitchen.

“Um have you guys seen Y/n Friday said she was here?” He said looking around and Wanda wordlessly pointed to Nat’s lap. Tony broke out into a grin.

“I love when she does that.” He said and went over to scratch by your ears as you stayed half asleep. You let out a tiny yawn and nat tried hard not to squeal at how cute you were being. Tony chuckled at Nat’s expression and patted your head softly.

“Just tell her for me that me and the team have to go on a mission for a few days. We leave tomorrow. You, her and Wanda are staying here.” Tony said and nat nodded watching him retreat back to his lab.

“She really is adorable like that.” Wanda said and you stretched yawning again. You lifted your paws and placed them on Nat’s chest so you were almost upright and squeaked.

“What do you want y/n/n?” Nat asked and Wanda chuckled.

“I think she wants you to pick her up.” Wanda said before turning and flipping the pancakes.

nat carefully placed each hand under your front legs and lifted you at arms length from her. You cocked you head and she wiggled you side to side chuckling at how your limp body wiggled like it had no bones. After a second your tiny nose twitched and you let out a small sneeze. Wanda cooed and you squirmed and crawled up Nat’s arm and curled around her shoulders and began to doze again. When Wanda finished the pancakes you jumped back to your seat and shifted back.

“You make a very cute ferret like that.” Nat said and you smiled at her.

“Its fun and relaxing.” You said.

“Good you should do it more often I’m sure Nat and I would love to have cuddles with more soft tint creatures.” Wanda said and you blushed slightly and ducked your head to keep eating.

Nat chuckled and the three of you ate together. When you were done Wanda used her magic to clean the kitchen and nat posed the idea of watching a movie together. You hopped up.

“Race you guys.” You said before seamlessly shifting into a wolf cub and bounding around the corner and out of the kitchen. Wanda chuckled.

“That was too cute.” She said and followed you with nat trailing behind. When she entered the lounge she couldn’t see you until her eyes fell on a small prickly ball curled up on a pillow.

“Is that what I think it is?” Nat asked.

“Yep. Y/n/ns a hedgehog.” Wanda laughed. And Nat pouted.

“I wanted something fury.” She said and you squeaked and shifted into a ferret again knowing it was Nat’s favourite based on her reaction earlier. You ran up and down the length of the couch before settling on the pillow. Nat and Wanda came and sat next to you and you got up and crawled over into Wanda’s lap chittering and walking in circles on her thighs before settling into a small puddle.

Wanda ran a hand through your soft fur as nat scrolled through Netflix to find something to watch. You started to doze again and Wanda chuckled.

“She sure does sleep a lot when she’s a ferret.” Wanda said.

“Yeah but its cute though so i’ll allow it.” Nat said and Wanda laughed again.

After picking something and settling down the three of you curled up together and you moved between the two of them over the course of the movie so they could both have turns to pat you. You knew it was therapeutic for them both as much as it was calming to have their hands running through your fur. When the movie finished Wanda picked you up carefully as you were sleeping and told nat she was going to go to be bed so you could take a nap while she read. Nat nodded and began looking for something else to watch. After Wanda left she got into bed and set you down on her chest as she picked up her book and started to read.

It had been maybe half an hour when she began to feel you twitch on her chest. Looking down she felt your breathing speed up as you began panting against her. She carefully ran a hand through your fur and you seemed to still before relaxing. After a moment you settled and sent back to a calm sleep.

Another fifteen minutes later you woke up a and Wanda smiled down at you. You crawled off her and shifted before burning your face in her arm and wrapping your arms around her. She scratched your head and smiled.

“Hey sleepy head how was you nap.” She asked and you yawned making her chuckle. “That good huh?” She grinned and you nodded against her arm.

“Well if you’d like to join me i was about to start making dinner soon my love.” She said and you nodded again. After she helped you off the bed you sleepily followed her to the kitchen where nat was sat drinking hot chocolate. Sensing something off with her Wanda started to cook and you shifted and crawled into her lap. Nat stroked your fur and looked at you with misty eyes and soon you were breathing was slow and rhythmic as you slept again. Nat chuckled.

“Your right wands i think being a ferret makes the little thing tired.” She said and Wanda laughed.

“Yeah she could use the sleep. I think it calms her down to be small and on top of someone it makes her feel safe and protected helps her sleep.” Wanda explained and nat smiled.

“Im glad she feels safe around us.” Nat said Wanda hummed an agreement.

“She loves you very much nat. You make her feel safe.” Wanda said and nat nodded. you let out a small squeaked of agreement in your sleepy state that made nat chuckle and scratch behind your tiny ears.

The next morning you woke and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee. you were in a bad mood. you hadn’t slept much and everything was either to bright or too loud. the sound of the coffee machine made you dig your nails into your palms to ground yourself. the lights seemed to bright over head and you desperately wanted to go back to bed but you knew it wouldn’t do anything. you couldn’t sleep. nightmares plagued every minute you weren’t awake and the only thing that seemed to stop them was being with either Nat or Wanda but you didn’t want to both them when you woke around three to a cold sweat and fast breathing. you only really slept for about two hours and now it was half past four and you needed some coffee.

when it finally was done you drank it quickly needing the kick to wake up. after a small breakfast of cereal it was now fifteen past five and nat wandered into the kitchen looking surprised. she was dressed in active wear obviously heading to the gym.

“Y/n? what are you doing awake?” she asked and began making her workout shake. you grunted and waved a hand dismissively already feeling annoyed without any real reason to be. Nat frowned and went to say something but you stood and left the kitchen. electing not to follow you nat headed off to the gym.

You needed some time alone. desperately. your social battery could only withstand so much and you had been living with the team for almost a week now. Your room seemed to easy, Wanda or Nat would come find you later and coax you out but that wasn’t what you needed right now. You had and idea and grabbed a hoodie from the drawer in your room. throwing it on and shoving your sketchbook and pencils plus some snacks and your phone in the black backpack you had by your desk you slipped down the hall almost silently. Once in the lift you asked Friday your burning question.

“Friday?”

“yes Ms L/n”

“is the treehouse still around?” you asked praying it would be.

“Tony Stark and Ms Y/n L/n’s tree house is still intact. Mr Stark his made improvements over the last few months in anticipation of your return.” Friday said and you grinned. Tony and you had built the tree house deep in the woods near the compound a long time ago and it had since become your safe haven. A place you could hide if you needed some space to yourself.

“what kind of improvements Fri?” you asked.

“Mr Stark has installed Myself into the house as well as a new Tv, Wifi, more snacks, updated lighting and a microwave.”

“um Fri?”

“yes Ms L/n?”

“can you hide my location from Wanda and nat please?” you asked, you wanted to keep this space a secret for as long as possible.

“yes Ms L/n however i cannot hide your location from Mr Stark.”

“thats ok Fri just Wanda and nat are fine for now.”

“ok Ms L/n”

you walked through the foyer and out the back door. Sure Tony had said not to leave without an escort because of HYDRA but this was different he would understand and the treehouse had almost as much if not more security measures as the compound, it was built by tony after all.

after the long walk you climbed the ladder up into the mossy tree. It was old and beautiful with the branches hiding the treehouse nicely. it was large to say the least as the tree was huge. tucked deep into the woods off the beaten path if you weren’t looking for it you would not find it by chance. climbing up into it you typed in a small code and pushed open the trap door and crawled into the space. the lights flickered on and it had defiantly been upgraded. it was a single room with a door to a small bathroom on one side. how tony had managed to get plumbing this far into the woods you didn’t know but you thanked him none the less. the room had a beanbag chair in the corner with a blanket and a pillow. on one wall was a flatscreen Tv. there was a counter that turned into a desk with three shelves above it for storage. a microwave was set into the wall and a cupboard was above it that supposedly held the snacks. the lights in the roof could be dimmed and the colour changed. large glass windows lines the walls looking through the branches into the surrounding woods. large curtains could be drawn and there was a small deck you could sit on with just enough room for about three people to sit on with their legs hanging off the edge.

throwing your backpack on the desk you started by investigating the snacks. tony had bought all your favourites and you mentally thanked him. pulling out some chocolate you dragged your backpack over to the beanbag and clicked on the TV. you put on your comfort show and threw the fluffy blanket over yourself and pulled out your sketchbook and pencils. this was what you needed. exactly what you needed. some off-grid time alone to recharge. A few hours passed and you had watched the sunrise through the windows.

MASTERLIST

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every-marveler-ever · 2 years

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Ch 2. The Reason Bucky Likes Pumpkin Patches

THIS IS CH 2/9 OF 'Sam and Bucky's Outside (Spooky) Adventures'

Flufftober Day 28 | @flufftober | Picnic

SamBucky Halloween Bingo 2022 | 🎃 @sambuckyhalloweenbingo2022 | Pumpkins

masterlist :: (ao3 link)

A/N: Also just in case some people don’t know what ute/jeep is it’s the Australian version of the American ‘pickup truck’. This certainly isn’t going to stay chapter 2 but when I write all the others I’ll figure out where it should go in the story (I feel like last), at the moment we are just going by release order (think Star Wars but less time and budget lol).

Warmed by the peace, quiet and warmth the stories bring to the couple Sam sits next to Bucky putting one arm around his shoulder, “thank you for sharing this with me." | sam wilson/james 'bucky' barnes

flufftober 2022 | sbhb 🎃 2022

“A picnic?” Sam has explored many things while joining Bucky as a scout mentor and this seems the most tamed of them, “just a picnic? No jump surprises or even knot tying.”

Bucky shrugs finishing the basket off with a collection of cookies he had baked that morning. Up since 5 am this morning Bucky had been baking and cooking all morning so he could create the perfect picnic basket, with homemade sausage rolls, small sandwiches, pesto pasta, and fruit salads, as well as the plentiful of sweets he made. Finishing the packing he explains, “it’s like a reward for the end of the season, we go on a picnic just the 10 of us,” Bucky smiles softly over at Sam, extremely happy, “and you too now.”

Sam had watched for the last three years from afar as Bucky planned and antagonised over a picnic similar to this, but this year it seems bigger and better, the best Bucky has ever made. Selfishly Sam thinks it’s for him.

Smiling they both head out the door at 2 pm on the dot to make the perfect picnic spot, as classified by Bucky, by 3, you called call them boy scouts on how punctual they are. They parked the jeep and Bucky is quick to get everything set up from the back of the trailer. It takes them a few moments before Sam realises they are surrounded by Pumpkins, “why are we picnicking in a pumpkin patch?” Bucky doesn’t have much reaction to Sam’s confusion and instead continues to set up the blanket and plates of food.

“We always do it here,” Bucky mentions slowly finishing his busy bee workings, “every Halloween Steve and I used to beg our parents to take us here so we could pick pumpkins, and every year somehow they would find the money for a pumpkin each and a cup of cider.” It’s not very often that Bucky walks directly about his family, the majority of his memories include Steve, but very little include his family.

Shaking off the greying memory Bucky smiles plopping down on the large spread-out picnic blanket, “the festival doesn’t really happen here anymore, not as big at least since there’s more competition, but every year the field is filled with Pumpkins. When I started mentoring I came here to teach the kid's knife skills, carving pumpkins, and now it’s a picnic tradition.”

Warmed by the peace, quiet and warmth the stories bring to the couple Sam sits next to Bucky putting one arm around his shoulder, “thank you for sharing this with me,” he means it and Bucky knows without even having to look at him. Sam continues because he means more than the stories, “for sharing the whole experience, being a mentor, I see why you love it so much.” The quiet slowly seeps back in after Sam’s confession.

There’s a nice moment between them before Peter and Miles Parker are running at them leaving his aunt quickly in the dust. The two boys quickly jump onto the picnic blanket and their face turns shocked when they instead fall rather than jump back up. Their Aunt, May, mouths a small ‘sorry’ but Bucky just raises a hand stopping here, “are you guys excited?” He instead directs towards the first two kids of the ten they have.

May looks on worried but Sam just puts a thumbs up and she leaves going to chat with Ned’s mum who has just arrived.

Just like that all ten of the kids arrived and they were carving pumpkins, eating sweets, running around, and jumping over more pumpkins. Sam thinks that he would be happy to do this all again next year.

Cards:

#sambuckyhalloweenbingo2022.#flufftober 2022 #flufftober #flufftober2022 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #james 'bucky' barnes #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #pumpkins #day 28 #picnic #marvel #mcu

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goldenrodisland · 2 months

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Grandmother Abigail (2)

"You must be from the mainland."

I turn at the sound of an old woman's voice and Peter does too when he sees me smile and give a small bow.

A small old woman, stooped in her age with a face as wrinkled as a walnut- dark as one too. She nods at my bow, but frowns at Peter who is clearly the older one but didn't acknowledge her first.

"I am Christian and this is Peter," I introduce us. "He is older, ma'am, but deaf since birth. I can assure you that he is not rude."

"Brothers?" She asked. I nodded. Smiled. The breeze danced around and through us.

"I am Grandmother Abigail. My cottage is a little ways down the road. You should stay with me while this place is repaired. It is not safe." She eyed the cottage with dark, squinting eyes and with an expression that was hard to read.

"Thank you, ma'am. You don't mind?"

"Wouldn't have offered otherwise, young man." Then she turned and walked away.

Peter bowed as she left, but she was too brusque and didn't notice.

He gave me a tight-lipped smile and shrugged.

Don't know why the Lord gave me shyness with deafness.

"It's fine." I told him.

~*~

Grandmother Abigail's cottage was much nicer. When we arrived later that day, she had a small table set that I wouldn't have noticed without the bowls of steaming food. It was so low we sat on the floor and Grandmother Abigail scooped us cooked vegetables to sit atop the soft, broth covered potatoes and beside each bowl was a knitted cloth with a buttered bun.

It had been a long time since Peter or I had sat down to such a meal, and Peter stared at his bowl for a minute. Grandmother Abigail glanced at him. She didn't seem to know what to do with him.

"Young man," I looked up from my food at her to see a large stone in my face, precariously held by an old woman's thin hands over my food.

"Oh! I'm sorry?" I smiled weakly and grabbed the stone.

"Prop the door open with it." Grandmother Abigail muttered and I did so. As she settled down opposite to us at the little table, the door was held open by the stone and the breeze welcomed itself in to tousle our hair some more and Grandmother Abigail tucked her long skirt under herself and offered me some more food.

She continued to ignore Peter the rest of the meal, and showed me a roughly drawn map. It was hard to see in the fading light and I squinted at the thin, messy lines.

It was a map of the Island and I asked if I could keep it. She said that that is why she had made it and later that night, when the meal had been cleaned up and her snores could be heard in the second room, Peter and I laid in a pile of quilts by the still open door and looked over the map.

It was an exciting moment and I felt a little giddy. It made me think of days so long ago, when we lived on the Mainland and the nearby forest with its creeks and old trees would hide the village kids and I.

In the moonlight the map appeared silvery and inky. It seemed to whisper to my dull imagination. Peter traced the lines with the tip of his finger, and then he pointed at a small dot that was titled Lighthouse.

There. We should go there sometime.

"After we repair most of the house." I responded. "We can't inconvenience her any longer."

She's an old woman, she won't mind. I would bet we are the youngest people on this Island.

#writers on tumblr #story #original story #writing #writerscommunity #the island #cozy cottage

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luveline · 2 years

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begging (with no pressure if you don’t want to don’t ok ily) for a full blurb on peter urging you not to shave after hurting urself on accident <333

this is not good sorry! thank you for requesting though <3

"Is that real?" Peter asks.

"What do you mean, is that real?" you ask back, pulling your leg out of his tight grip. He frowns at you.

"That!" He points at the cut on your leg. Cut is kind. It's more of a gash.

"What, like you think it's special effects?"

"It's awful." He pets the skin surrounding it with a gentle touch before pinning you with his fierce dark eyes. "How'd you do this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Peter, I cut myself shaving. Freak accident, and not something I haven't done before."

He gawks at you. "What?"

Your face heats all over and you go on the defensive, "It's not a big deal."

"Babe, what the fuck. Look at it."

It's nasty, but it's hardly fatal. Showering is dangerous enough and you'd been using baby oil to shave and it had, ultimately, been a disaster.

"Feel how smooth my legs are, though," you command, straightening out your leg.

He obeys and runs his hand down your leg. "It does feel soft, baby, but is it really necessary? I mean, you should do whatever you want, but also… It looks like it'll scar."

"I mean, yeah. It probably will."

He purses his lips and hugs your legs to his chest. "Would you consider stopping?"

"You sound like you think I'm on drugs."

He sighs melodramatically.

"You want me to stop shaving?"

"I mean… okay, let's get one thing clear: I don't care if you do or you don't. I like you both ways. But what if you get tetanus?"

"How dirty do you think I am?"

"Is it worth a permanent scar just to have smooth legs?"

You deliberate. You like having smooth legs. You also hate shaving. It's annoying and repetitive and eats up time. You like how having bare legs makes you feel. You don't like this look Peter is giving you.

"Peter…"

"How about I shave them for you?"

"Have you ever shaved someone's leg before?" He's silent. "Peter, it's fine. The scar will be tiny."

"I don't like you hurting yourself."

You sigh and shuffle so you're mostly sitting in his lap. He takes the hint and pulls you up, your legs over one thigh and his hands on your waist. You lean your face into his chest.

"It's really not that bad."

"Is this about, like, a beauty standard? I promise you don't have to shave for me."

You're not really sure why you do it. Being a girl is complicated and comes with complicated performances. You shrug your shoulders.

"Thanks, Peter, but I still feel prettier when I do." He takes this in stride and brings a hand up to cup your head, pressing you into his chest. You chew it over in your head. "I don't know, maybe I can start getting waxed."

"Doesn't that hurt a bazillion times worse?" he asks lightly.

"Apparently it's only the first couple of times."

He grabs one of your hands from your lap, pushing his thumb over your fingers with pressure. He moves from knuckle to knuckle. "It's your body. Do what you want." Then, after making a chesty sound you recognise for mischief, "You know, I shave my facial hair all the time. And I'm disgustingly good at it. Years since I cut myself."

"Oh my god. I will give you one attempt."

"That's all I'll need," he says, dotting a peck against your temple. "I'm good at everything."

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quartzalynlove · 3 years

Text

Reckless

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader

Summary: Peter's gotten a bit sloppy in his fighting and the reader is worried

Peter's been working nonstop to find a way to end Fisk. Most nights he spent awake trying to connect the dots like a crackpot conspiracy theorist, more and more of his time was devoted to hero-ing around the city, and the stress mixed with the focus on the bigger picture made him become sloppier in battle.

You hated seeing him come home with a scratch, normally, but it was worse than you'd ever seen. He needed stitches almost every night, there was always a new stab wound, and, worse, more broken bones.

It was safe to saw you were frustrated with your boyfriend's reckless behavior. It wasn't good for him, but Peter always insisted that he needed to work fast before Fisk could hurt anyone else. You understood, but you also wanted Peter to understand that he was just one man.

Peter watched as you stitched a wound on his forehead. Usually it was his favorite view, watching you straddle his lap, and the care on your face as you tried not to hurt him more than he already was. However, the line your lips pressed into wasn't out of focus or concern, he saw it on your face, you were angry; angry at him. He couldn't bare to look at you; he knew your anger came from a place of concern, and he knew how reckless he had become, but he couldn’t stop. Not until Fisk was in a cop car to Rikers. Still, he felt bad watching your stress grow the entire time.

You were rough in your work, the stitches would hold, but your speed in sewing them would hurt just a bit.

"Babe!" Peter winced.

You looked down at him with a raised brow.

"I don't wanna hear it," you said. "What I'm doing isn't nearly as bad as what I've been seeing the past two weeks."

Peter brought his hands to either side of your waist and looked up at you.

"Baby, I'm sorry." He pouted, but those brown puppy dog eyes couldn't help him now.

You moved his hands off of you, leaving the room.

"Don't say sorry when nothing's gonna change."

You distanced yourself from Peter and didn't come to bed until well after he had fallen asleep. He tried to put an arm around you once you were in bed, but you shrugged it off. He moved in close.

"Look, baby, I really am sorry. I know how worried you get when I'm out there, but I promise when I stop Fisk this'll all be better." He said, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

You let out an exasperated sigh and turned towards him.

"It's not about Fisk, Peter, and it's not about you being out. I know you can take care of yourself. At least...I thought I knew."

Peter's brows furrowed, "What do you mean?" He asked.

You sighed again, bringing your hands under his shirt and grazing a stab wound from earlier that week. Peter gasped at your touch.

"Peter, I have never seen you come home with a stab wound. That tells me your spider sense isn't working as well which means you're working your brain too hard."

Peter wrapped his arms around you; you let him pull you close. Your faces were inches away, noses practically brushing against eachother.

"Yeah, you got me there." He said quietly.

You brought a hand to his hair. "Just promise you'll slow down. For me?"

Peter kissed your cheek. "I will."

You smiled softly, and he chuckled.

"It's so cute when you worry about me." He said, planting a kiss on your temple.

"Shut up."

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Text

Dummy

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter is the only one of the Avengers who doesn’t tease you for being a little slow

Masterlist

Now you weren’t exactly dumb.

You were just a little slow.

When you joined the Avengers last year, the team learned pretty quickly that your mind moved at a different pace than everyone else. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing and it didn’t keep you from doing your job, it just meant you were the butt of most of the jokes. Every time one of your blunders happened, your intelligence would be mocked in some way. You knew it was all in good fun, but it hurt to it feelings every now and then. The only person who never poked fun at you was Peter. And for that reason, he was your favorite on the team.

“How are there 23 minutes left in this movie and I still don’t know any of the characters names?” Steve wondered as you all sat in the couch in Stark Towers, watching a movie on a particularly rainy afternoon.

“I think the main kids name is Phoenix. That’s all I got though.” Sam shook his head, just as confused as Steve.

“The dogs name is Benson.” Bucky mumbled quietly.

“Who names their kid Phoenix?” Peter wondered out loud as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth. The two of you were tucked into the corner of the couch, sharing a blanket and bowl of popcorn. You looked at him like he was crazy when you heard his question.

“Ummm, Joaquin Phoenix’s parents.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. You turned your attention back to the movie as a silence settled in the room. You felt everyone’s eyes on you after a minute and looked around to see everyone staring at you with a dumbfounded expression.

“What?” You asked shyly, shrinking down a little in your seat in discomfort.

“That’s his last name.” Sam stated, chuckling a little under his breath. You realized your mistake and felt your face heat up.

“Oh.” You mumbled, your voice getting drowned out as the rest of the Avengers laughed at your expense.

“Did she really just say that?” Nat looked at the group with a playful smile. Everyone, excluding Peter, nodded as their laughter died down.

“Oh my God.” Steve chuckled. “That’s so stupid.”

There was that word again.

He didn’t mean it maliciously. Steve was the kinda of guy who ushered spiders into a magazine so he could let them outside. And yet, it still stung when he said that word.

Stupid.

You smiled sheepishly and tried to focus on the movie, snuggling closer to Peters side until it ended. You were fully aware that he was the only one who didn’t laugh, and you loved him that.

And maybe you loved him for a few other reasons too.

“Alright. Who has money for the subway?” Sam asked the group as he patted his empty pockets. You were on another late night trip to get cookies from a specific shop in Times Square, leaving without Tony’s knowledge. Everyones hands went to their pockets and collectively made a face.

“Not me.” Rhodey shrugged.

“I don’t have any.” Bruce added.

“I don’t even have pockets.” Nat realized.

“I have gum.” Peter proudly produced a silver wrapper from his pocket. “Oh wait, it’s just a wrapper.”

“You’re telling me we’re earth’s mightiest heroes and we’re broke?” Sam shook his head is disdain.

“I gave my last dollar to a guy in the subway for playing music.” Peter defended himself.

“What was he playing?” You asked him as you tiredly leaned against his arm.

“A mandolin.” Peter answered, making your face scrunch up.

“That’s a language.” You laughed at him slightly, feeling empowered by having the upper hand. Everyone looked at you and a few of them snorted.

“Mandarin is a language.” Bruce said gently, not wanting to embarrass you further. “Not mandolin.”

“What?” You blinked in confusion and looked to Peter for answers.

“A mandolin is an instrument, dummy.” Sam chortled. You smiled tightly as the group laughed at your mistake, looking down to hide your blush.

“Oh. Sorry. My bad.” You laughed shyly as you tucked your hair behind your ear and pretending to read a nearby sign.

“That’s okay.” Peter spoke up in your defense. “They sound really similar. Plus like, French, French Horn. Who knows what’s going on?”

“Yeah.” Bucky said softly. “Or like, bra’s aren’t pointy anymore.”

Bruce nodded like it made perfect sense and Sam just shook his head as he texted.

“What?” You whispered to Peter, not knowing what he meant.

“He’s from the 1920s. He’s still adjusting.” Peter whispered to you out of the corner of his mouth before looking at Bucky. “That’s the spirit. Kind of.”

“FRIDAY is sending a car.” Sam informed the group. “This is never happening again. The cookies aren’t that good.”

“They’re pretty good.” Rhodey shrugged, but wanting the late Nate tradition to end. Sam looked at him for a moment before breaking into a smile.

“Hell yeah they are. Let’s do this again tomorrow.”

Bruce found you in the lab the next day with a pin between your teeth and a pencil behind your ear. Papers with drawings of suits were scattered around the table as you measured a piece of black fabric.

“What are you doing?” Bruce wondered as he took a seat across from you. You glanced up at him before marking a dot on the fabric.

“Mr. Stark asked me to help him with the new suits. I’m trying to make a fabric template for Nat’s gloves.” You told him as you smoothed the fabric out.

“Is it hard?” He asked, watching you intently as you worked.

“Not really.” You shrugged and took a step back to examine your work. “Okay. How many holes do we need? 1,2,3,4,5.” You counted your fingers. “Okay. Five holes.”

You sat back down and put five dots where her fingers would be to mark where you had to cut. You heard a slight chuckle from Bruce and looked up at him curiously.

“Did you just count your fingers?” He asked slowly, wanting to make sure he saw what he thought he had. “To know how many fingers Nat has?”

Your face burned when you realized how dumb you looked, in front of a scientific genius no less.

“Oh, Uh, yeah.” You stammered, feeling very insecure with him watching you now. You moved slower than before and second guessed moves you’d already made a hundred times. Bruce sensed your discomfort and got out of his seat, tapping the table twice as he thought.

“Have you ever heard the expression “the lights are on but nobody’s home’?” He asked you and you were grateful he changed the subject.

“Yeah, I think I have.” You smiled, proud of yourself for knowing something.

“It reminds me of you.” Bruce said so politely that you didn’t realize it was an insult at first. He left the lab to find Tony, leaving you feeling embarrassed and a little hurt. Everyone knew Bruce could hurt you ten times worse with his words than the Hulk could with his fists, you’d just never been his target before. You slumped down in your seat and continued making the gloves, your mood significantly dampened from before he came in the room.

You walked into the kitchen the next morning, sleepily rubbing your eyes. You pressed a chaste kiss on Peters shoulder as you passed him, also more affectionate to your best friend when you were half asleep. You smiled at Rhodey, who was seated at the bar and skimming through a newspaper.

“Did you eat yet?” You asked him through a yawn as you got out yogurt and fruit for yourself.

“No. I needed my coffee first.” He smiled sleepily at you and held up his mug.

“Oh, you mean your sugar with a spoonful of coffee?” You teased him. “Yeah, it’s good you got that out of the way.”

“I prefer it this way. The sugar wakes me up.” Peter defended his drink as he took a sip.

“That’s what the caffeine is supposed to do, mi amor.” You laughed as you ruffled his bed head ridden hair. He was about to make a comeback when his stomach rumbles loudly.

“Someone’s hungry.” You remarked. “Do you want eggs?”

“No thanks.” Peter shook his head. “I can’t eat eggs alone.”

“Well I’m here. And Rhodey’s right there, so you’re not alone.” You told him. “And I can grab Steve and Bucky. They’re just in the other room.”

Rhodey looked up from his newspaper with raised eyebrows and looked at Peter. Peter set his mug down and made a face at Rhodey that told him not to say anything. You looked between the two of them in confusion as you wondered what was going on.

“I meant alone as in without toast, sweetness.” Peter said gently, not wanting you to feel dumb for misunderstanding. “But I am glad you’re here.”

“Oh.” You faked a smile and shrugged like it was no big deal. Peter had handled the situation with ease and you didn’t feel as embarrassed as you normally would. That is until…

“You know, Y/n, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” Rhodey nodded before going back to his newspaper. You froze with your spoonful of yogurt midway to your mouth and looked at him. He didn’t actually call you dumb, but it was implied. You looked at Peter to see if he was thinking the same thing, but his face had nothing but kindness on it.

“You are pretty.” He agreed with Rhodey. “But you’re a lot of other things too.”

You cracked a smile and rubbed his back for a moment in appreciation.

“Thanks Peter.” You said softly and went back to your breakfast. Not wanting to worry him, you ignored the way Rhodey’s comment made you feel and tried to push it from your mind. But no hard you tried to focus on other things, you had one thought prodding at the back of your head.

You were dumb.

A week went by without anyone poking fun at your intelligence. You had a sneaking suspicion Peter had something to do with the lack of comments, but you said nothing. It was nice to have a break from all the teasing and it made hanging out with the team more enjoyable. You all lingered around the kitchen one day, eating all different kinds of lunch when Tony came in the room.

“Eat up, funky bunch.” He clapped his hands. “We have a mission in Alaska to train for and I need all hands on deck. Cap, do you think you can teach Peter that spinny thingy you do?”

“I can try.” Steve looked at Peter and nodded.

“Great. I’m getting a manicure. I’ll be back around noon.” Tony informed you all.

“Wait, I thought you said all hands on deck.” You tilted your head at him.

“I did. Which I why I have to make sure my hands look the best.” Tony waved flirtatiously, wiggling his fingers around like a teenage girl. He smirked as his action was met with some eye rolls and a few chuckles before leaving the room.

“I can’t believe we’re going to Alaska.” Peter nudged you excitedly and you smiled with glee.

“Is Alaska the same as the North Pole? Or am I thinking of Antarctica?” Sam wondered out loud.

“No. The North Pole is all the way at the top. Alaska is below California. Like by Texas.” You said confidently, proud that you knew information that someone else didn’t. Your pride quickly dissipated when you saw the teams faces twist in amusement.

“Wait a minute.” Steve looked at you like you were joking. You shrugged, letting him know you weren’t. Sam burst out laughing and clapped his hands as the rest of the team began to laugh.

“Absolutely not.” Sam grinned as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“Yes it is.” You insisted. “Look at any US map. It’s on the bottom by Hawaii.”

You were getting angry now. You knew you were right this time and they were still teasing you.

“No.” Bucky shook his head is dismissal. “No.”

“Alaska is below California on every map I’ve ever seen. You’re telling me I’m wrong?” You our your hand on your hip and stared at them.

“100%. I am 100% telling you you’re wrong.” Sam said between his laughter. Peter came to your side and showed you a picture of a map on his phone.

“Alaska is US territory but it’s not connected to the rest of the states. They just put it below California on maps to show it’s a part of the US. Thats not actually where it’s located.” He said quietly. You looked at the map for a few seconds before you realized he was right. And if he was right…

You were wrong.

“Oh.” You smiled apologetically and averted your eyes. “Oops.”

You turned around and pretending to clean up the kitchen to hide your searing blush. Your fingers clenched around your sponge when you heard the teasing laughter from behind you.

“Sometimes I wonder how you made it out of high school.” Steve joked as he threw out the crusts of his sandwich. The comment stung you and you began to scrub the counter faster so you could leave the room sooner. Peter could see your shoulders tense and put a reassuring hand on your back. You gave him a tight lipped smiled before putting your dish in the sink.

“I’m still wondering how she made it out of first grade.” Nat teased you and she poked your side.

“I can’t believe she made it out of the womb in the first place with nobody telling her where to go.” Sam said, making everyone laugh loudly. You abruptly threw a dish in the sink, making everyone go silent. You tuned around slowly and faked a smile.

“Haha. Yeah.” You forced a laugh. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

You swiftly left the room before anyone could catch your tears. You felt stupid for even getting upset over it, but their words hurt. Feeling like you were always the dumbest person in the room was taking a toll on you, especially when you weren’t the only one who felt that way. Peter watched you leave with sympathetic eyes, feeling his own frustration bubble at the sound of the team laughing at you. He thought they had listened the first time he told them to stop making fun of you, but they clearly hadn’t. After seeing the pained look on your face, Peter made a decision.

It was never going to happen again.

“Ugh. I’m never gonna get this right.” Peter groaned as he messed up the move Steve was trying to teach him once again.

“You’re getting too much inside your head. Just let it happen naturally.” Steve instructed as he resumed his stance. Peter tried the move again, wiping out and landing on his side with a thud. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you spared with Nat.

“I can’t.” Peter got up and rubbed his arm. “I can’t do it.”

Steve nodded, like he was accepting Peters defeat. You stopped sparing and looked at Peter.

“Yes you can. Come on, Peter.” You encouraged him. “Everyone told Van Gogh that he couldn’t be an artist because he only had one ear but he did it anyway.”

The room feel silent, as it often did when you spoke, and everyone looked down.

“Oh dear Lord.” Rhodey sighed and hung his head and he snickered. You could see everyone else fighting back laughter or cracking a smile, yet saying nothing.

“What?” You crossed your arms in annoyance, looming to Peter for help.

“He chopped his ear off after becoming an artist.” Peter said kindly. “He wasn’t born without one.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Tony beat you to it.

“Speaking of ears, do you think of you shone a light in one of Y/n’s ears, it would come out the other ear?” Tony quipped, making everyone laugh. The tips of your ears burned as that feeling of stupidity sunk in again. You undid the Velcro on your boxing gloves and pretended to wipe sweat from your face as you rushed to the bin where the gloves went. You kept your back to the group and pretending to be putting your gloves away when you were really concealing your pained expression.

“Yes.” Nat jeered. “Yes I do.”

Your shoulders slumped with exhaustion as you turned around, making every effort to keep your face neutral. Your face didn’t give away any signs of sadness, but your knuckles turning white from how hard you were gripping the bin gave your true feelings away. Peter noticed this and felt his jaw clench. If you weren’t gonna tell them to stop, he was.

“Leave her alone, guys.” He commanded the crowd before looking at you. “Thanks for the encouragement, Y/n. I’m gonna keep trying.”

“It’s fine.” You nodded curtly. “I’m gonna hit the showers. I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

You walked out of the gym, pausing in place when you heard Sams voice.

“Hit the showers?” He laughed. “We just started.”

“Shhh. Don’t confuse the poor girl any further.” Bruce joked back. You looked back at the gym with your eyebrows knit together, taking a quiet step closer to hear what they were saying about you without you there.

“She’s probably like, ‘whats this magic closet that makes rain?’” Rhodey imitated your voice, making you sound as dense as possible.

“Knock it off guys. It’s not funny.” Peter snapped, but the teasing continued.

“Or like, ‘this shampoo says it adds volume, but I used it and I can’t hear any louder than before’.” Tony mocked you, skipping around a little like a child. Your face contorted in misery as they made fun of you. You knew who they really were, and they were good people. They didn’t intend to hurt your feelings, they were only joking around like they did with everyone. Steve was teased all the time for his old fashioned dialect and no one lets Tony live down the kimono incident. Still, all their insults and mockery cut you like a knife.

“Ahh, I love that girl.” Nat shook her head with a smile. “She’s so dumb.”

“She may be slow, but she’s entertaining as hell.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“I said knock it off.” Peter repeated, getting a reaction this time.

“Aw. Peters mad because we’re teasing his girlfriend.” Nat pouted and pinched Peters cheek. She quickly realized how wholesome she was being and punched Bucky in the face to maintain her lethal assassin persona.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter grumbled. Now that you were out of the room, he was the next target.

“He’s right. Hey, maybe that’s why you guys haven’t gotten together yet.” Rhodey shrugged. “She’s too stupid to realize you’re in love with her.”

That was all you had to hear. You ran towards your with tears running down your face. Thanks to Peters advanced heating, he heard every heavy footstep.

“Okay. Maybe she is a little slow.” Peter shook his head in disdain at the team. “But you guys are idiots.”

You were quiet the entire way to Alaska, keeping to yourself and silently looking out the window. Peter attempted to talk to you once or twice, but he could tell you wanted to be alone. The Avengers completed the mission within a few hours with minor damage to the area. Peter focused on his job but found himself looking for you every now and then, being as you usually stayed together during missions. He didn’t see you anywhere and assumed you were doing your own thing on the other side of the field. He heart rest assured when he saw you boarding the jet, still looking reserved and aloof from the rest of the team. You took a seat by the window and rested your chin on your hand, looking out at the bleak landscape in front of you as the jet took off. Peter didn’t engage in small talk with the rest of the team and wistfully stared at you instead, silently willing you to cheer up.

“I think that went pretty well.” Rhodey nodded and the team agreed. “But where were you the whole time, Y/n? Picking daisies?”

Peter held his breath as you slowly turned around. You gave Rhodey a frigid smile and shook your head.

“We came during a blizzard so I used my powers to create a heated force field around the area we were in to prevent frostbite and give you guys and easier time seeing in the snow. We were also at a higher altitude than any of us are used to so I kept the air pressure to sea level standard.” You said simply. “And I assumed there would be smoke from the battle so I rounded up the nearby animals and made a separate for field around them to protect their lungs.”

The room went silent, something you were used to at this point. But instead of everyone falling silent because they were laughing at you, they were impressed.

“Oh.” Rhodey blinked in surprise, not expecting the answer he was given.

“I also picked this flower.” You smiled proudly as you produced a Forget Me Not from your lap. Peter couldn’t keep the grin from breaking through on his face. You were the center of attention once again, but in a good way this time. Everyone was pleasantly surprised with what you had done and it showed.

“I didn’t think about the altitude.” Nat realized.

“I had no idea there was a blizzard.” Steve added, looking dumbfounded.

“Because I kept you from knowing.” You shrugged. “I wanted you guys to focus on the mission.”

“I mean, I knew. I just didn’t tell you guys because I was so distracted by my buffed and polished nails.” Tony twiddled his fingers again, showing off his freshly manicured nails. You all laughed, breaking the tension in the jet.

“Well look at that.” Sam looked impressed. “Y/n knew something we didn’t.”

It was almost a compliment, but it still made you feel insecure. You didn’t want it to be this mind boggling every time you did something useful.

“Thanks, Y/n. That was really smart.” Peter said softly as he patted your knee. You put your hand over his and squeezed it. It was the first time someone called your smart, and it made you feel good.

“It was really smart.” Sam said skeptically. He stared at you for a moment before poking your side.

“What are you doing?” You swatted his hand away.

“Just making sure you’re still in there.” He eyed you suspiciously. Peter could sense the attention was making you uncomfortable and changed the subject.

“Are we almost home?” He asked Tony before peering out the window. The flight was a little over 7 hours on a normal plane, but the Stark jet was much quicker. The flight would only take a few hours, but Peter was not known for being patient.

“Yes, Peter. We are almost back at the tower. You can get your diaper changed and your bottle as soon as we get back.” Tony sassed him, making him shrink in his seat. Your body language had completely changed and your were now sitting straight, facing the group. Peter was glad you were feeling better and didn’t even mind Tony’s comment.

“Guys, let’s be civil. We’re all tired. We all want to get home.” You said calmly. “Let’s just focus on how pretty the sky looks tonight. Isn’t is pretty, Peter?”

He gazed at your profile as you looked out the window at the stars, admiring how pretty you looked from the side.

“Yeah. It’s beautiful.” He conceded without ever taking his eyes off you. You shot him a smile before looking straight ahead at the dashboard.

“Wow, the moon is huge!” You pointed time a large yellow crescent that could be seen through the window.

“That’s literally the reflection of my banana on the windshield.” Tony deadpanned. He may have been right, but it still looked pretty.

“Should we make a wish?” You asked Peter, ignoring Tony’s comment.

“On the banana?” He asked.

“Yes.” You nodded. “On the banana.”

“Why?” Rhodey asked. “It’s not like people wish on the moon.”

“It feels like we should.” You said with confidence.

“Yep. She’s still in there.” Sam chuckled. And just like that, your confidence receded.

“I hate it here.” Bucky sighed heavily and tuned out of the conversation.

“It must be so peaceful being you, Y/n.” Tony remarked.

“Why do you say that?” You wondered.

“Because instead of thinking about your problems and mistrials, you simply don’t think at all.” Tony said suavely. In only a better for minutes, you’d gone from being the hero to the laughing stock of the group. The sly comments and taunting laughter made you feel like you should stop opening your mouth entirely. You faked a smile and turned back towards the window, tuning out the rest of the way home. Peter chewed his lip as he stared at you, feeling useless to helping you out. The team just wouldn’t let up, no matter how many times he told them to stop. Knowing you weren’t in the mood to talk, he scooted closer to you and put a comforting hand on your back. You smiled warmly at him and rested your head on his shoulder, listening to him point out the constellations the whole way home.

The next day, you and Peter were sitting in the balcony, working on some new gadgets for Mr. Stark when Peter made a startling discovery.

“Where’s my right web shooter?” Peter stood up in a panic when he realized it was missing. “I left it right here.”

“Maybe a bird carried it off.” You shrugged as you twisted a tiny screw into Peters left web shooter.

“I’m being serious, Y/n.” Peter stated. “Mr. Stark is going to kill me and turn me into a decorative rug if I lost it.”

“I’m being serious too. We live in New York and I see birds around here all the time.” You told him as you continued your work. “And you know the pigeons here are feral. A bird probably stole it to pay for his child support.”

Peter usually entertained your antics and joined in with his own batch of sarcasm, but he wasn’t in the mood. His web shooter was missing and their were actual stakes involved. Without his web shooter, he couldn’t be Spiderman. And without Spider-Man, he couldn’t be an Avenger.

“Can you be serious for once?“ Peter whined, picking up everything on the table to look under it.

“I’m just saying it’s possible, Peter. You never know.” You insisted as you put your screw driver down to help him look. You began looking in the flower pots on the windowsill that you and Peter had planted. Peter stopped his search for a moment, growing angry with you for wasting time. He didn’t know if you were joking around or genuine believed his web shooter was in the flower pots, but it made him frustrated nonetheless. A combination of his lack of sleep and stress over losing the webshooter manifested into a moment of unchecked rage.

“No, it’s not possible.” He snapped. “A bird didn’t steal my web shooter. God, do you have to be so stupid?”

The word hung in the air for a moment, settling in to the both of you. Peters eyes immediately softened, feeling instant regret for what he had said. You stopped trifling through the plants and slowly turned around.

“What?” You asked quietly. Peter tightened his lips into a line and tried to justify what he had said.

“I try to defend you but you make it so hard. Can you help me out a little here and not be so…” He trailed off when he realized he had only made it worse. Your face hardened and you looked disappointed in Peter, which killed him. He would have preferred anger or even sadness, but the disappointment killed him.

“So what?” You shrugged. “Finish your sentence Peter.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“No, really, go ahead.” You stated coldly. “You got this far. So what, Peter?”

He looked at you for a moment, getting that feeling of wishing you could turn back time just a few seconds to fix a mistake.

“So dumb all the time.” He finished his sentence with an unsteady voice. Your face scrunched up in a pained expression as you sucked in and let out a shaky breath.

“You were the only one who never called me that.” You whimpered before moving past him and going inside. Peter watched you through the open balcony doors as you disappeared into the hallway with a heavy heart. His mouth was open to apologize, but you were long gone. He’d seen you being ridiculed so many times already, and now he was the one doing it. All that talk about it never happening again, only for him to be the reason it happened. Peter couldn’t live with himself for another minute without you knowing how sorry he was. He took a step towards the doorway until he heard a pigeon land on the table. He watched it curiously for a moment as it pecked at the screwdriver you had been using before picking it up with its beak. It flew over to the edge and began to walk along the railing, still keeping the screwdriver in his mouth. Peter followed the pigeon, walking all the way down the balcony to find a large nest in the corner. He watched as it dropped the screwdriver into its nest, right next to his web shooter.

“Holy shit. A bird stole my web shooter.” Peter said in disbelief. Peter watched as baby pigeons poked out from inside the web shooter to greet the other pigeon.

“Holy shit. A bird stole my web shooter for his kids.” Peters eyes widened even more than they already were. Realized struck him and his shoulders slumped.

“She was right.” He mumbled, angry at himself more than ever. “I yelled at her and she was right.”

Peter wasted no time in rescuing his web shooter from the birds, offering them a nice biodegradable coffee cup in its place, and ran to the kitchen to make you a peace offering. He knocked softly on your door and didn’t wait for an answer before going in.

“I made you this cup of tea as an apology.” Peter stiffly held out a mug with an awkward smile on his face. You looked at Peter from your bed, eyes puffy like you had been crying. You stared at each other for a long time, you with a death glare and Peter with his awkward smile. Neither of you said a word as Peter continued to hold out the mug. After two full minute of silence, a bead of sweat ran down Peters face as he looked around nervously, never breaking his smile. You let out an angry sigh and decided to throw him a bone, crossing the room to accept his mug. You looked into the cup for a moment before looking back at Peter.

“This is empty.” You deadpanned.

“I don’t know how to make tea.” Peter whispered, never breaking eye contact.

“I’ve seen you make it.” You snapped.

“I forgot how to do it.” Peters eyes shifted nervously to the side.

“Bucky was in the kitchen, wasn’t he?”

“I know he hates me.” Peter talked over you as you groaned. “I know he does.”

“Just go away.” You tried to close the door but he kept it open.

“No.” Peter said firmly. “I came in here to apologize.”

“You see this?” You held up the mug for a Peter to see. “It’s my cup of care. And look at that” ,you dumped the cup over, “it’s empty.”

Peter stared at your demonstration with raised eyebrows, surprised that you were still able to be sarcastic when he hurt you. Peter took the mug from your hands and set it on the ground before slowly looking up at your face.

“You’re not stupid.” He said softly with all the sincerity his heart could give. You scoffed and folded your arms, looking to the side when you felt tears sting your eyes.

“Yes I am.” You said like you fully believed it, which was Peters worse fear. “Everyone says so. Even you.”

It hit Peter like a sheet of glass when you looked at him like that.

Like he was someone you didn’t want around.

“I didn’t mean to say that.” Peter apologized. “That is not how I feel. At all.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never thought about saying that before.” You laughed sadly. “Everyone on the team calls me dumb. It was only a matter of time before you did it too.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Peter repeated. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Bullshit.” You snapped. “You’re so full of bullshit.”

“I’m not full of bullshit.” He whined like a child and gave you puppy dog eyes. “I’m full of regret.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek as he gave you his best pout, willing you to forgive him. Finally, you caved and cracked a smile.

“I hate you.” You stamped your foot and hung your head, frustrated with yourself for not being able to stay mad at him. Peter opened his arms and you walked into them, arms still folded angrily. You bumped your forehead against his shoulder before moving to rest your chin on it as he wrapped his arms around you. Peter nestled against your hair and sighed, happy that you had forgiven him but still saddened that he had hurt you in the first place. He could see the pile of used tissues on your bed and it killed him to know he made you cry.

“I didn’t mean to call you that. I really didn’t.” He said softly. “I’m the one who’s been trying to stop people from saying that.”

“But they still do it.” You sniffled. “Everyday I get called dumb or stupid or scalene.”

“I think it’s obtuse, not scalene.” Peter reluctantly corrected you. You pulled away and little and let Peter wipe the tears from your face.

“Maybe they’re right.” You shrugged and looked Peter in the eyes. “Maybe I am dumb.”

Peter kept your face between his hands, staring at you for a moment before sighing.

“I once sneezed so many times in a row that I peed my pants.” Peter deadpanned. “I was 17.”

“What?” You chuckled as you wiped your nose.

“I saw Bucky try to take a piece of toast out of the toaster with his metal arm and electrocute himself.” He continued. “And I constantly see Tony bumping into glass doors.”

“I don’t understand.” You squinted your eyes, but sure what point he was trying to make.

“Steve still picks up the phone and asks for the operator. Nat leaves her curling iron plugged in all the time. I do not think Sam knows the address of where we live and I’m pretty sure Rhodey can’t do laundry. He gets all his stuff dry cleaned, even his socks.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You asked.

“Because were all dumb.” Peter concluded. “We all do and say dumb things. You don’t know where Alaska is and no one in this tower can read analog clocks. If we’re all dumb, then maybe none of us are dumb. Or we all are. Who cares?” Peter shrugged, making you laugh. “And you were right. A bird did carry off my web shooter. So no, you’re no dumb. Or stupid. Or obtuse. You’re, uh, you- you…” Peter looked down at he fumbled over his words.

“I’m what?” You raised an eyebrow. You could finish his sentence last time, but this time you were lost.

“You’re…” Peter tampered off again, staring at your confused expression for a moment before pulling you into a kiss. Your hands clenched into a fist and slowly uncurled as you relaxed into the kiss. Peter pulled away too soon and let his eyes flutter open. They met yours and you shared a moment of hesitation, not knowing what happened rest next.

“I’m gonna be honest lovey, I didn’t really have an ending to that sentence.” Peter chris joes softly, his breath fanning your face. “That was mainly improv.”

“You’re pretty good at improv, Parker.” You cracked a smile and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I did a little bit of theater in high school.” He shrugged smugly, making you giggle.

“Mmm. I severely don’t want to hear about that.” You teased before kissing him again.

“Oh, I think you do.” Peter remarked. “Because I once went to the bathroom during intermission with my mic still on and the entire audience heard me peeing.”

“Oh my God.” You laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

Tag List 🏷

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #avengers x you #avengers x reader #marvel #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader

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spxllcxstxr · 4 years

Text

Always With Me • R.L

Summary: “Please don’t go.” (Bolded)

Warnings: Mentions of food/eating/not being able to eat, brief mention of vomit, Remus is very close to the full moon so he’s snippy, underage smoking, yelling, Remus is insecure and hard on himself, depressing thoughts

Word Count: ~1k

A.N: I actually wrote this like a year ago, but I’ve recently tweaked it and all that. Listened to Tiny Dancer by Elton John while thinking up the title. I guess this is my first angst post too, so I hope it’s angsty enough! Some characters may be a bit ooc though

Title: Elton John - Tiny Dancer

****

The week of the full moon takes a lot out of Remus, especially when added to the increasing amount of assignments the professors start handing out. The stress practically kills him.

He’s stuck in bed three days before the full moon, and will likely stay there until after the transformation.

Remus looks sickly, laying in his bed. His skin is pale and dotted with sweat like he’s got a fever. The numerous scars that litter his body look rougher and inflamed. His hair looks like it’s thinned overnight, and you can see strands scattered over his pillow. It’s wirey and delicate to the touch when you run your fingers through it.

“You need to eat, darling.” You mutter, trying to convince him.

The plate of plain toast and orange slices you brought up from the Kitchens sits untouched on his nightstand.

“Love, I won’t be able to hold it down.” He croaks, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands.

“Well you can’t just starve yourself for three more days, Rem.” You lecture, watching him puff out rings of smoke.

“You think I don’t fucking know that? I just don’t feel like vomiting it all up!” Remus snaps, ripping his gaze from you, deciding to focus on the ceiling instead.

The bags underneath his eyes are heavier and darker than usual.

You sigh and lay down next to him, resting your head on his chest. “I’m sorry, Rem. You know I just worry.”

The thumping of his heart is dull and every breath comes out in a labored wheeze.

“I’ll try to eat later, ok?” He murmurs eventually, still focusing on the thin wisps of smoke.

You hum in response and rub your thumb across his chest, partially trying to ease his anxiety and partially to ease yours.

“Don’t you have class?” Remus questions.

“Don’t you?” You counter.

He huffs out a faint laugh. “Don’t get smart with me, love.”

You bury your cheek deeper into his shirt.

“I’m fine missing one Arithmancy class, darling. Especially for you.” You shrug.

Remus grunts in response, snubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him. The movement has his bones creaking, and his teeth grinding together in pain.

You kiss his cheek. “Try to get some sleep, alright?”

He nods, his eyes already closing due to pure exhaustion.

You stay with him until the end of the period, but you do have to go to class eventually. You write him a note and make your way to Potions.

Lily catches up to you on your way to the dungeons.

“(Y/n)!” She calls, her fiery braid flowing behind her.

You slow to a stop and let her catch up to you.

“How was Arithmancy?” You ask.

“Just some more number charts. I’ll lend you my notes.” She shrugs.

“Thank Merlin for you, Lils. You’re a life saver.”

Lily finally grabs your arm and drags you into an empty classroom. She closes the door behind you.

“Lily, what’s up—?”

“What’s up with Remus?” She cuts you off. Her green eyes search your eyes for answers.

“What‘re you talking about?” You scoff, nervously. Your fingers twitch out of habit.

“Cut the shit, (Y/n). I’ve noticed it for years now.” Lily crosses her arms in annoyance. “He’s my friend too. You think I haven’t noticed how sick he gets, especially during the full moon? And how all of you disappear in the middle of the night?”

“Lily—“

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“You’re not stupid—“

“Is he a werewolf?” She whispers harshly.

You pause and bite your lip. You could just deny it, but she’s already completely figured it out. You start wringing your hands, wishing you could take out a cigarette right there in the middle of the castle.

“It isn’t my place to say.” You finally sigh, dodging the question.

“It’s a yes or no question.” She argues.

“It’s not!” You exclaim. You then get close enough to whisper in her ear. “Ask him about it next week, yeah?”

Her green eyes are wide and staring at you when you finally pull back.

You swallow harshly, guilt pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

“Let’s drop it and get to Sluggy’s class.” You walk out of the empty classroom, and walk briskly to the potions room.

You stomp up to the boys dorm after Ancient Runes, your last class of the day. The rest of them are already in their room, James, Sirius, and Peter already back from Divination, and Remus not moving from the morning. At least the orange slices are gone. However, that doesn’t mean he kept them down.

“Lily knows.” You announce, dropping your bag at the end of Remus’ bed and taking out a cigarette.

Sirius, who already has one lit, snaps his head towards you. “Lily knows a lot of things, so you gotta be a little more specific.”

“She knows about Moony’s furry little problem.” You clarify, biting your lip.

“She what?!” Remus cries, finally sitting up against the headboard.

“I didn’t tell her, Remus. She figured it out herself and asked me about it!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Well shit, (Y/n). What’d you say?” Peter asks, picking at his blanket.

“I just told her to ask him about it next week.” You mutter, anxiously awaiting Remus to explode out of anger.

“Oh that’s just bloody brilliant, innit?” Your boyfriend spats at you, teeth clenched.

“Hey! Don’t yell at her, it’s not her fault!” James shouts, coming to your defense.

“Moony, she was bound to find out eventually, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Sirius comments, picking at his black nail polish, successfully chipping the paint.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“No.” You reply, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Yes.” Sirius says at the same time, effectively provoking it.

“Lily can report me and spread this, don’t you understand?” Remus rages, the tips of his ears red.

“Lily wouldn’t do that, you know this Remus.” James tries to reason.

“I think you’re a little biased, Prongs. She was bloody friends with Snivellus! Anything could happen!”

“Well she isn’t friends with him anymore, Moons. Lily is trustworthy and a good friend. She wouldn’t tell a soul.” James argues.

Remus growls and forcefully closes the curtains around his bed, shutting you all out.

You shift awkwardly on the balls of your feet, the four of you watching the scarlet curtains sway. Remus is silent behind them.

The guilt has your stomach in knots. You can’t help but feel responsible.

“C’mon, (Y/n), it’s time for dinner and obviously Moony wants to be left alone.” James anxiously runs a hand through his already chaotic hair, slightly tugging at the dark curls.

You wordlessly nod your head and start to follow them out the door.

“W-we’ll bring something up from the Kitchens, Remus.” Peter stutters in front of you.

However, you hesitate at the threshold, reluctant to just up and leave your boyfriend in such a vulnerable state.

“Please don’t go.”

The broken words are almost too faint to actually hear.

You creep your way back to his bed, carefully pulling back the curtains revealing your boyfriend’s head buried in his hands. You notice the pronounced tremors taking over his hands.

“Hey...hey Rem, it’s all alright.” You murmur, lightly dragging a hand through his rough hair.

Dropping your head down to his, you press your foreheads together, whispering reassurances and declarations of love into his ear.

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #the marauders x reader #the marauders

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peterrparrkerr · 3 years

Text

Gun kink - read on ao3

I wrote this for fifi. They helped me come up with this idea.

*-*

"Oh, hello Mr. Stark, I got your coffee!"

Tony glances up from his folder with lab results to see the gangly young man walking over excitedly.

He's wearing his usual outfit -a pair of brown tweed trousers and a cream button down long sleeve. His outfit is never complete without a sweater vest, and today's is tan with brown edges and stripes across his torso in blues, purples and oranges.

The poor thing has a stack of folders in his arms, balancing a four coffees on the top -which wobbles precariously as Peter makes his way through the busy lab.

"You know you can make multiple trips?" Tony asked, smirking pulling at his lips as he sets his own folder down to grab the coffees.

Peter blushes, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, but then the coffee would get cold, and I might forget which folders to get," he says.

Tony reaches forward without thought, pressing his forefinger into the frame of Peter's glasses, right over his nose, and pushing it up.

Peter's cheeks turn dusky pink and he mutters an embarrassed "thank you."

Tony takes a step back, clearing his throat before setting the coffees on the table before offering his hand for the folders.

"What do you have for me?"

Peter blinks, processing Tony's question before he jolts into movement. "Oh, yeah, this one here is for the Extremis test trials."

A folder is handed to Tony. The older barely has any time to flip through it before Peter's pulling out another folder -almost losing them all in the process- and slapping it over the one Tony has.

"This one is for the new arc reactor power station, tech said they found a bug in the coding and wants you to look into it before bringing it to the board."

A third folder is handed over. Tony can't help but chuckle lowly at how awkward and frantic Peter is as he flips through his stack, looking for which folder he needs.

"These need to be signed or Mrs. Pepper said she was going to shove her heel up your -ahem- uh, your butt."

His cheeks burn redder and Tony's smile widens. Damn the kjd sure was cute.

"And these ones are all internships, job applications and test subject forms," Peter concluded, adding the rest of the folders into Tony's arms.

"Thank you, Peter," Tony hummed, looking down at the folders. "I'll take a look at these when I get a moment-"

"Oh, yeah, I can take them to your office," Peter rushed.

"Thats alright- oh, okay, uh, thank you," Tony grunts as Peter grabs the stack of folders again, holding them to his sweater vest and using his shoulder to push his glasses up his nose again.

"You're welcome, Mr. Stark," Peter grinned before making his way to Tony's office.

Tony returns to his lab results, frowning down at the graphs.

"We're going to have to fix these numbers," Tony muttered to Bruce in passing, pointing to the red jagged line ascending up the front page.

"If we want to start human trials with this new vaccine we're going to need to figure out what's happening with-"

"Oh, yeah, I'll take a look at it and get back to you," Bruce hummed, tapping his finger on the page. "I didn't realize those numbers were so high."

"Me neither," Tony scowled, snapping the folder closed and dropping it on the desk.

He goes back to work with the other employees, checking over progress and fiddling with his own projects.

He's lost in his own world when the lab door opens, the doorknob slamming into the wall behind him.

"Tony Stark!"

Tony scowls and lifts his head, only to blink at the man standing in the door.

He's wearing a bomb jacket, rigged with what looks like enough explosives to take down this half of the building.

The lab employees are all out of their chairs, some on the floor, others pressed into the wall. Tony can't move. His throat closes -he can't breathe.

"You murdered my wife," the man growls. The hand holding the detonator wavers, his grip white knuckled.

"I-" he can't get his words out. He knows he's got to. He knows he needs to de-escalate the situation so security has time to grab him, but Tony can't.

He can't do anything but stand there with wide eyes.

"Drop the detonator."

Both Tony and the man turn to the voice, and Tony's eyes widen when he sees Peter.

His ever present grin is replaced with a scowl, eyebrows furrowed and there's a glint to his eyes that make Tony shiver.

"If you shoot me I'll blow this whole place up," the man snapped, crazed eyes turned towards Peter.

Peter -the goofy intern who tripped over his untied shoelaces and stuttered and blushed. Who was standing there, calm, cool and collected.

Tony hears one of his employees let out a whimper.

"You don't want to do this," Peter said, all playful lilt gone from his voice. "Its not worth it."

The man's thumb moves towards the red button and Tony feels his breath catch.

"My wife died because that man-" the man waves the detonator at Tony, making his heart drop with how careless he's being with it. "Refused to treat her."

Tony takes a small step back, heart in his throat.

"Put the detonator down," Peter ordered again.

"No," the man sneered.

It happened in slow motion. Tony watched as the man's thumb lifts, hovering over the red button.

He hears the shot ring out, hears his employees scream in fear. Tony watches as the man's head snaps back -he didnt even see the bullet.

Blood dots his forehead, and then his knees are buckling and he drops like a rock.

Peter's the first to move, gun still aimed at the bomber. The detonator is taken from his hand as carefully as Peter can.

Seconds later, security shows up. Employees rush out of the room using the service door to the staircase.

Tony's stuck in place, still trying to process it all. Peter's talking with the security team while they wait for someone to take care of the body.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, but he jolts when a hand presses to his arm. He turns his head to see Peter looking up at him with concern.

"You okay, Mr. Stark?" He asked, not removing his hand. Tony blinks and gives a nod, mouth dry. "Lets go to your office," Peter suggests.

Tony nods again, managing to unstick his feet from the floor and following Peter to his office across the floor.

"Who gave you a gun?" Tony manages once they're safely in the office.

Peter glances at his waist -where Tony can see the gun peaking out under his sweater vest- and then up to Tony.

"Oh, uh, no one, its mine."

"You just- carry a gun?" Tony asked, dropping into his office chair with a huff.

"Its my job," Peter shrugged. He leans against the desk, thighs brushing against Tony's knee. "I was hired to be your personal detail."

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Yeah," Peter shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose again. "Mrs. Pepper was worried someone might be after Extremis so she hired me to keep an eye on you when you weren't out and about with Happy."

"You're a bodyguard," Tony deadpanned.

Peter grimaced a little, ducking his head. "Yeah," he winces, running fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry I lied to you. Its just that Mrs. Pepper said it would be better if you didn't know, and she's kind of scary."

Tony huffs a laugh at that. Peter's been a little afraid of Pepper since he got hired on.

"I just-" he starts, taking a deep breath. "I can't see you as part of a detail."

Peter gives a rueful half smile, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is it because I wear glasses?"

Tony can't help the bark of laughter that shakes his shoulders. He shakes his head before waving his hand at Peter.

"No- its all of you," he said. "You're dorky and you trip on air and fumble everything. I don't exactly picture you as a gun weilding bodyguard. No offense."

Peter shrugs, pushing his glasses up his nose again. "What do you picture me as?" He asked, leaning further back against the desk.

"A dork, honestly," he huffs. Peter laughs this time, sharp and light all at once. "Is this all a cover? The clothes and the awkwardness?"

Peter's cheeks turn red and he ducks his chin in embarrassment.

"Would I be cooler if it were?"

Tony blinks, then huffs a laugh and grabs Peter by the front of his sweater vest.

"You've got a gun in your pants, I don't think you could be more cooler," he confessed, pulling Peter off the desk.

The boy goes easily, allowing Tony to tug him onto his lap, cheeks turning redder and redder.

"I could wear a leather jacket," Peter offered, voice breathy as he settles on Tony's thighs.

"No, I like the sweater vests," Tony hummed, brushing his nose against Peter's cheek. His hands grip Peter's sides, one brushing against the gun at his hip.

"Are you gonna kiss me?" Peter asked, voice a low murmur.

Tony shivers, squeezing Peter's hips as his lips ghost over the younger's.

"Are you going to use that gun on me if I do?" Tony questioned, cock hardening against his slacks. Peter whimpers, hands sliding under Tony's lab coat to grip his shoulders.

"I might," Peter breathed. Tony surged forward at that, kissing Peter filthy and feeling the gun digging into his side as Peter melted against him.

#marvel #tony stark #peter parker #ironman #starker #spiderman #my writing #ao3 #SFSummerBingo21

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avungerthatgotaway · 4 years

Text

The Soldier of the Night

heyyyy guys!! this is my first ever request fic and im so excited to do iiiit. please tell me what you think of it in the comments🥰

it's made for this request

summary: y/n finally takes matters into her own hands and escapes hydra. but it won't be as easy as she tought...

warnings: mentions of blood and child neglect

pairings: avengers x teen!reader (platonic)

genre: angst-ish, fluff at the end

Sorry for grammar mistakes.

If you have request feel free to ask🥰

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

Y/N Y/LN, but no one calls you by that name. To the world you are known as The Soldier of the Night, the merciless murderer. Mothers all over the world use you to teach their kids about most dreadful dangers. People gather around campfire in woods and share scary stories of your cold heart and homicides you don't feel guilty about. You are the biggest fear of each and every government there is in world.

And you always wonder what all those people would say if they knew how old you were. Or that you never kill willingly. Or that you silently pray every night for the victims you harmed or killed in your brainwashed state.

Or that hydra has no control over you anymore. You are currently running, without exact destination, just to get as far from hydra as you can. They are probably alerted of your absence by this point, but you are already in New York, so you can maybe find a hiding spot before they find you.

-Avengers pov

Nick Fury hurried to the avengers tower, where he called a sudden meeting this morning.

When he came in Steve and Sam were sweaty, probably just came from their morning jog. Bucky was still fighting sleep in his pyjamas, hair sticking out in different directions. Wanda was starring daggers at him for waking her up so early. Tony and Bruce were in lab coats, probably didn't sleep at all. All other avengers were at their respective missions.

"I called this meeting because my resources told me infamous Soldier of the Night is out of hydra HQ. We don't know why, but it's probably another killing mission for hydra. He is currently laying low, somewhere around south entrance to the city. Your mission is to stop him from harming anyone and bring him here. Alive if possible, it would benefit us to know what are hydra's plans at the moment." he finished.

"Alright." said Steve dutifully. "Any information we can get on him before we go?"

"Not much. Only that he is dangerous, and doesn't spare anyone. He is a ghost story. We don't even know if it's a he, that's just a guess."

"Very well. Everyone suit up, I expect you in front of tower in 10." Steve said and left, other avengers following behind.

They came back that evening, exhausted of their unsuccessful search. There was no trace of the soldier. But they had to keep looking as long as there's hope to get rid of the monster.

-2nd person pov

Your heart was racing a hundred miles. You were well aware of the possibility of hydra finding you. But you didn't expect it to be this soon. You were in hiding for only 2 months and they already tracked you down.

Windows broke on your left side and hydra agents started piling in. At the same time on your right side the door broke down revealing whole avengers team, with few additions. You faintly remember one of them as The Winter Soldier, but what was he doing with avengers? Your toughts were cut short by a punch in your face delivered by one of hydra agents.

That's when it snapped: you had to fight for your life. And you probably had to fight both sides.

You started fighting hydra agents, harming them as much as you can without killing.

The avengers stand at the doorstep, and you faintly hear one of them saying "What the actual fuck?". They seemed belivered.

But they soon join the fight knocking out hydra agents. A fist connected with the back of your head, knocking you out into pool of darkness.

Light clacking of bottles was the first thing you hear when you wake up. You squint your eyes open, panic finnaly kicking in to where you are. Your first tought was that you were back in hydra HQ, but the room was way too light for that, and hydra wanted you dead.

You started panicking and franatically got out of the bed, trying to escape. Whoever this is, they nean no good. Even avengers want to kill you. But as soon as you got up, black dots invaded your vision, causing you to fall. But before you hit the groung a pair of arms caught you, leading you to sit back in bed.

"Hey, hey sweetie calm down. No one will harm you here. Don't make any sudden movements, your head is still not completely healed." a man told you.

You just layed back and watched him bandage your wrist.

"I am Bruce Banner, by the way. What is your name?" he asked kindly.

"Y/N Y/LN" you whispered, almost inaudibly but he heard it.

"Alright, Y/N. I think I bandaged all your bruises. Rest of the team is waiting out, do you maybe want to meet them?"

By 'team' he probably meant rest of the avengers. You saw a big 'A' painted on the wasll, so that had to be it, right? You immediately shook your head no, eyes widening in fear. You still weren't sure they won't harm you, and meeting them seemed overwhelming in your current state.

"It's okay, calm down. You can meet them later. I will stay with you a little. We could talk if you want?"

You just shrugged your shoulders, not particularly fond of talking with anyone, but not wanting to seem rude because he did help you.

"Okay. How old are you Y/N?" he asked slowly.

"(your age)" you quietly said.

"Dear lord, you really are just a kid. I'm so sorry for everything you've gone through."

You just zoned out, thinking about everything that happened, when something poped up in your mind.

"Mr. Banner?" you asked shyly.

"Call me Bruce kiddo. What is it?"

"I tought I saw The Winter Soldier at the door when you guys came to get me?"

"Oh yes. Bucky. He was also in hydra, as you probably know. He was brainwashed. I suppose you were too?"

"I was, every time I killed somebody. Sometimes I went to missions with other agents and they didn't brainwash me, but I never killed anyone when I was in my senses." You started thinking about your victims as teers pooled in your eyes.

"We supposed so. Do you want me to bring Bucky in a little? Maybe he can help you feel better, because he knows what you're going through."

You slowly nodded, not wanting to reject meeting avengers the second time.

"Alright, he'll be here in a minute." Bruce gave you a gentle smile and patted your shoulder.

A minute after he exited, in came Bucky. He looked better than when you saw him last, but you doubted he's seen you. You were sneaking out, tryna find some food, when you heard and saw agents torturing him. That's about only memory you have of him, along with stories you've heard from other people.

"Hello there doll. How are you? Bruce told me you remember me." he said gently, sitting at the edge of your bed.

"I-I am alright, i guess. Th-thanks. And yes, I do. A little. I was passing by door, when I saw them torturing y-yo-you." you started sobbing a little, the memory bringing back others. Memories of them torturing you. And you torturing other people in your brainwashed state.

"Hey don't cry. It's okay, shhh. Come here." he opened his arms, and you hesitantly scooted closer, not exactly sure what he wanted. He circled his arms around you, and you flinched, thinking he's gonna attack you. But he just gently kept his arms wrapped around you, soothingly rubbing you back. after some time you wraoed your arms around his middle, still not sure what's going on.

But it was a nice feeling. You never felt something like it before. You felt so safe, like nothing could harm you as long as you two stay like that. You wanted to know what was all this about.

"Wha-at are you do-oing?" you asked after you stopped sobbing, but still hiccuping a little.

"Oh, I'm hugging you. Are you uncomfortable? I will stop if you are. Sorry." he said starting to draw back.

"No!" you quickly said, clutching onto him like koala. You were afraid the sense of comfort will leave you as soon as he withdraws from you.

"Shhh, doll. I won't let go. Never. Nothing will ever harm you here kiddo. We will take care of you. You can live normal life, like all other kids. Maybe go to school after you adapt to your surroundings. Here is a kid Peter he is about your age. You can make friends your age. And of course we will be your friends. For as long as you want it."

"Wait, I can live here? I'm not a burden?"

"No, of course not. Don't ever think that, please."

"B-Bu-Bru" you struggled to remember what Bruce told you his name was.

"Bucky. Or James, whichever you prefer kid."

"Oh okay. What are hugs Bucky?"

"Well I'm hugging you right now. You hug people ti show your emotions. Like comfort, thankfulness, happiness, love. It's what friends do."

"Wait wait wait. You never had a hug before?? Like ever????" a new voice boomed. It sounded genuine but way too loud. You flinched instinctively and hid your face in Bucky's shoulder. He tightened his hold on you for comfort.

"Can you be any louder Thor? And no she was practically raised in hydra, they don't exactly hug around." Bucky said.

"I am sorry, lady Y/N. For frightening you, and for my inappropriate question. I am Thor Odinson." he said coming closer to you.

"It's okay Mr. Thor. I'm Y/N Y/LN, nice to meet you." you said shyly.

"Oh it's lovely meeting you too. I came here because brother Stark asked me to ask you if our presence is wished upon now."

"Huh, what do you think, doll? Ready to meet 'em now? No pressure." Bucky quietly asked, only for you to hear.

You tought about it for a second, but if everyone is nice as three you already met, you'd like to meet them all. And with quiet "okay", Bucky nodded to Thor and he left to call the others in.

That night you layed in your bed, thinking of that day's events. You met everyone, since no one had missions assigned. They were all really nice to you. Even Loki, which surprised every avenger. You were not sure why tho, Loki was nice, and his voice was comforting. The Maximoff twins were really funny, and Tony already started making you your own room! Everyone else you've met was aweosme: Natasha, Clint, Steve, Sam and Rhodey. Peter was shy but nice, he promised to show you some good movies and he was belivered when you said you don't know what those are.

Bucky was still you favorite. He stayed the longest, promising to come and visit you first thing in the morning. You hoped he'll hug you again, you were quite fond of hugs now.

Few months passed since avengers saved you. Life couldn't be better at this point. You were home schooling, or rather preparing to go to real school next year. Peter already introduced you to his friends from school you are going to attend. You were training to become an avenger, and it was so exciting.

You were currently having breakfast tho, sitting in between Sam and Bucky who were bickering about one thing or other. Tony was dancing funnily while making pancakes, while Nat was trying to throw as many blueberries as possible at him. You heard Clint somewhere in wents above you, probably setting up a prank. You smiled to yourself. Even though you never knew love, or had a family until two months prior, avengers accepted you. They were slowly becoming your family, and you couldn't imagine your life without them. ;)

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bethansfandoms · 4 years

Text

vienna on instagram asked if i could do one where sirius asks remus to the yule ball.

sirius pushed open the door to the gryffindor dormitory, flopped onto his bed, and groaned into the pillow.

“so...” james said, hesitantly, “did it go... well?”

“i asked him to the ball if that’s what you mean,” sirius replied, words muffled by the pillow he’d decided to smother himself with.

“and he said...”

“he said, and i quote, yes, that would be cool—”

“well that’s—”

“i’m not finished. he said yes tha,t would be cool, i don’t have a date either.”

james inhaled sharply, “he thought you were asking to go as friends?”

“of course he fucking did! because we are friends and boys go to balls with girls, not other boys. i’m stupid.”

“so you didn’t correct him?”

“i— no, i couldn’t.”

“sirius,” james said, softly, “it’s remus. you can be honest with him.”

sirius grumbled and waved a hand dismissively. “how about you, did you ask evans yet?”

“if i’d asked evans, you’d have heard about it.”

sirius had been asked to the ball multiple times since then. he rejected all of them and said he was going with friends. although lily, to everyone’s amazement, had agreed to going with james. peter had asked a hufflepuff girl from the year below, so actually, he was rejecting all the wishful girls for remus.

he was half expecting somebody to ask remus so that he’d end up going stag. although, it would make a good opportunity for a stag pun.

to sirius’ surprise, nobody else asked remus, at least he assumed not, as the night before the ball, sirius asked if they were still okay to go together and remus had agreed.

he felt bad, really. remus was gorgeous and here he was, without a date and going with sirius. as friends.

sirius walked into the dormitory only half an hour before the ball started. everybody else had been getting ready for an inconceivable amount of time. he, as always, had left it until the last minute.

he pushed open the dormitory and was greeted by james, peter, and remus. all of whom were dressed. “cutting it a bit fine are we padfoot?” james asked, tugging at his hair in the mirror.

“looking very dapper, potter,” he replied, rummaging around in his trunk and digging out his dress robes. they were black and he had a deep blue bow tie to accompany them.

the very same deep blue as remus’ robes. “ah, moony...”

remus spun around to face him, “yeah?”

“people will think we matched...” he held up the tie.

remus laughed, “they will when they see this, hold on.” he went into his trunk and produced a black bow tie. they were wearing practically the same outfit with the colours reversed.

“aw cute,” james cooed. “i’ve got a green tie to match evans’ dress; you two will look the perfect couple.”

remus scoffed and rolled his eyes. sirius sent james a stern look.

“i didnt match with lucy... should i have done?” peter asked, desperately trying to attach his cufflinks. “ugh, how do your dress robes all look so... okay!”

“peter,” james said, clapping him on the shoulder, “you look very sexy.”

“i kind of wish you hadn’t phrased it like that but thanks, i guess.”

they met the girls in the common room as they had decided to all go down together. marlene and dorcas did not have dates either. sirius kind of hoped nobody suggested that he and remus fill the role.

all of them looked very pretty; lily’s dress did indeed match james’ tie but it also matched her eyes perfectly. she looked surprisingly happy that james was her date. maybe she had come around after all.

the hall was incredible. sirius had thought it was impressive at halloween but this was something else. it was hardly recognisable. there was a band and a large area filled with dancing students. there was also a bar which sirius couldn’t imagine served anything remotely alcoholic.

there were lots of small round tables dotted around, one of which they claimed. peter immediately went off to find his date, as did mary. james and lily got up to dance and so remus, sirius, marlene, and dorcas were left.

“so...” sirius said, awkwardly. “you two not find dates?”

they exchanged a glance and both tried not to laugh. “uh,” marlene began. “something like that, yes.”

“i’m surprised neither of you do,” dorcas added. “i’ve seen multiple girls ask the both of you.”

sirius whipped his head around and cocked an eyebrow at remus.

“yeah, well,” remus said quickly, “i don’t dance. i’d be a shit date.”

sirius let the small flicker of hope, that had insisted that he was the reason for remus rejecting those girls, die out.

marlene stood and grabbed dorcas’ hand. “come on, i love this song.”

“you two should get up there!” dorcas called as she was pulled away. “can’t be the only ones not dancing!”

they were left in uncomfortable silence. sirius wasn’t used to having nothing to say to remus, it was very strange indeed.

“why did you not agree to go with anyone, then?” remus asked.

“oh. nobody i liked asked, you know?”

remus smirked. “oh, so you like someone, huh? tell me more.”

“i asked them here tonight, actually.”

remus choked on his drink. “you did? and she said know?”

sirius shrugged, “wanted to go as friends.”

“and that wasn’t good enough for you?”

“eh, it’s going alright.” he watched remus’ face as a look of realisation slowly dawned on him.

“you... who did you ask?”

“remus. come on.”

“oh. shit.”

“sorry if that was weird to say,” sirius said quickly. “friends is fine. great, actually. i guess i just wanted you to know.”

“so when you asked me...”

“don’t make me spell it out.”

“i’m such a twat,” remus groaned.

“remus, it’s fine. i— you can’t help it if you’re not... if you don’t want to be my...” he sighed, “date. it’s not your fault.”

“no, no, that’s not why i’m a twat.” he groaned into his hands. “okay, when you asked me, i only said as friends because... i thought i was getting my hopes up. i thoughts i’d say friends to see if you corrected me and when you didn’t, i was like, oh, so he wasn’t asking me out.”

“but i was...”

“yes. if i’d known that, i’d... i’d have said yes.”

sirius couldn’t quite tell if his heart stopped or went into double time. “you—” then he started laughing.

“what? what’s funny?”

sirius punched his arm playfully. “it took me so long to work up the courage to ask you! and you friend zoned me!”

“by accident...”

“you still friend zoned me.”

“i— i’m sorry,” he was smiling, though. sirius smiled back. “i’d be a crap date if i didn’t ask you to dance but... but there’s people.”

sirius nodded. “nobody’s watching now, though.”

remus glanced around. there were so many people but it was unlikely any of them were paying attention. “fuck it,” were his final words before he leant in and kissed him. it was soft and cautious and he pulled away almost immediately.

“you think anyone noticed?” sirius asked.

remus shrugged. “incase they didn’t?” he kissed him again. properly this time.

“wooo!”

they broke apart to see james pointing at them from the dance floor, giving sirius the thumbs up and cheering.

“bollocks,” remus muttered, “they definitely saw that one.”

#wolfstar #marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar fanfic #wolfstar fanfiction #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black x remus lupin #wolfstar headcannon #wolfstar textpost #wolfstar oneshot #wolfstar prompt #wolfstar prompts #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar tumblr

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astriefer · 4 years

Note

If you want to, how about prompt 36 with thomastair?? 🤍

Prompt 36 - "Don't move. it'll be okay."

Thank you for this ask!! This is so terribly late but I hope it's enough for you. This is really bad because I had inspiration and then it died and then assignments and family and I'm running late. But... just in time for holiday! So have this piece please 🙏 Didn't check it too much so sorry for type errors and such thank you

TW throwing up and illness.

When the Merry Thieves had gotten the message Thomas wouldn't join them that day, they were suspicious.

"It's not Thomas's handwriting," Matthew said thoughtfully to James and Christopher.

Christopher fixed his spectacles on his nose and took a glance at the parchment. "But who wrote it if not Thomas?"

As always, the group of Thieves (lacking Thomas) was hanging around the Herondale manor. Cordelia and Lucie had gone to train together, and Effie was busy preparing titbits and coffee for them. They waited for Thomas to approach in all his giant glory, half-predicted him to come with Christopher, but he did not arrive. After half an hour, and just as Matthew complained, "Had Thomas gotten himself kidnapped in the course of the night?" a runner came at the front door. The message he carried was what they had been looking at for the past few minutes.

James shrugged. "Alastair, I assume," his golden eyes scanned the carefully written words. "They do live together."

"It claims him to be feeling unwell," Matthew said. "Do you think it's because he finally realized what a nuisance Alastair is?"

James gave him a look. "Matthew."

"It's in good spirits!" Matthew defended, raising his hands. When James still looked at him pointedly, he lowered his hands and murmured. "To some extent."

James sighed. As long as he didn't say it in front of Thomas, Cordelia, or Alastair himself, he concluded it wasn't the worst thing. They were civil with each other's presence, which was progress. He couldn't be mad at Matthew anyhow. He placed the paper down, regarded his friend with a shrug.

"What ho," Christopher said. "Your definitions for good spirits may cross the traditional ones."

"Well, it's not my fault the ordinary interpretations are substantially dull," Matthew retorted.

Christopher hummed and stopped paying attention, seemingly engrossed in a new idea of an invention that must have captured his mind. Matthew gave him a fond smile and then cut his gaze back to James. "So, are we going?"

"Where?" James asked as Matthew stood up. His parabatai straightened his double-breasted waistcoat, which had decorations of an exotic animal on it.

He must have looked dumbfounded because Matthew added kindly, "Oh, Jamie bach," Matthew clicked his tongue at him. "Can you truly believe Thomas is sick?"

"That's what written here," he tapped on the papyrus. Matthew clicked his tongue again. His eyes were shining dangerously. "I know that look. What ill thing your mind hallucinated this time?"

"Everything I think of is a masterpiece, mind you. And clearly," Matthew said, leaning forward in his seat, "He scribbled some poor excuse to spend time with Alastair. But he said he would come. And if he won't come to us, we will come to him. So we shall step up to their flat and demand our Thomas."

"It doesn't sound like Thomas to fake such a thing." James's eye deterred away to the clock on the wall. He had the idea if it was something else, not a possibility of Thomas favoring Alastair's company over theirs, it would die silently.

"It sounds a bit petty," Christopher noted. His hands tapped on the floor, fingers twisting as if he desired to be in Henry's lab and write down his findings.

"It's not," Matthew promised. "We needn't have a reason to see Thomas. Besides, don't you want to tell him about your latest experiment?"

Christopher's eyes lit up at that. He shoved his spectacles up his nose, nodding. "Yes, it would be good. I made some progress he should be filled in about."

"Great!" Matthew commented. "Let's go."

"Poor Kit," James teased as he got up. "You use science to tempt him?"

"I have no clue what you are talking about," Matthew graced him with a brilliant smile."I merely harness the power of science for my good deeds."

~~~~

As it turned out, unwell was an underestimate.

"What are you doing here?" Alastair asked when he opened the door of the flat. James was a bit stunned to see how disheveled and bedraggled he looked, a stark contrast to his usual display. His clothes were rumpled and crumpled and he looked awfully gassed.

The three soon cut free of their astonishment, and Christopher talked first. "Hullo, Alastair. We have come to see Thomas."

Alastair blinked but otherwise remained still. "I delivered you a message. He isn't feeling well."

"We had an essential piece of enlightenment to share with him," Matthew supplied. Alastair gave him an indifferent look.

"He isn't feeling well," Alastair repeated. James started to think it was a bad idea to come - Alastair clearly wasn't fancy to usher them inside. From inside the flat, a smell of soup traveled in the air.

Matthew's green eyes faced Alastair's unabashedly. "Why, let us see him, then. There's nothing our engaging presence can't aid. Tom will be feeling much better if he sees us."

"He needs to rest, not play games with his friends-"

A broad-shouldered figure came behind him, towering over him. " 'm fine."

Matthew wasn't the only one with a twisted interpretation of rudimentary words, apparently. James was fairly sure 'fine' shouldn't mean being so pale or to have big bruises-like black shadows under your eyes; nor did he think someone feeling fine should be looking so lightheaded and sick. Thomas's moss of light brown hair was mussed and tousled. He looked, frankly, even worse than Alastair - sweaty and tapped up.

"Thomas?" James asked.

The tall man shifted his gaze to James rather slowly. Instantaneously he realized Thomas was leaning his hand against the wall for support, and not for the sake of doing it. He was unsteady. "Greetings. I was going to get ready and come by your house, James."

"You should be in bed," Alastair protested.

Thoams's stance was defensive. "I am plenty fine, thank you, I don't need any rest in bed."

A muted sigh escaped Alastair's lips. He glanced at the three of them. "May you put some reason into him? You could at least do that after turning up here."

"I am standing right here," Thomas pointed out. He sounded almost too drained-out to resist. Alastair seemed unimpressed.

Christopher hesitated. "You do look a bit green around the gills, Tom."

"You look liverish, and not in a neat way," Matthew added.

"You have no need to dot on me," Thomas insisted. Annoyance took over his features. "I have rested enough. I shall-"

He cut off abruptly, gagging. He turned over back into the apartment, a hand over his stomach, and ran inside. With a last skeptical glance thrown toward them, Alastair charged after Thomas.

James stood in front of the front door, bewildered, till Matthew passed him and flung the door open for them to enter.

Christopher followed with no protest. "What?" Matthew asked when James shot him a dark look. "They left the door open, thus I regard it as an invitation to permit ourselves inside."

With that philosophy in mind, they passed the corridor into the parlor. Accompany to the horrible sound of vomiting - James guessed it was Thomas's part - they could catch a low, soothing murmur of calming words. Alastair.

"You were wrong," Christopher said as he turned to Matthew. His voice was not self-righteous whatsoever, just matter-of-factly and troubled. "He is feeling ill."

Matthew seemed abashed, just slightly. "I wouldn't have been aghast if told he wanted to spend time with his lover."

They settled themselves nervously on the Aegean-blue sofa. As a few minutes passed - slow, confused, and worried - the sound of retching had finally petered out. They heard the noise of the water goes down the toilet.

"You think we should check whether they are fine?" Christopher asked.

"He honked up all he ate for breakfast. He must need to collect himself, and we should let him - unless you think he can somehow drown himself in the seek of the toilet." Matthew pondered over the last part amusingly.

Christopher seemed satisfied with the answer, and he cut his gaze back to the corridor through Thomas and Alastair had disappeared.

When he finally came back into the parlor, he limply made his way to the sofa, bearly holding himself straight. He hung his head low, sweat pooled on his neck and forehead and glimmered on his cheeks. His face reminded James of a red balloon, shiny and oddly red.

"Are you all right?" James inquired when he finally sat. Thomas made no sudden movements as he decisively faced them. It was clear as day Thomas, by all means, was not all right.

"Yes," he said. Matthew, James, and Christopher exchanged concerned looks between them. Alastair had not returned yet. "I must have eaten something spoiled."

"Are you sure?" Matthew pressed. "You still look dreadful."

"Surely I couldn't guess it," Thomas quipped.

"We can entertain you, though," Matthew pondered, giving him a smirk. "You stay in bed, and we will keep you a worthy company."

Thomas moved in his place, uncomfortable. Christopher, on the other way, smiled at Thomas. "Mam and Aunt Charlotte said I could use the lab tomorrow morning if there will be someone with me. The enclave has an important meeting early that day, and even Henry attends."

Thomas seemed grateful for the change of topic. Mattew said, "We might go and eavesdrop in case something interesting will come up."

"I will be there first thing tomorrow," Thomas avowed, although none of them asked him to. Thomas succumbs to a brutal coughing fit, and It was at that moment Alastair approached from the corridor.

"You need to rest," Alastair chided.

Thomas commnented hastily. "You are over-worried. I am fine."

"You're behaving frivolously," he proclaimed. "You ought to relax and rest, not to run around with your friend as if you are not sick."

"I'm just tired."

Alastair gave him an incredulous stare. "Really, you," he scolded wearily. "Utter madness, what that mouth of you blurts out." The dark-haired man turned over to the kitchen. Then he turned again. Alastair's dark gaze moved to the rest of the Merry Thieves. "You could at least bring a soup or medicine," he countered.

Matthew lifted his arms mockingly as if to surrender. "I am sorry, O great lord, that I didn't know how sick Thomas was. From your message, he could also have a slight headache."

Alastair scoffed and went into the kitchen. Mattew shot a look at Christopher and James, who nodded. he returned his eyes on Thomas.

"Hark, I, for once, agree with Carstairs. An advent I thought I would ever do. But I do think you should stay in bed."

"Shan't." Thomas regarded the idea of being treated by others with disdain. he rubbed his eyes, mumbling under his breath. "I am fine," he insisted. "I can hang out with you."

Alastair came back into the room, placing himself next to the sofa Thomas was resting on. He put down a large bowl. Haze of steams rose from the Broth. "Eat this. Then you go to bed."

Thomas's glare snitched up at him. He rubbed his eyes wearily. "I am fine," he repeated. "I am already feeling better."

The look Alastair gave him made it clear he wasn't buying it. "Bed." Alastair crossed his hands on the chance and his gaze determined. "I am not supposed to teach you how to take care of yourself. So eat the soup and go to bed.

Thomas's grumpy mood seemed to worsen. He would've thrown hands if he hadn't felt so indisposed. "I can take care of myself."

"So don't be so stubborn and do as I say."

"It doesn't sound like taking care of oneself," Thomas grumbled. He coughed again into his forearm."And you're not my mother."

"A very fine observation. No, I'm your partner," he gave Thomas a meaningful look. "So either you eat the soup or expect to get it shoved down your throat."

"That you very better not do."

Christopher looked at Thomas with concern. "You do not look good, Tom. You should rest."

Thomas sighed inconspicuously. It was tenuous confidence he held against them. "You too, kit?"

"As he should," Alastair sneered. He was losing patience. "Stop playing around, and drink your bloody soup."

Thomas grunted, his back straightening. He seemed dizzy and ready to tell Alastair off once again, before he gaped loudly. He must have felt queasy for he scrambled to his feet, fighting his nausea to make it to the bathroom. He almost knocked into a wall.

James glanced at Alastair, who had been mumbling grumpily under his breath, for a moment just watching his swaying partner with distaste. His dark hair flew as he followed him, for the second time since James and the other Marry Thieves arrived, to the bathroom. They followed their ailing friend and the scaling man dashing after him, then looked at each other.

Christopher looked baffled, "Why would Tom resist so much to rest in bed?"

Matthew shrugged, furrowing his brows. "I can't fathom a reason for him to be that way," He cringed as the sounds of retching reverberated from the other room."He's supposed to be the reasonable one between us lot."

"Poor Tom," James said. "Maybe because he is so terribly ill he can't get hold of reality."

In the meantime, James investigated the furnishing of the drawing-room, which was unadorned. He drifted over to a colossal bookcase at the corner of the room, full of books in English, Persian, and Spanish (and some other languages he could not tell). He traced the spines of the books and glanced at his friends. Matthew was animatedly talking with Christopher, who tried to listen, even though it was clear to James that it was only half-hearted. He mused over browsing briefly at a shabby, worn copy of Hamlet when the noises from the other room finally stopped.

After a few minutes with no noises at all coming from the corridor, James stood up. "I will check on them," he told his friend, "Maybe Thomas passed out, or he is in distress."

Matthew and Christopher were up on their feet in the bare minimum of time. "We shall come as well."

"We won't fit there, all of us," James mentioned. Thomas would've felt better if they all would come and help take care of him, he was sure, but facts were facts. "Just let me see if he needs anything from us."

The other thrives reluctantly sat back on the sofa. In quiet, stealthy steps, he headed into the candle-lit corridor. He moved past some doors - their bedrooms, he assumed, or a library, perhaps. He stopped when he reached an open door, meaning to knock first to announce his presence, but it flew his mind when he poked his hand into the bathroom. He absentmindedly noted the porcelain clawfoot tub, the decorated primrose tiles, and the wallpaper - intricate floral trace and lines in moderate colors, which he pondered over who of the two men chose. There was also a high-level cistern toilet, Thomas leaning on its ream seat. A washbasin stood nearby, and Alastair was taking a flannel and dipping it in water before he handed it to Thomas. The unpleasant smell of vomit still stung the air.

Thomas's laid with his half-lidded eyes cracked a bit more open, still regaining his breath, and took the flannel. He managed to wash his face as Alastair took care to clean any mess created. Then he knelt in front of Thomas. Thomas pulled Alastair close weakly, buried his face in Alastair's chest. James could hear he was breathing deep and long, trying to control his upset stomach. He moved very little, very carefully, trying to shield his eyes from the light that shone in the room.

"Tom," Alastair said, surprisingly gently, unlike before. Suddenly James felt he was invading their privacy. "Hold on and cease for once in your life. You need to rest."

Thomas did not move nor talked, and James had the idea he fought back another gagging.

"Hamsar-am," Alastair tried again after Thomas seemed to curb the urge to regurgitate. "Why won't you rest?"

His friend talked tentatively and out of breath, his voice dry and hoarse and quivering. "I don't want everyone to chip around me like I'm some sickly fledgling. If my parents knew, they might even make a silent brother come. Being like this - reminds me of times I was sickly and small and weak. But I am a shadow hunter. I am an adult. I am sick of people thinking I'm incapable of taking care of myself."

James studied Alastair's face. To his grand surprise, he saw his face softens. Tenderly, he pressed their forehead together. "I am more than confidant you can take care of yourself, Thomas. I just try to assist and make you more comfortable, but we go nowhere if you fight me on every single decision. Drinking soup and resting in bed is something all people do. It helps you to get better."

Thomas's eyes were unfocused. "Sorry."

James wasn't certain to what of it all Thomas was sorry for, but Alastair seemed to accept it. He sighed breathly, backing away from Thomas. "It's fine. Just let yourself rest, shall you? I still have a desire to -" he cut off when his eyes captured James, who leaned on the doorframe. "James."

James bolted straight and made sure his countenance revealed nothing as if he did not hear the conversation between the couple. "We will take out leave, see as you go and rest, Tom. We will come to check on you tomorrow."

Someone came behind him, and he found Christopher and Matthew looking into the bathroom. "We will tell Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gideon you are sick," Matthew intervened. "They can bring you some food and take care of you. Lucie will be glad to tell of the last mischiefs of The Beautiful Cordelia. Speaking of which, Lucie will tell her parents, and they will rush to make Brother Zachariah come to visit them-"

"We can also keep quiet," James offered. Thomas's words echoed in his head. He looked at Alastair. "I suppose Alastair can be enough of caretaker. But do tell us if you need anything. Alright, Tom?"

Alastair gave him an odd look, almost appreciation - but not precisely - on Thomas's behalf. The latter had only nodded his thanks and seemed relieved by James's offer.

"Recover quickly," Christopher said, his spectacles reflecting the light. Behind of them was a pair of caring eyes."There is just so much we Thieves can do without our heart."

~~~~

The Merry Thieves bid their goodbye and Alastair went to accompany them out, while Thomas made his way to their bedroom.

They had two bedrooms, one for each of them, despite they spent the nights together. He chose to go to Alastair's room, where his smell was strong and comforting. His steps were fatigue, his mind racing and hammering. The sunlight felt like a blow to his face, making his stomach perilously twist and turn. He wasn't sure he had left any contents to honk up. He was iffy and aching, couldn't find the power to shut the curtains close. Alastair's bed - wide enough for the both of them - was too compelling to resist. He grunted loudly, resting his head on the soft pillows. He felt cold. So cold.

What fought the place of the ill-feeling that settled in every bone of his body was his great dismay from being ill in the first place. Every time he got cold, his parents would worry themselves out as if he still was the sickly child from his childhood days. His friends will all dot on him, Alastair would lay him out for days, everyone will tell him he must rest to heal. And he despised it. He despised it with all his might. Like a rope tightening around his neck, like an invisible cage surrounding him. A cage made of love and care was still a cage, in his mind. Thomas did not like to be incarcerated. This creeping feeling of losing your independence frightened him, reminded him of times he was bedridden, out of necessity for his frequent ill-health.

Thomas didn't notice his eyes were shut until he tilted his head toward a noise - Alastair coming into the room. Thomas heard the door creak quietly, heralding Alastair's presence, and again as he closed it quietly. He felt rather than saw the quilt placed over him, hugging his body, giving a little warmth to the cool world he was in. Not warm enough, however.

"You're lucky you're my favorite," The well-known voice of Alastair mumbled.

They've butted heads around this the whole morning. Thomas refused to stick to bid despite Alastair's stubborn protests. Now, he felt his body turn to halves and his head throbbed as if the Angels gathered and made a party there. He hated Alastair to see him this weak, yet he hated it more to see the pain in his eyes because of his refusals. Thomas stirred in his place, every movement of his head making a new wave of headache hit him. "Stay." He reached his hand and tugged weakly at the fabric of the sleeveshirt of, not truly commending as asking.

"I will. Wait a moment." Thomas's grip went loose and with that, the half-Persian man disappeared again. He shifted, despite his throbbing head, so he could leave some place for Alastair to lay next to him. He moved slowly and painfully, fighting on every inch he could force himself to move. He hearkened Alastair marching back into their bedroom.

He tried to leave some space for Alastair. "Don't move," Alastair's tender voice cut through the void. "It'll be okay." Then a wet cloth softly landing against his forehead.

Cold.

He shivered. He tried to whisper "cold" but he felt no energy left in his body to protest. His eyes were heavy, his tongue even more so. "This is chiefly for your own good," Alastair comforted apologetically. "You are burning." He climbed to bed from the other side of the bed, slipping under the beddings and placing himself close to Thomas. It slipped from Thomas's mind beds had two sides.

Thomas's jumble of thoughts wandered freely anywhere and nowhere - he couldn't put enough effort into imagining, it just made the constant thumping in his head worse. A warm hand was tentatively wrapped around his chest. Alastair put effort into hugging him lightly as possible, offering the warmth Thomas was seeking. He tucked himself a bit closer to Thomas, pressed a soft kiss to his head, then sunk into the bed. The heat Alastair radiated was drugging, and the arm which rested on his chest felt more comforting than any other thing the world could offer. He tried to breathe but the feeling of bile rising in his throat made him stop.

Alastair must have noticed because he backed away from him. "I put a bucket down your side, in case you have any food to get rid of," he acknowledged. His presence was calming and needed. Thomas wanted to apologize for being so stubborn, to tell him he appreciated him and what he did for him. When he tried, he could not force himself to speak up, his vocal cords exhausted, and he wanted nothing but to let his mind slip into nothingness. He could not. Thomas felt drowsy, the strings of sleep dragging him into a feverish slumber.

Alastair removed his arm and his weight abruptly shifted, and the cloth had been taken away from Thomas's forehead. He startled, fighting to open his eyes, and then it was back, cold and piercing, and Alastair returned his hand to hug him. He felt a soft graze against his cheek - Alastair's lips - that ignited fire where it touched, just like his arm, making it a little less freezing. They kept resting in an awful silence for a few more minutes. Thomas had no problem with silence - he even liked it. Yet, knowing Alastair was watching him, concerned, putting everything aside to take care of him, was unbearable for him. He was supposed to see his mother and sibling today. He was excited to see them. Thomas desperately wanted the stillness to evanesce.

"Would you like me to read to you?"

Thomas couldn't quite realize how Alastair knew, but he hummed lowly in agreement. The weight beside him lifted, missed instantly before it came back with a small thump.

Alastair began to read. He desired to look at this chiseled face. When he tried to open his eyes, he found he couldn't. A blazing headache stroke him the moment he cracked them the tiniest bit. "Sorry for ruining today," Thomas sputtered. He didn't think he could force any other words to come up his throat.

"I'm here with you, my day can't be ruined. Even if you have a fever and acts like a stubborn fool." Alastair continued to read, Thomas felt himself being carried away to Lady Sleep, a cruel mistress, sometimes, and also a gentle one, if you approach her the right way. He felt himself falling into her arms, the voice of Alastair guiding him to a safe place in the realm of dreams.

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 3 years

Text

Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Genre: AU

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: There’s a new Spider person in town and it’s not Parker.

A/N: This is a continuation of the Parker story that I posted last year. I’m sorry to everyone who reads and likes my ff, I’m very slow when it comes to writing. I’ve been feeling down for a while and now I’ve decided to try and work on stories that I was already in the process of writing. So hopeful I’ll do better in time. Also I don’t live in NY so streets and stuff might not always be correct. Also I can’t spell half the time and spell check doesn’t always catch things and sometimes I miss words for a sentence to make sense, I never reread my writing I just didn’t in school and so I don’t really do it now, SORRY!!

You’ve reached the phone number of (Y/n) (L/n) please leave a message at the tone of the beep...

Peter groaned as he tried to reach you for the third time wondering when you will be home since you had to work on a chemistry project with him. Even though you weren’t the best in the science area you said you didn’t want Peter to do all the work on his own. You told him to come to your house around 4, but it was now 6:30 and he didn’t know when you would be home. Your aunt allowed him to stay in your room until you came back, he thought it was a little weird she didn’t really seem that worried about where you were.

As Peter looked around your room, he realized that he didn’t know that much about you. All he knows is that you transferred from a different state to New York to live with some distant relative in 8th grade. The both of you would have small encounters with just a small smile here or a quiet ‘hi’ there if you were sitting next to each other.

Then out of the blue one day during sophomore year, you just sat down at the same table as him during study hall.

---

Peter was working on his calculus homework having not finished the night before, having to focus on his chemistry homework and then having a tiny project for World History, which he had to do all by himself because no one else chose to help him out. He didn’t stress himself too much about the homework, his brain worked fast enough to understand the problems plus his class was after lunch and if he didn’t finish now he’ll just finish then. He was brought out of his thoughts of fast working math problems and numbers, when a loud thud sounded through the library and even louder when it was placed in front of him at his table. He heard the librarian shush the person from her desk.

“Sorry” the person responsible replied back loud enough for only Peter to hear.

Peter looked up to come face to face with the culprit. They looked disheveled, their hair a bit of a mess, their shirt had a couple of stains in different colors on the front. They just had a simple jean jacket covering them from the slight autumn breeze of Queens, New York. You seemed to have noticed Peter’s gaze on your face having turned towards him with a bashful expression on your face.

“Sorry, sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” you said quietly.

“No problem” Peter said with a light smile on his lips.

“I’m (Y/n)” you outstretched your hand for a shake.

“Peter” he said, grabbing your outstretched hand.

---

7:13pm

‘There seems to be no more crime happening at the moment’

“Okay, well I guess it’s time for me to head home then. At least I have far less bruises than normal so it’s not gonna be a big deal when I get home, I don’t want to have to sit through another lecture.” you rolled your eyes behind the mask on your face covering your features.

‘You seem to have missed a phone call, you have one voicemail from a Peter Parker’

“Hey (Y/n)...um I’m at your house right now waiting for you so we can work on our project. I’ve been here for about two hours now and it's getting late so I’m probably gonna end up leaving since my aunt is probably waiting for me to get home. I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow at school. Okay, bye (Y/n).”

“Crap! I forgot about the project, Peter’s probably upset with me.” you sighed and decided to call Peter.

Nothing. You called again. Nothing. Again and again. Nothing. You tried five times and he never answered, a part of you thinks he’s probably just ignoring you for standing him up. The other part worries that he could be in trouble right now. It is Queens.

“Hey Karen can you do another sweep of the city? Any type of crimes or assaults happening at the moment?” worry lacing your voice hoping nothing is or happened to Peter, sweet Peter.

‘There is no crime at the moment (Y/n)’

“Can you search for Peter Parker? Can you give me his current location?” you ask with a slight shake to your questions.

‘Peter Parker is currently on the streets of 7th and Jefferson ave’

He’s not that far away from me you thought to yourself with a sigh.

You were only a few buildings away from Peter so you lept from rooftop to rooftop, sitting nicely on top of an apartment building's roof looking down onto the passerbyers, everyone in their own world and minding their business. As you were watching everyone walk by you kept your eyes open for Peter, even though he did look like every normal teenage boy with brown curly hair from atop, he did have little charms on his backpack; for one being a Ironman POP! Figure keychain for the opening of the big pocket.

---

You were walking down the halls of Midtown trying to find your locker on the first day of sophomore year. It was kinda difficult with everyone walking to and fro not minding you any time or stepping out of the way just a little.

‘Rude’

Just as you found your locker someone ran into you causing you to drop the notebooks and textbooks out of your arms, dropping to the floor with a loud thud. You just scuffed yourself and chose to open your locker first so you don’t have to deal with the weight in your arms. After trying your combination for a third time and nothing happening, you just leaned your head against the metal doors and just sighed out through your nose to try and keep yourself calm and not cause tears or your fist to hit the metal.

“Um...sorry to bother you, but do you need help?” Someone beside you asked timidly and quietly.

You looked up from the floor being face to face with someone who was kneeling beside you on the ground stacking some of your textbooks onto each other. He was a boy around your age with a delicate sprinkle of freckles dotting his face. He had glasses on the bridge of his nose and eyes that looked to be brown colored, but it wasn’t his eye color it was the way his eyes looked at you that drew you in a bit. He looked a bit like a deer in headlights mixed with puppy dog eyes that were just looking into yours with some concern and maybe embarrassment coming in since you were taking a long time to answer him and was just staring at a stranger.

You blinked out of your stupor and smiled at him and asked if he could try and place your locker combination for you. Because if you tried one more time and it didn’t work you might actually punch it. The boy smiled at you and was able to open your locker for you and helped hold half the textbooks.

“Thank you for helping me, since everyone else chooses to be rude.” You grumbled out the last bit.

The boy just smiled at you and said it was no problem and then he walked away probably to meet up with his friend.

---

7:35pm

You still haven’t seen Peter walking anywhere and you were just about to give up and head home when Karen alerted you to a crime in progress.

‘There is a mugging in progress two blocks from here in an alley behind a deli’

You rushed over to the position that Karen sent you and hoped that it wasn’t Peter. Well, it was Peter sadly who was on the ground and shaking with his backpack ripped open and the contents spilling out. The thug was pointing a knife at Peter and yelling at him for money.

Deciding that now was the time to intervene you shot a web to the thugs knife and yanked it out of his grasp.

“You know you shouldn’t be pointing sharp objects at people, what would your grandma have to say?”

Honestly you had to roll your eyes a bit, really (y/n)? His grandma?

You jumped down from the balcony of an apartment and landed in front of Peter blocking him from view. You rose to your full height and placed your hands on your hips, cocking to the right a bit. You turned your head to look at Peter making sure he was okay and safe for the moment, he wasn’t shaking anymore which was good, but he now was just staring wide eyed at you.

“Are you okay?” You asked him

He just nodded his head then looked to your left and pointed a finger, presumably at the thug. When your spider senses went off you just lifted both hands and grasped the thug's arm and flipped him over onto his back making him gasp for air. You then webbed him up to the balcony and had Karen call the cops.

When you were done you walked back over to Peter and knelt down to help grab his stuff off the ground and place them back into his backpack. You then held out your hand to help lift Peter off the ground. When Peter placed his hand in your grasp you might have pulled a little more than you meant causing Peter to collide with your chest and moving your arm to his waist making sure he was stable.

You both stood still in the position for a few seconds before breaking apart chuckling awkwardly. Peter rubbed his neck and you just held your hands behind your back. The silence was starting to become suffocating, so you were about to ask Peter if he wanted a ride home, but he broke the silence first.

“Thank you for what you did earlier.” Peter said quietly

“Eh, it’s no problem.” You shrugged off

You both still stood there not knowing what else to say at the moment. So Peter just took that as a cue to leave since he started to walk out the alley. That prompted you to remember what you were thinking earlier.

“Hey!” You called out to Peter

He stopped in his spot and turned around facing you.

“Would you like a ride? Or even a walking companion?”

Peter just smiled at you showing that the requests weren’t weird to him so you started to walk towards him.

“I could use a walking companion. I would take the ride suggestion, but I’m pretty sure you mean swinging on webs about 15ft or more in the sky away from the ground and I already have a bad fear of heights.” Peter rambled out

You just chuckled to yourself and walked next to him prompting the both of you to walk in silence for a while.

“So what were you doing walking by yourself? It’s never a good idea to be by yourself, especially if you don’t have some type of weapon.” You questioned

Peter didn’t answer right away so you turned to look at him and he was looking at the ground with a slight pout to his mouth. You already know he’s gonna say it was because you never showed up at your own house.

“Well I was supposed to work on a school project with a classmate at her house, but she never showed up for some reason and I was there for about three hours and I told my aunt and uncle I would be home around 8 so I just decided to leave hoping to make it home before it was really dark out. Then I was cleaning my glasses and they dropped, so I had to pull a Velma from Scooby-Doo and look for my glasses. I think the thug was hiding behind the trash or something.” Peter spoke while still looking towards the ground.

You could tell that you not showing up really hurt him, he probably thought you were just using him for a good grade and lied or something.

“Looks like I’ll be doing the project by myself like usual. I just thought that I made a friend, especially for that class since my friend Ned doesn’t share it with me.”

“Well I’m sure she didn’t bail on purpose. Maybe something she accidentally forgot.” You tried to save yourself from looking bad in Peter’s eyes.

Peter just shrugged his shoulders and the conversation ended since apparently you ended up outside of Peter’s apartment. You both turned to each, having yet another awkward silence between the both of you. You took the silence to look at Peter’s features which looked softened in the moonlight, but also harsh with the fluorescent lighting of street lamps. As you were getting lost in Peter’s details Karen rang in your ears telling you that your aunt wants you home in the next 20 minutes or you’re grounded.

“Um well Peter I got to leave, but I hope you have a good evening.” and then you salute in a flirty way at least you hope it came off like that.

As you swung off into the night, heading home to finally relax; Peter was eating dinner with his family and as he was slowly chewing his chow mein he realized what was bugging him for the past 15 minutes, he never gave you his name. He was both curious and a bit worried, worried that you might have been following for a while before tonight and curious because if you weren’t a stalker which he decided to rule out since you have to protect Queens; that means you probably know him from somewhere else. And Peter was going to find out where.

#Marvel #Marvel imagine #MCU #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spider-man #spider-woman #spider-man au #marvel fanfiction

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twokinkybeans · 4 years

Text

MAKE IT LAST - STARKER MOB BOSS/COFFEE SHOP AU

HERE IT FINALLY IS! So, a few months back we did a prompt line fic thing. This means this one shot is wayyyy late, but it also got wayyyyyyyyyyyy out of hand and is now nearly 11k words long omg.

The prompt line @jeranasblog gave me was: "He had spilled his coffee on the suit of the most dangerous man in New York City." I hope you enjoy! <3 -Lien

Warnings: Adult!Peter Parker, Mob boss!Tony, Barista!Peter, No powers!AU, Peter is a little dense but we still love him, angst, fluff and smut, near the end there are some gruesome threats, abduction, guns, May is mentioned, Obadiah Stane is the bad guy, Bucky and Steve are there, Coffee Shop boss is an OC and has a gambling addiction. Smut tags: NFF, teasing, sexting, masturbation, orgasm delay/denial, hand job with much lube lol, hand & finger kink, praise kink, daddy kink, possessive kink, dry humping, finger sucking, anal fingering

Read “Make It Last” on AO3! Taglist: @the-secret-avenger @ironspiidey

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

“Two minutes, Peter- hurry up!” Mister McDougall’s high pitched command reverbs through the coffee shop. In two minutes, it’ll be two PM on the Tuesday afternoon. Peter’s been working here for three years now. Just yet, he tried to quit, but that wasn’t taken kindly. He can still feel the eerie presence of the tip of a knife on his cheekbone. How Peter got himself stuck in this job is a long story. A very long one. You see, the owner of the coffee shop, Mister McDougall, made a deal with New York’s biggest mafia boss to be able to keep the shop and… He wasn’t able to pay back on time. Lucky for Mister McDougall, Peter was working when the Big Boss came to collect. At two PM. On a Tuesday afternoon. A few months ago...

The bell of the front door rang and Peter walked in from the back, smiling kindly. He greeted the rich looking man. “Good afternoon, Sir,” he said in his regular chipper voice. The man cocked an eyebrow over his sunglasses and pursed his lips. His neatly trimmed beard moved along with his expression and he sniffed once. “One black coffee to go,” the man demanded. Peter’s mood didn’t falter. He was used to stern customers, New York generally wasn’t a kind city. Peter smiled and nodded, immediately getting to work. It wasn’t a difficult one to make, after all. He’d ring this guy up in less than a minute. “You know what,” the man suddenly said. “Make that a caramel Frappuccino. Extra whipped cream. Drink here. Make it last.” Make it last? Peter wondered what the man meant with that. It was only then that Peter realized that the man was studying his every movement a little more closely than a regular customer would. It didn’t necessarily make Peter uncomfortable, though. The man was at least twice his age, but it was undeniable that he was the hottest man Peter had ever laid eyes on. Even though his eyes were covered by an expensive pair of sunglasses. Peter quickly moved to pour the milk, but the man’s deep voice filled the empty space again. “Make. It. Last.” Peter blinks, dumbfounded. “You… You want me to work slower?” The man then raised his hand to pull down his glasses slightly, so he could look Peter in the eye properly. Infinite whisky browns stared straight into Peter’s soul. “Yes.” “A-alright,” Peter stuttered and went back to work, tearing his gaze away from the man. If Mister McDougall were here, he’d kill him for working at this pace. But ah well, the customer is always right. The customer is king. And the man he was making the coffee for sure looked like he was in charge. Maybe he would leave a nice tip. “Where’s your boss?” There was a hint of annoyance hidden in the man’s voice. “Mister McDougall?” Peter replied as he turned to grab the caramel. “He’s at a convention on the other side of the country. Was pretty vague about it, to be honest. Something to do with beans.” “Beans,” the man scoffed. “Sure.” He rolled his shoulders and walked to the other side of the counter where Peter would ring him up. His eyes never left the young man. “And he left you in charge of the store on the day he knew I’d show up?” Peter glanced up from his work questioningly, but then shrugged. “Apparently.” “Do you know about our deal?” “Oh!” Peter exclaimed softly as he placed the large cup on the counter. “He mentioned he was working on a business proposal with someone, but I didn’t pry, cause this isn’t my store. I’m sorry, Sir, did he have an appointment with you?” The man gritted his teeth and pushed out his reply. “Yes.” “I could call him now? If you want?” A slight smirk crept up on the man’s face. “Please do.” Peter didn’t hesitate to grab his phone from his back pocket. There usually weren’t any other customers at this hour of the day anyways. He looked up the number of his boss and hit call. “Hey Pete-“ “Hi, Mister McDougall, there’s someone here to see you, but you must’ve forgotten your appointment.” The other end of the line stayed quiet and Peter pulled a face at the customer. “Sir?” More silence. “Do you want me to reschedule it for you?” “Peter,” the customer interrupted them. It didn’t matter how long Peter wore that name tag, he never got used to strangers saying it out of the blue. “Hand me the phone and go to the back. Mister McDougall and I can discuss our arrangement here and now, but I do require some privacy.” Peter blinked once. Twice. And then he slowly moved to give his phone to the man in the suit. “Don’t let your coffee go cold,” Peter said with a curt nod before rushing off to the back. He shuffled to the dishwasher and turned it on to give them some more privacy, the loud rumble of the water inside the machine drowning out any other sound in the back. Not even five minutes later, the man walked into the back with Peter’s phone in hand, a dark smirk plastered on his face. “Your phone,” he said politely, placing the piece of technology in Peter’s palm. Peter smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sir.” He walked passed the man back to the front. The man followed. “No, Peter, thank you,” he chuckled. He grabbed his coffee from the counter and sat down at one of the tables. “Did the arrangement work out okay?” Peter asked innocently. If this man was working together with his boss, it was probably smart to stay kind. Though, that wasn’t all that hard, somehow. There was something about him that lured Peter in- made him feel warm and at home. The man grinned even wider while placing his sunglasses on the table. “Perfect.” His smile turned sour after he took a large sip from his coffee. “Is- is something wrong?” “Eh, no. I’m not one for overly sweet coffees.” Peter swallowed a sassy reply. If he didn’t like Frappuccinos, why would he order one? “Would you like me to make you another one?” “Still got that black coffee there?” “Yes, Sir.” “Very good.” The man left, just as hoped, a big tip and walked out the door with a promise. “See you next week.” Somehow, that made Peter’s stomach tingle. He did want to see the man again. There was something mysterious about him. Alluring. Their conversations were interesting and surprisingly eloquent. The man was very smart and Peter found himself loosening up more as the chat went on. The man let him. It was nice. That night, when Peter wanted to message a friend, he wondered when he added “TS” in his contact list. He didn’t recognize the number, but he couldn’t be bothered to look it up either. From then on, every Tuesday at two PM on the dot, the man walked in. Mister McDougall was always nervous about his arrival and usually fled to the back, leaving Peter to take care of the customer. But more often than not, he’d leave Peter in charge of the store entirely, leaving for appointments or errands whenever the man was bound to come in. Peter learned the man’s name is Tony and their conversations were always pleasant. Interesting. They talked about Peter’s life, mostly. Tony always managed to make everything about the college student, earning his cash as a barista. Peter didn’t mind, but he couldn’t help that he was curious. Tony offhandedly said he worked in real estate, when Peter asked. That and ‘some other things.’ He learned Tony was a tinkerer and a scientist in his free time. That he enjoys fixing up old cars, modern art and what he called ‘a good fuck.’ The comment had Peter blush a bright red. A blush Tony would always compliment whenever it crept up to his ears. Something about Tony drew Peter in. Maybe it was their casual conversation. Maybe it was his compliments. Maybe even his smile? Though, Peter’s smile always faltered as soon as other customers came in, since Tony would usually leave the store when they did. One day, the customers appeared to be his employees. And they all stayed. Two men, both tall and wide. One was blond, clean shaven and the other had slightly longer brown hair and a trimmed beard. “So, this is your Tuesday retreat, boss?” the blond quipped before ordering an americano. “Shouldn’t you be working?” Tony sassily replied, leaning back in his chair. “Coffee break,” the brown haired man said simply. Tony scoffed and waved it off. The three men were awfully picky about what they said and how they said it, Peter could tell, but that might just be private business stuff, so he didn’t pry. After they finished their drinks and walked out the door, Peter blushed again when the brown-haired man spoke. “That sure was a good coffee. I’d come here every Tuesday too, if I knew I’d be served by such a good lookin’ young man.” The compliment was paired with a wink. The door closed and Peter laughed softly to himself when Tony gave the brown-haired man a gentle slap at the back of his head to scold him. … One Tuesday, Peter called in sick. He lived to regret that. Mister McDougall was furious, but Peter couldn’t help that he was down with the flu and he didn’t want to make other customers sick. Especially not the man he’d grown to like so much. He got a text, later. TS: Are you okay? Peter: Who is this? TS: Tony. TS: Black coffee Tony. Peter: Oh! Peter: Sorry, I wasn’t at the shop today. Caught the flu, I think. Hope not worse. Glued to bed rn. TS: Got it bad? Peter: Can barely stand, tbh. Coughing a lot and it sounds weird. Don’t wanna make anyone sick. TS: That’s sweet. Peter: Just lookin out for the little guy. TS: I’m not little. Peter: Didn’t meant it like that, omgg, im sorry! TS: I’m messing with you. Peter: Ohh 🙈 It was quiet for a little bit, and Peter nearly fell asleep again if it weren’t for his screen lighting up. TS: Can I get you anything? Peter: I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll be fine. I mean it. TS: Peter. Tony wasn’t even in the same room as Peter, yet he knew exactly how Tony would’ve said his name if he were. Peter: I’m a college student. Meds are out of the picture. Don’t have much cash. TS: I do. And after not even half an hour, there was a doctor on Peter’s doorstep to check on him. Pneumonia in its early stages. A few days of antibiotics and he should be good as new. He wasn’t sure how Tony knew his address, but figured he got it from Mister McDougall. True to the doctor’s words, Peter was up and running again in a few days and on Tuesday, two PM on the dot, Tony walked into the shop with a wide grin and spread arms. “Good afternoon to my favorite barista,” he quipped. Peter grinned and cocked his head. “Good afternoon to my favorite customer.” “Oh,” Tony gasped, placing his palm on his chest. “You flatter me.” “Do I? With the tips you leave, everyone must like to see you.” “Most rather see me go, trust me.” Tony loudly cleared his throat and evaded Peter’s gaze to collect himself, before he casually leaned over the counter. “Black.” His coffee order is followed by his usual command. “Make it last.” “All I do is press a button, Sir, it’s pretty hard to make a black coffee last.” Peter laughed quietly as he started rubbing a cloth over the counter to clean it while the coffee set. “Then make yourself what you like.” Peter stared at Tony for a second before turning to grab another, taller cup. “Would you laugh if I said it’s a caramel Frappuccino.” He licked his lips. “With extra whipped cream?” “No,” Tony replied immediately. His voice was lower. Darker. Hotter. “It fits you.” “Does it?” Peter chuckled as he handed Tony the black coffee. “Overly sweet,” Tony said with a nod, toasting and raising the cup to his lips. He glanced at Peter and then repeated himself. “It fits you.” Peter slowly moved around the bar, preparing his own Frappuccino. “Thought you didn’t like caramel Frappuccinos?” “I like you.” Peter didn’t halt his movements as he worked himself around the coffee machines, though, his body went at a whole different speed than his brain. Did Tony actually just say that? “I think I like you too.” The reply had left Peter’s lips before he could even process the thought. “You think?” This time, Peter stopped. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” It was barely a whisper. His hand was stuck on the lever and he bit his lip. “Wha- dating?” Peter opted to ignore the implication of what Tony just said and instead, replied honestly. “Flirting.” “Oh, pretty boy, you’ve got a lot to learn. And experience.” Goosebumps spread over Peter’s body at Tony’s words and he closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was because he felt embarrassed or… Something else. This was the first time Tony called him anything like this and it felt like they both stepped over some sort of threshold they had both been ghosting by for a while now. Tony brought him back to the present with his trademarked sniff. “I have no need to rush things. If you’re interested, we’ll take it slow.” Peter finally turned his head to look at Tony with big eyes. Tony just smirked and quipped with a wink. “We’ll make it last.” … Peter: You up? It was two AM. Two Tuesdays later. Tony had become a lot more flirty and a lot more forthcoming with his sweet words and suggestive praise after they addressed their interest in each other. Most of it was via text, but whenever he was at the store, Peter could see Tony’s dilated pupils, could feel the man’s hot breath as Peter explained how one of the machines worked with Tony right behind him. He admired Tony for holding back too. He knew Peter wanted to take things slow, heck, he even suggested it. And he never snapped. Never broke. Never did anything out of line. Sure, his words were suggestive, but he never acted upon any primal needs. He was a gentleman. And it made Peter respect him even more. It also made him want Tony even more. Peter bathed himself in the compliments Tony peppered him with and Peter realized the man knew everything he said and did made Peter… Needy. Peter was fairly sure Tony was already asleep, but after all the sweet and… slightly filthy things the man had been saying to him that day, he couldn’t help himself, he had to jerk off. And he needed Tony to help him with that. TS: Been working. You’re up late. Don’t you have uni tomorrow? Peter sighed gratefully as he typed one handed, the other already creeping down to cup his half-hard shaft through his sweatpants. Peter: I do. TS: Hm. TS: Then why would you message me so late, huh? Peter wanted to scoff. Of course, Tony knew. The man just wanted Peter to say it. And… Peter kind of liked it. No matter how embarrassing. He typed and erased. And typed and erased. Typed and erased. He really wanted to send Tony what he wanted, but he felt like too much of a chicken to actually say it. He needed Tony’s sweet words. His… His filth. Peter: I’m,, eh… TS: Hm? Peter: Talk to me like you do in the shop? Please? TS: How I talk to you in the shop is a lot tamer than what I think you need right now. Peter hid his face in his pillow for a second, before taking a deep breath and finding the courage to reply. Peter: What do I need then? TS: You need me. Without a filter. But before I tell you anything… Where are you right now? What are you wearing? Talk to me, first. Peter: Alone. Bedroom. Bed. Sweat pants. T-shirt. TS: Turn off autocorrect, baby, how am I supposed to know you’re losing yourself if I see full words? Peter: happyy now? TS: Yes. One-handed, huh? Already touching yourself? Peter: mhm, thruogh fabric. TS: Alright, first things first, pretty thing, take off all your clothes. TS: Make it last. Peter complied immediately and he both loved and hated the slow movements he used to slide off his shirt. When his sweatpants were down on his knees, his screen lit up. TS: Are you making it last? Peter: yes TS: Good boy. Peter didn’t expect to moan so loud, but he did. The praise blasted through him and went straight to the cock that now rested against his abdomen. Stiff. Twitching. Leaking. Peter: say thatagain TS: Earn it. Peter: how TS: By being good for me, my sweet. Are you naked? Peter: almost TS: Let me know when you’re done. Peter was almost afraid that when he finally finished undressing after another minute, it was still too fast for Tony. He decided to make the jump, though. Peter: done TS: Lovely. Hard, baby boy? Peter let out a soft growl and was already struggling to type. Peter: ys, for you TS: Touch yourself for me. Go on, hump the hand you make my coffee with, Peter. It felt perfect – absolutely perfect – to wrap his fingers around his cock, now that he was doing it on demand. He couldn’t even hold back if he tried. His thrusts were relentless, straight away. Peter: Yyes yes TS: Oh, I wish I could see how pretty you look right now. How you roll your hips and fuck your fist. TS: Want to see the sweat drip from your temples, want to hear your soft gasps and moans. TS: Want to hear my name fall from your lips. Say my name, Peter. Say it. “Tony- O-oh-“ Peter gasped and he barely managed to keep his eyes open to watch the next few messages come in. TS: Don’t come. Not yet. TS: Slow down. Peter: nn tony please TS: Make. TS: It. TS: Last. Peter felt the tears stream down his cheeks. He felt so good. But he couldn’t come. Not with Tony right here with him telling him not to. Peter: yes sir TS: Good boy. Peter: feelsso good when u callme that TS: Mm. It does, doesn’t it? You know what makes me feel good? Peter: ?/ TS: When you call me Sir. A dreamy smile spread across Peter��s face as he lazily stroked his cock. His hips kept rolling, arching his back and lifting off the mattress with each thrust. His intellect had melted away. All he wanted was to feel good for Tony. TS: You know what else would make me feel really good? Peter: nno? Sir TS: If my good boy called me Daddy. Peter had to stop his hand or he would’ve cum right then and there. And he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He simply had to make it last. Instead, he moaned obscenely. Peter: ggod, nearlu came TS: Did you now? Peter: yes daddy Peter: held back TS: Oh, you’re so sweet for me. Wish I could taste that awful Frappuccino on your lips. Suckle on your tongue as I squeeze your cock, run my thumb over the head. TS: You have no idea how much I want to make you come for me. Peter: wanna cum for u Peter: faster?????????????/ TS: Speed up, baby. Show Daddy how desperate you are for him. Such a good boy for asking permission. The fact that Tony’s messages were still put together as opposed to Peter’s near button-mashes had another rush of arousal flow through Peter. Everything about what was happening was so hot. He’d never done anything like this before. He never even had sex in his life. And now the hottest man in New York was sexting him. God, he wished he could see Tony right now. Was he naked too? Was he stroking himself? Maybe he was fingering himself. Or fucking himself on a dildo so he still had two hands to type his coherent sentences with. Shit, that’d be so hot. Though, the image of Tony at his desk, working while casually messaging Peter all these things as if it’s just a regular chat about their day was even hotter. Tony, in his tailored suit, barely bothered by Peter’s desperation. Fuck. Peter: Yes yys ddaddy thanku TS: Mhm. It didn’t take long for Peter to get near the edge again. He was barely able to contain himself, phone shaking in his hand with every jerk of his other fist. Peter: close TS: Are you now? Peter: ya TS: Do you want to come? Peter: eys yes so badsoo bad TS: What do good boys say when they want to come? Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gasping and writhing on his sheets. His toes curled as he whined and begged while typing. “P-please-“ he muttered. “Please, please, please-“ Peter: pleease TS: Please, what? That’s it, Peter couldn’t type anymore. Didn’t want to type anymore. Instead, he hit the voice record button. “D-daddy, wanna cum, I wanna cum so bad, please, may I?” His lines were paired with moans and sobs. Desperation dripped from every word. Every thrust of his hips, every squeeze of his fingers, had him see stars. He had to come, he simply had to. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Lucky for Peter, it didn’t take long for Tony to reply with a voice message of his own. His deep, dark voice, coated with lust, like fresh honey, echoed through Peter’s simple bedroom. “Come, Peter. Come for Daddy.” … As time went on, Peter realized that Mister McDougall didn’t like to have Peter around anymore. Every chore he had to do, every command he had to follow, everything McDougall asked of him; he was never good enough. Peter felt like a nuisance. And he wanted out. He felt a weight fall off his shoulders when an on campus lab learned of Peter’s skills and offered him a job. So now, a few weeks after Peter and Tony started sexting, Peter told Mister McDougall he wanted to quit. “You can’t,” was the short reply. It had Peter nearly explode with frustration. “I can, though? I got a job offer in one of the labs on campus, I’m not letting this fly by!” Mister McDougall grabbed Peter’s shoulders and dragged him to the back by his shirt. He nearly flung the young man against the large dishwasher. “You’ll ruin me! You’ll get me killed!” “Don’t be so dramatic!” Peter yelled back. He was done working for Mister McDougall. So done. Peter swallowed his next words when a knife was suddenly pointed at his nose. He stared at it wide-eyed as he got ushered into a corner. “Tony owns this building, Peter, and the only reason I’m allowed to stay here is because you work here.” “Wha-“ “SHUT UP! You shut your mouth! I’d have fired you ages ago if it weren’t for him!” Tears pricked in the corners of Peter’s eyes. “If you leave, I’m going to pay your aunt a visit. And none of us will like what I’ll do to her.” What was happening? What was going on? Why did his boss threaten him like this? “S-sir?” “You’re not quitting, you hear me? You’re gonna get your ass back on the floor and you’re gonna do your job. As long as Tony doesn’t hate you, I can keep this business. You don’t want me to lose this business do you?” He waved the knife, pushing it towards Peter’s left eye and resting the tip right below it. The young man leaned back as far as the wall allowed him to. “Do you?!” Peter didn’t even dare to blink. “No, sir,” he lied. “Why are you so scared of him?” Mister McDougall laughed maniacally. “Why aren’t you?!” He yelled. “That’s Tony Stark! He owns sixty percent of New York!” The world stopped spinning. Tony - Peter’s Tony - is Tony Stark. The biggest, baddest Mafia Boss of New York. Known to be vile, relentless and cruel to anyone who dares to cross his path. And Peter… Peter had fallen in love with him. No. No, he didn’t. He fell in love with Tony. Not with Stark. But if they were one and the same, maybe the stories were wrong? Maybe- “You didn’t know?” Mister McDougall stepped back and let his arm down. Peter finally allowed himself to breathe, even if it was the worst intake of air he’d ever done. He held back his tears with everything he had. “No.” “Jesus Christ.” Mister McDougall threw his hands up, flailing the knife around. “You’re an idiot!” “But-“ A quiet beep came from McDougall’s wrist. He looked at his watch and turned. “Two minutes, Peter- hurry up!” Mister McDougall’s high pitched command reverbs through the coffee shop. In two minutes, it’ll be two PM on the Tuesday afternoon. Peter’s been working here for three years now. Just yet, he tried to quit, but that wasn’t taken kindly. He can still feel the eerie presence of the tip of a knife on his cheekbone. How Peter got himself stuck in this job is a long story. A very long one. “Get to work.” Peter swallowed and blinked away his tears as he walked into the front of the store. He took a deep breath and fumbled with some of the cups on the counter. Mister McDougall stayed in the back, as usual. Peter looked up, startled, when the bell rang. Tony walked in, blissfully unaware and leaned on the counter like he always did. Peter was bad at hiding his fear, he knew that, and it didn’t even take a second before Tony caught on. “Did you cry?” His question was blunt. Straight to the point. “I’m alright, I hit my head.” Peter had to pause to clear his throat in the middle of his sentence. His words were small. Unsure. Tony didn’t buy it. “Who hurt you?” A shiver ran up Peter’s spine. He couldn’t tell Tony about what Mister McDougall did to him. As much as he disliked the man, he didn’t want the deadliest man in the area to… To hurt him. Peter didn’t dare think of the k word. But more importantly, he didn’t want anything to happen to May. “Me,” Peter tried to sound cheerful, but his voice shook. “I hit my head. I hurt me.” Peter finished up the black coffee and turned to give it to Tony, so he could start making his own Frappuccino. Tony wanted to take his hand, but Peter swiftly turned around. He played the machine to make his own drink, but he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t make it last. He had to get it done. As fast as possible. He had to get this over with. Tony spoke, but Peter didn’t hear it. He could already feel the tears threatening to glide down his cheeks. He couldn’t pretend. He couldn’t- Tony grabbed Peter’s wrist from over the counter and the Frappuccino cup slipped from the barista’s fingers. Peter stared wide-eyed at how the scorching hot liquid gushed onto Tony’s suit. The stain was evident, but Tony seemed unfazed by the heat. Peter’s lip trembled and he was certain there was no oxygen left in the store. He had spilled his coffee on the suit of the most dangerous man in New York City. Peter barely dared to look up, but when he saw Tony’s expression, his shoulders fell. The way the man looked at him was… Vulnerable. “You’re afraid.” Tony’s voice was fragile. “Of me?” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears flow freely now. He screwed up. He screwed everything up. “I don’t know,” Peter replied honestly, through quiet sobs. Tony swiftly jumped over the counter so he could embrace Peter. “Talk to me, Bambino.” “I- I didn’t know-“ “Didn’t know what?” “S-Stark-“ “Yes, Frappuccino, that’s me.” “Did you just call me-“ “Yes, did it make you feel better?” Peter scoffed, but managed to smile. “A little.” Tony then pushed Peter away from him to force the young man to look him in the eye by holding Peter’s chin between his thumb and index finger. “Did you really not know?” Now Peter feels stupid. He should’ve caught on, obviously. Everybody knew Tony Stark. Peter pushed his lips together and gently shook his head. “Oh, bother,” Tony mumbled as he pulled Peter against his chest to hug him tightly. Peter’s insides were in a struggle. Every part of his rational brain told him to get out of there. To push Tony away. The man was bad news. He reeked of danger, yet… He smelled so wonderful. His cologne invaded Peter’s nostrils and there was no way the young man could let go of him. The way his arms were wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, the way he held him, kept him warm and safe... No matter how frightening Tony might be, Peter felt protected. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. Peter’s face was pressed against Tony’s shirt and he could feel the wet coffee stain from Tony’s suit seep onto his own pants. A hand found its way into Peter’s hair and gently started massaging his scalp. The soft lips Peter had only imagined up until now, pressed themselves onto his curls and stayed there, leaving long, slow pecks. Sometimes, Tony hummed. With every passing second, Peter’s muscles relaxed more and more until his body practically went limp against Tony’s. “Now…” The man finally spoke. He gently pushed Peter away from him until he could look Peter in the eyes, hands cupping his face. His thumb gently stroked away the drying tears and he smiled kindly. “Who hurt you?” Peter’s pouting lips were pressed together. He tried to hide the truth, but one quick glance towards the back and Tony knew enough. “Please, don’t kill him,” Peter whispered. Tony scoffed softly. “Is that why you’re suddenly afraid of me?” Tony pushed forward slightly, until something long and hard pressed against Peter’s thigh. And it wasn’t Tony’s cock. “Cause I’m not just happy to see you?” Peter whimpered and closed his eyes, still not wanting to leave Tony’s embrace, even though he was afraid of what might happen next. “Do you know why I own 64.7 percent of New York?” Peter shook his head lightly, focusing his attention on Tony’s warm hands still keeping his face up by his cheeks. “Because I don’t just shoot whoever gets in my way. I give people a chance,” Tony said matter of factly. “Take your boss, for example. This building? It’s mine.” The way Tony enunciated the word, not just verbally but also with a soft squeeze of his hands, had a shiver run down Peter’s spine. “Ex-gambling addict who wanted to get back on track. Promising fellow. Clean for years. He loaned a chunk of my money to start his business. All was good. A thriving coffee store can make quite a bit of money in this area in New York. During my first visit I learned that not everything I offered him went into this shop. Told him I wanted the money back that he didn’t spend on the store. He also couldn’t pay rent. Somehow.” Peter breathlessly listened to everything that came out of Tony’s mouth. “I gave him another shot. Told him to have my money ready in a month. That’s a fair time to make what he owed me. And when I came into the store to collect… I found you. And your boss? Well, he wasn’t exactly at a convention. He was at the other side of the country, though. In Vegas.” Tony sighed and broke eye contact for a few seconds. “This is where it gets embarrassing…” He mumbled. “Embarrassing?” “I was completely enamored by you, Peter.” Tony’s eyes reconnect with Peter’s and they lock gazes. “And I decided that, when you called McDougall, I’d change the deal. He’d get a delay on his debt as long as you would be there to serve me coffee. On Tuesdays. At two PM. Figured you’d stick around for a while, give McDougall enough time to cover his ass.” “So,” Tony cocked his head. “After half a year, he still doesn’t have my money. And I’m guessing you want to quit the job?” Peter nodded, face contorting. “He had a knife and-“ “A knife?” The energy in the room changed abruptly. From loving and caring to dark and aggressive. Peter immediately pulled back, but Tony’s grip on him tightened. “He threatened you?” He seethed. “No- Tony, please,” Peter begged, but he didn’t fight. “Is he in the back?” Tony stared Peter down with an intense gaze. The young barista froze. “Peter.” “Yes.” Peter felt small, yet his body betrayed him when his cock stirred at Tony’s authoritative voice. Tony guided Peter to one of the chairs and gently sat him down. His hands caressed Peter’s curls before he pressed another kiss on top of them. He bent down until he squatted in front of Peter and looked up reassuringly. “I will not physically harm him, I promise. I just want to have a word with him, okay?” “Okay…” Tony smiled and nodded before standing up and making his way towards the back. Before he disappeared, Tony looked behind him one more time and winked at Peter. Probably to relieve the tension. Not long after Tony went to the back, Peter was startled by the doorbell. He looked up and quickly collected himself before greeting the customer, wiping the remainder of his dried tears away. “Good afternoon, Sir, how can I help you?” Peter barely managed to put up his customer smile. The man was a bit scruffy looking, dark haired and he had a slight beard. There was a strange look in his eye. Peter wanted to walk around the counter to his usual spot to take the order, but the man stopped him. “Hold it there.” Peter paused his trek and turned back to the man with a questioning look. The man suddenly bolted for him, but Peter realized too late he was holding something in his hand. Peter tried to yell but before any sound could leave his mouth, it was covered by a damp cloth. His eyes went wide as he stared straight into the other man’s. He had no choice but to inhale the strange and intense, sweet scent of whatever was in that piece of fabric. The man didn’t smile, nor did he look angry. He seemed rather indifferent. The man’s other arm wrapped around Peter’s body, right before he lost the strength in his muscles and dropped against the man’s chest. Peter’s mind suddenly felt over-stuffed with fuzz and it was only a few seconds before his muffled scream died out and his eyes rolled back. Right when Peter lost himself, the man spoke softly, with a mocking tone, before carrying him out of the coffee shop. “Night night.” … Peter’s head felt like it was going to burst. He could barely open his eyes, but the hand that pulled him back at his hair in the uncomfortable chair forced him to wake up. He gasped for air, squinting his eyes into slits in the bright light. “Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice echoed through the room, ringing Peter’s ears. He finally managed to open his eyes when the light was blocked by a shape. A person. “Eh…” A soft whine escaped Peter’s lips, but the sound wasn’t taken kindly. The person- man- yanked at his hair, causing Peter to wince in pain. The man was bald, but had a thick beard. A scowl pulled the strangers bushy eyebrows together and Peter’s entire body tensed when he spotted the gun in the man’s other hand. “So…” The man leaned in and cocked his head. “All this trouble for a twink.” Peter tightened his jaw even further and kept his lips glued together. The man quite forcefully let go of Peter’s hair, allowing Peter to take in his surroundings. They were in a plain room, nothing too interesting. Peter could hear seagulls outside. They were probably close to water? The door was guarded by two imposing looking men, one of them Peter recognized as the guy who took him out. In the darkness of the room, a camera seemed to be recording them, judging by the red light flickering in the corner. “Barista,” Peter mumbled, staring at the gun in the guards’ hands.. “Excuse me?” The man pushed into Peter’s space again, seemingly offended. Peter held his breath, but replied anyways, eyes locking with the bald man’s. “I’m just a barista.” “Just a-“ the man interrupted himself, put his hands on his hips and leaned back, letting out an over the top laugh. When he finally calmed himself again, he bolted forward, pressing the gun against Peter’s neck. The young man instinctively tilted his head up, eyes wide at the unexpected aggression. “You,” the man spit out accusingly. “Tony seems to think more of you.” “He doesn’t,” Peter bluffed, silently swearing at himself for his reckless bravery. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose. “I just make his coffee. Black. Every Tuesday.” “Right,” the man scoffed and revealed Peter’s unlocked phone from his inner pocket. “And does just making his coffee include a happy ending?” “N-no-, it’s-“ “Nighttime sexting? Then?” The man sauntered around Peter, casually scrolling through Tony’s and Peter’s chat. “Was hoping to find some intel, but all I got was your disgusting conversations.” Peter swallowed hard. He angled his head to look down so that he wouldn’t have to meet the man’s judging eyes. “I’m not gonna lie,” the man sighed. “Those voice messages? Your moans? They’d rile up anyone.” Peter gently tugged at his restraints, pressing his eyes shut. To say he was afraid of what the man could and might do to him was an understatement. The thought alone paralyzed him. There was a pressing ache in his chest and a growing need to get out of there. If only he could move. “What do you want from me,” Peter managed to push out. The man chuckled darkly. “I want at least 75% of what Stark has.” The man stopped circling Peter to gently push the tip of his gun through the young man’s hair- toying with it. “And you’re going to make sure he gives it to me.” “As if,” Peter replied simply, immediately swallowing his confidence. It now weighs heavy in his stomach. One short glance at the guards made them leave the room. They shut the door behind them and Peter couldn’t help but hold his breath. “Tell the camera-“ The man gestured at the red flashing dot. “-Tell Tony- what to do. If he doesn’t give me what I want, I will take what he wants most.” Peter looked up at the man confused, but the man’s smirk made the student’s legs burst with adrenaline. He wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. He’s bound. The man’s eyes sparkled and turned to slits. The wide toothy grin plastered on his face had Peter’s heart drop. “You.” “Oh, don’t worry about that ol’ camera.” A familiar voice said from the door opening. Peter and the man turned their heads towards it surprised. There, Tony lazily stood against the door post, the two men that Peter had met one Tuesday accompanying him. The guards that were there before were now laying on the floor. Peter quietly hoped they were nothing more than unconscious. “You can ask me, right here, right now, Stane.” Tony absentmindedly studied the pistol in his hand, turning and twisting it. Loading it. “Tsk. Answer’s gonna be no, though.” He moved to stand up straight, confidence oozing off every inch of him. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.” A shiver ran down Peter’s spine and he gulped when the gun that was still aimed at him pushed under his jaw. He dropped his head backwards in an attempt to get away from it and whined quietly. Peter’s breath quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut again. “If you want your boy to live, you’re gonna do exactly what I want.” “Hmm.” Tony grinned. “If you put a bullet in his head, I’m not even gonna use my gun.” He squared up, tightening every muscle in his body. The look in his eye was dark and resolute. “Will let you pick how you go, though. Could snap your neck- stick a knife through your brain. Wiggle it around a little to make your corpse spasm. Heck, I’ll rearrange your guts first if you want me to. Bet that’ll feel real nice.” Peter could barely believe the words falling from the man’s lips were Tony’s. Apparently, neither could the guy Tony called Stane. “You’re all talk, Stark. Never seen you hurt a damn fly, that’s what you got your goons for,” Stane sneered accusingly. “First time for everything,” Tony replied collected. Stane then pulled loose the ropes around Peter’s body and pulled him up, forcing him to stand with his back flush against the man’s chest. Stane wouldn’t allow him to stand comfortably, keeping him up on his toes as the nuzzle of the gun pressed up under his chin. As free as the lack of ropes made Peter feel, the presence of the gun annihilated any feeling of liberty. “Obadiah, I swear to mother Maria, if you so much as leave a scratch on Peter, you will regret it.” Stane didn’t seem fazed by Tony’s threats. He had the upper hand after all. He had Peter. “We’re leaving now. Don’t think I won’t shoot. I will.” Peter complied the nudge in his back, taking small steps in the direction of the door. Obadiah moved the gun until it rested against Peter’s temple. “Step into the room.” Tony’s jaw tightened, but after a few seconds he cast his eyes downward, entering the space. His bluffing hadn’t worked and the soft shaking of his clenched fist betrayed his frustration. He genuinely seemed afraid to lose Peter. In return, Peter was afraid to lose him. The two men Tony had brought with him, joined him silently. When they were all far away enough from the door, Obadiah shuffled Peter to the opening. They reached the hallway and Stane forced Peter to step over the – hopefully – unconscious guards. All Peter could think was ‘No-no-no-no-‘ at the mere idea of being taken to another location. One Tony might not be able to find him at. One he might actually die at. Peter took a deep breath and decided to do something reckless. He could only die once anyways. The second Obadiah pulled the gun back a little to give Peter more walking space, the barista ducked away from the gun, pivoted on his feet and pushed Stane back into the wall with all the force he had. There was a gunshot. One that had Peter’s eyes go wide. With the lack of pain or blood, Peter realized Stane had missed. Adrenaline pumped through his body at an incredibly rapid pace. Peter fell backwards on his ass and saw Obadiah’s gun that had been dropped in the process. The student scrambled to grab it in a reflex. He pushed himself back against the wall, knees up, eyes unblinking and wide, as he aimed the gun two-handedly at Stane who laid there with his hands up. The feral look in Peter’s eye told the small gang leader enough. No matter how scared, this kid would shoot if he had to. Peter couldn’t blink. He just couldn’t. He barely heard the footsteps next to him. Barely felt a hand rest on his shoulder, as another lifted to be placed on Peter’s shaking hands, holding the gun. All Peter could do was stare at Obadiah, stinging tears nearly obstructing his view. His breathing was quick and erratic and he didn’t realize how much he was vibrating until Tony’s voice pushed through the veil, clouding his mind. “I need you to let go of the gun for me.” Peter only clutched the weapon tighter, his finger twitched on the trigger. His breathing was loud and fast, making his entire body buzz with tension. “Boss, he’s in shock, he won’t-“ “Peter,” Tony said a little softer. “I’m right here, Frappuccino, look at me.” The hand that was on his shoulder before, now cupped Peter’s chin, gently forcing him to turn his head. Peter’s eyes didn’t leave Obadiah, though. He held his breath, hearing his heartbeat thump in his brain. “Peter…” For the first time in what felt like forever, Peter blinked, which caused the tears that had been threatening to spill up until now to glide down his cheeks. He found himself staring at Tony’s face as his body slowly lost tension. The man’s brows were furrowed, but his expression was soft. He carefully took the gun out of Peter’s hands and pulled him in for an embrace. Peter hid his face against the man’s chest and couldn’t help but sob into it, adding another stain to Tony’s expensive suit. “Oh, Peter.” Tony’s voice was muffled against Peter’s hair. “You’re okay, we’re okay.” Just like he did earlier that day in the coffee shop, his fingers tangled in Peter’s hair and started massaging his scalp. “You’re with me now, ‘s all good.” Another time, Peter would’ve been embarrassed for being pulled into Tony’s lap in front of all these strangers, but right now he couldn’t care less. His arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s torso as the man left his dragged out, flat kisses on Peter’s head. “M-sorry,” Peter mumbled between sobs, curling up into Tony’s embrace and tugging in his legs. “Sorry-“ “Ssh, ssh- you have nothing to be sorry for, my sweet.” They stayed like that for a short while, Tony rocking Peter back and forth until his heartbeat settled and his muscles relaxed. Eventually, Tony stood up, carrying Peter bridal style. “Let me take you home.” … Peter woke up among the softest of silk sheets, surrounded by an abundance of throw pillows, wearing nothing but his underwear and an oversized white T-shirt with a V-neck. Everything smelled like Tony. Peter groaned at the stiffness of his muscles and turned around, half surprised by Tony sitting on an armchair next to the large canopy bed. “Morning, sunshine,” he said with a smile. Tony was wearing sweats and a similar T-shirt. The corners of Peter’s mouth curled up too and he instinctively folded into himself, pulling the sheets up to his chin. “Morning.” “How are you feeling?” Tony leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Little stiff,” Peter answered honestly. As if on cue, his stomach growled. “And hungry.” “My cook’s making us breakfast as we speak. Should be here soon.” “I knew you were rich, but a personal chef?” Peter chuckled. “Isn’t that a bit overkill?” “Look, kid,” Tony laughed, sitting up straight again. “I don’t have time to make my own meals. I’m a busy man.” “Busy enough to visit me every Tuesday at two,” Peter teased, the sparkle in his eyes evident. Tony seemed relieved Peter was acting like his usual self. “Hey, hey,” he said, shaking his head. “I scheduled in that time. I always wanted you to have my undivided attention. That was my me-time.” Peter’s smile faltered. “Was,” he parroted quietly. There was no way he could go back to his barista job. To mister McDougall. Not that he particularly wanted to work for that man anymore, but it felt like this pleasant chapter of this life ended with a terrible cliffhanger. Now, Peter was at the start of the next chapter, going through the repercussions of what happened before. “Pete, I-“ “Where are we?” Tony seemed taken aback by the interruption, but collected himself swiftly. “Home,” Tony replied matter of fact. “My home, to be precise.” He cleared his throat and looked away uncharacteristically shyly. “Could be yours too if you want.” Peter didn’t reply straight away, which caused Tony to stand up and raise his hands in a defensive manner. “But we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.” There was a knock on the door and Tony cocked an eyebrow at it. “Breakfast,” a muffled voice spoke. “Come in.” A man with a giant tray opened the door. He walked in quickly and placed it on the table next to Tony. “Take the rest of the day off. Paid leave. Tell the others the same, save for the guards outside. I want this house empty within an hour.” The cook nodded and thanked Tony for his generosity. Not long after, Peter and Tony were alone again. Peter stared at the over-filled tray and licked his lips. “Anything that tickles your fancy?” Tony’s words are accompanied with a smirk. “A coffee sounds good right about now.” Tony immediately perked up and turned to grab the carefully made Frappuccino, but before he could curl his fingers around the cup, Peter continued: “Actually-“ Tony looks at Peter surprised. Peter grins and nods at the other cup on the tray. “After everything that happened, I could go for something stronger.” “Peter Parker, are you taking my black coffee from me?” Tony chuckled. Peter pulled himself up so he sat up straight among the throw pillows. He then reached forward with both arms, making grabby hands at Tony. “Mayyybe,” he teased. Tony laughed as he complied, handing Peter the black coffee. Peter gratefully took a sip and pulled a face at the bitterness burning his throat. “Sure you don’t want the sugar, sugar?” Peter snorted and nearly spilled the coffee on the bed. He looked into the deep black of the cup in his hands and then up at Tony. “Fine,” Peter said with a grin, offering Tony the black coffee. Peter waited for the older man to give him the Frappuccino, but instead, Tony stood up. “Here,” he said, lifting the tray and placing it on the bedside table. “Mind if I join you?” Peter didn’t answer, he just lifted the sheets. Gratefully, Tony slid in, placing himself flush against Peter and handing him the Frappuccino. For a short while, they just sipped their coffees, not exchanging any words. Peter occasionally glanced at the food on the bedside table, unable to choose where he’d even start. He let go of his thoughts for a little bit, letting his mind wander to yesterday. To Obadiah Stane, to the rope burn on his wrists, the feel of the gun against his head, in his hand, the trigger under his finger. Tony. Tony was there to save him. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.” Peter was his. And while his rational brain was scared of this mob boss side of Tony that he only just learned about, there was something exhilarating about it too. Tony was still Tony- still the same man Peter made all these black coffees for, the man he had late night conversations with via text. Peter thought back to before he lost himself to sleep, how he was being cradled by Tony, sitting in his lap. The memory made him feel warm, somehow. Peter swallowed and took a breath. “I felt safe,” Peter whispered. “Hm?” Tony turned his head slightly and put down his now empty cup on the nightstand. “Yesterday.” Peter’s brows furrowed as he kept staring ahead. “In your lap.” He paused, trying to put his thoughts in a row and say something a bit more sophisticated. However, he couldn’t think of the right words, so he just repeated himself. “I felt safe.” It was quiet for a second. “Do…” Tony sniffed once and tugged at the tray on Peter’s side of the bed. “Do you want to sit on my lap now?” Peter’s mouth went dry, even though he just finished his coffee. The tension between them hung thick in the air. He looked at Tony wide-eyed, but quickly averted his gaze again. “Yes,” he mumbled, nothing more than a whisper. “What was that?” “Yes… Please?” “Good boy.” Peter shivered and closed his eyes, but only until he felt Tony gently pulling at his arm. He didn’t struggle as Tony guided him to sit on his thighs, back pressed against the older man’s chest. “Oh, Bambino,” Tony cooed as Peter’s ass pressed against Tony’s already hardening shaft. “Been through so much. Let me help you.” Peter wanted to ask what Tony meant, but the man had already taken the mug from Peter’s hands, placed it on the bedside table and grabbed a blueberry muffin from the breakfast tray. “Hold this,” he ordered, giving the muffin to Peter. Their hands grazed past each other, eliciting a small gasp from the younger man. Tony immediately moved to rip a small piece off of it and brought it up to Peter’s lips. Peter stared entranced at Tony’s rough hand. “Go on, my sweet,” Tony whispered into Peter’s hair. “Eat up.” Peter leaned in and opened his mouth. He carefully maneuvered himself in an attempt not to touch Tony’s fingers, not wanting to be weird or gross, but Tony had other plans. He pushed in his fingers to help the piece into Peter’s mouth and then brushed his fingers over Peter’s lips. Peter didn’t realize his eyes were closed, but there wasn’t much to see anyways- save for the lusciously decorated room. Peter was more occupied with feeling right now. And boy, did Tony’s lips on his neck feel absolutely perfect. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. Tony’s free arm was possessively curled around Peter to caress his neck from the front, grazing past his Adam’s apple and gently squeezing right under his jaw until he swallowed. Tony presented Peter with another bite, but this time he really pushed his fingers in. Peter wrapped his lips around the digits and sucked, moaning softly. “That’s it…” Peter absentmindedly spread his legs on Tony’s lap, arching his back to grind into Tony’s groin. Tony’s other hand found its way down Peter’s body until it cupped Peter’s balls through his underwear. Peter immediately pushed into it and gasped at the gentle rubbing of Tony’s thumb. “Thaaat’s it…” Tony took his fingers out of Peter’s mouth, a small string of saliva dripping down, to take the muffin out of Peter’s hands, put it on the tray and then stick his fingers into the small bowl of jam. His other hand fondles Peter at a steady rhythm and Peter rolls his hips along with it. “Feeling good for Daddy, Peter?” The young man smiles lazily and nods, letting his head fall back against Tony’s shoulder. “Y-yes,” Peter whimpered. “Feels so good.” An overly sweet scent filled Peter’s nostrils. He opened his eyes to see Tony’s jam covered fingers. He stared at them transfixed, mouth already opening, tongue hanging out, ready to take it all. “Atta boy,” Tony whispered, suckling on Peter’s skin. “Don’t hold back. It’s all yours…” Peter didn’t hesitate and grabbed Tony’s hand with both of his own, pulling it toward him to lick the sweet strawberry jam off of Tony’s fingers. The fingers of one hand were curled around just the thumb, while the other gripped onto the man’s palm. “Don’t hold back,” Tony repeated with a squeeze of his hand around Peter’s clothed cock. The young man immediately moaned louder, pressing himself against Tony harder and licking the man’s fingers clean in a near-obscene manner. “Aren’t you a good boy?” Tony growled as he slowly started to push up against Peter’s ass. Peter groaned and clenched around nothing, working his way down Tony’s hand and suckling at the golden ring on his index finger. “Yours,” Peter gasped between licks. “Your good boy-“ Apparently those were the right words, because Tony let out a guttural moan and within seconds, they were flipped over with Peter lying on his back on the bed and Tony possessively hovering over him, caging Peter with his arms. Peter was met with Tony’s dark pools and twitching nose. There was something animalistic about the otherwise so collected man Peter had served coffee to. It had Peter’s cock throb with anticipation. Tony’s wet fingers pushed under Peter’s shirt to tweak and tug at one of his nipples. “Mine,” Tony pushed out, immediately moving in to ravage Peter’s lips himself, tasting the flavors Peter had only just taken in. Peter, in turn, could taste the bitter coffee. “My sweet.” Peter pulled at Tony’s shirt, quietly telling Tony he wanted them to get naked. The man seemed to understand and within a minute all clothes were discarded. Tony’s cock stood tall and proud and had a girth that had Peter drooling. He wanted it in his mouth. ASAP. “Eager, eager,” Tony chuckled darkly as he saw Peter’s eyes locked on the swaying dick in front of him. Peter’s gaze broke free and he gave Tony a pleading look. “Next time, my sweet.” Tony leaned in to give Peter a short, passionate kiss while his hands squeezed nearly half a lube bottle all over Peter’s groin, slicking him up as Tony massaged every inch of skin. Peter immediately granted Tony access into his mouth and Tony eagerly licked the insides. He pulled back again and grinned. “You first.” Tony’s free hand grabbed hold of Peter’s cock, squeezing it until Peter saw stars. His hips bucked up into Tony’s touch while his hands grabbed at the sheets in an attempt to ground himself as Tony’s hands pleasured him. He moaned with every loudly-squishing jerk of Tony’s hand, but it wasn’t going fast enough. “More-more-more, please, Daddy-“ Tony seemed pleased with the begging, because the hand at Peter’s nipple slowly travelled down his toned body, grabbing and coating itself with the excess lube. “Sure you want more?” Tony had a wicked grin on his face. “Cause I can give you everything.” He curled his tongue up to lick his own teeth. “If you think you can handle it.” “Yes,” Peter gasped, arching his back more, pressing his head into the throw pillows. “Please, please, want everything, want it all, want you-“ “Good answer.” Tony’s praise goes paired with him mercilessly pushing his index finger into Peter’s tight hole. The young man gasped at the sudden sting, but his expression turned to absolute bliss in an instant. He clenched and unclenched around Tony’s digit and soon enough, Tony started pulling out and pushing back in, curling his finger in the process, in search of Peter’s… Sweet spot. “God, yes, T-Tony, Daddy-“ Peter moaned as his body rocked under Tony’s attention. “Mr. Stark-!” Tony’s eyes went wide, revealing a previously unseen aggression behind them. His movements became more forceful and he lowered his face until it was right in front of Peter’s. “Yes, boy, call me that again. Do it.” “M-Mi-“ Peter squeezed his eyes shut, completely overwhelmed by all the sensations and the tightening knot in his abdomen. His balls were tight and his heartbeat throbbed everywhere. “Whose cock is this, Peter, tell me who it belongs to-“ Tony let his thumb glide over the tip of Peter’s cock as he quickened his pace and the intensity of his jerks. “Yours- Mr. Stark, it’s y-yours!” Peter’s reply was rewarded with Tony’s mouth sucking marks on Peter’s neck. “And this hole? Huh? Who does this belong to?” Right when Tony uttered the words, he found what he’d been looking for. Peter opened his mouth wide in a silent scream as his body convulsed. “Yes, yes, yours, yours-“ Tony attacked Peter’s prostate without remorse, not halting any movement. He was good at this and he owned it. He owned Peter. “And your mouth? Your chest and your arms and your legs and your neck-“ Tony cut his own rambles short by biting into the skin right below Peter’s jaw, eliciting another loud moan from him. “Mr. Stark’s, his- his, yours!” “That’s it, good boy, it’s all mine. You’re all mine!” “F-fuck, I’m gonna come, Mr. Stark- Please, please-“ Peter’s gasps were erratic. The complete polar opposite of Tony’s near robotic movements. Along the way, he had added two more fingers into Peter’s sopping hole and he kept pumping mercilessly, curling his fingers at just the right moment. The young man was practically folded in two on the bed, taking everything Tony was giving him. He’d never felt this good in his entire life and he basked in the hot sheen covering his body. All his fantasies, all their sexts, were now reality. Tony stayed true to his word. Everything he had promised Peter, he was now giving- almost forcing- upon the young man and he loved it. They both did. “So close, my sweet, stay on that edge for me, don’t tip over just yet-“ Tony growled. “Make...” The young man found himself humping into Tony’s fist, moaning at the trademarked line that had started falling from the mob boss’s lips. “It…“ Peter whined as his body shook, trying to hold onto the last bit of sanity that he had left before he would lose it all and spill. “Last…“ Every part of Peter’s being writhed and convulsed at the scorching pleasure pumping through him. He had to make it last. He had to wait. Had to drag it out. Felt so good. Too good. Yes, yes- yes! “That’s it… Just a little longer,” Tony encouraged. Peter’s eyes rolled back and to his dismay, Tony sped up even more. “Haaa-,” Every muscle in Peter’s body shook with tension, ready for that blissful release. “Yeees, good boy, such a good boy, hold on…” Tony’s breath was hot on Peter’s lips. His deep voice vibrated through Peter’s body, sending even more surges of arousal through him. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” Peter’s jaw was locked as his eyes fluttered open. He stared straight into Tony’s and the sight had his toes curl. “Come.” Peter’s vision went white at the intense eruption bursting from him. If he screamed, he didn’t hear himself. All he could do was experience it. White streaks covered his abdomen and Tony’s hand and the overstimulating sensation of his orgasm seemed to last forever. After who-knows-how-long, Peter came down from his high, panting and twitching on the mattress, body completely limp. Tony was lying next to him, whispering sweet praise into his ear and slowly bringing Peter back to reality with his calming voice and caressing hands. Peter blinked a few times, his vision sharpening again until Tony was completely in focus. The man smiled. “Good morning, sunshine,” he repeated himself. Peter chuckled and cuddled up against Tony’s chest. Tony immediately embraced him, tangling their legs together. “Morning,” Peter laughed softly. It was quiet for a minute while Peter cleared his mind, basking in the afterglow of what was the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced. “Thank you,” he whispered against Tony’s body. The man kissed the top of Peter’s head, humming softly. “No, my sweet, thank you.” After another hour of cuddling together Peter shuffled back so he could look Tony in the eye. “We should probably get out, don’t we?” Tony smiled kindly, pressing his fingers through Peter’s curls. “Work can wait.” “I wasn’t talking about work…” There was a playful sparkle in Peter’s eyes. “I want to explore this place.” “Can’t we cuddle a little longer?” “I’ll stay naked,” Peter teased. “We’re alone anyways… And I’ll make you coffee?” “Are you trying to bribe me with coffee that requires pressing one button?” Tony teased right back. Peter moved to sit up straight and tossed the sheets on top of Tony. He jumped out of bed, his cock already hardening again and bouncing with every movement. Tony grinned and seemed to be enjoying this newfound confidence Peter had. “I don’t know, Mr. Stark, am I?” Peter sauntered towards the door and opened it swiftly, arching his back and showing off his toned body as he walked through. Tony’s cock, that had started softening up after not getting any attention last round, sprung back to life at the sight. “Could make the coffee last, but… I’m sure there are other rooms in this place where I could make it last?” Tony laughed positively wicked and crawled over the bed towards Peter. The young man squealed delighted and ran out into the hallway. Tony stepped out of the bed and started chasing his good boy through the mansion.

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

High School AU Part 8 (1...7)

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16.k

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The silence that follows Tony’s exit only lasts for a single, deafening heartbeat.

In the seconds that follow the aftermath, silent and struck with confusion at the lightning-quick turn of events, Peter doesn’t remember getting to his feet and excusing himself. He just remembers that the moment he decides to act feels impossibly longer than it should, punctuated only by the harsh slam of the front door.

Ed, understandably, seems suspended in the moment, torn between his guests and, well, his other guest. Without thinking, Peter stands and doesn’t bother to excuse himself before leaving the table and following the trail of fire that Tony left behind.

“Pete,” someone calls behind him.

“Stay here, I got this,” he turns for a moment, hands held up placatingly, before jogging through the living room, out the front door. Outside it’s bitterly cold, the snappish, freezing winds whipping at his face, his bare arms.

Stark is stomping furiously towards his car when Peter spots him, a shadowy figure against the dying sunlight. He sets into a jog to catch up.

“Tony,” he yells through chattering teeth. “Wait!”

“Fuck off,” Tony snaps without looking back, hands balled into fists as he heads to his car.

“Where are you going,” he rushes to catch up with him. “What are you even doing here?”

“You don’t have to worry about me ruining your little Hallmark family moment, Parker,” Tony pulls out his keys. “I’m getting the fuck outta here.”

“Wait,” he stresses, legs moving faster, not understanding what exactly is happening. “Tony, wait.”

He makes the mistake of getting between Tony and the driver's side door in a thoughtless effort to keep him from leaving, one that seems to backfire rather spectacularly when Tony gets inches away from his face, seething. This close, his fury is palpable, and he suddenly seems taller, larger, coming at Peter like a tempest, swift and devastating.

“Move.”

Face set in a snarl, he looks angrier than Peter has ever seen him. “Tony, wait for just a second --”

He flinches when two palms slam down on the car on either side of him and Tony is suddenly towering over him, his eyes dark and unrecognisable.

“I said get out of the way.”

“Calm down, can we just talk --”

“You have three goddamn seconds before I --”

“Before what? What are you going to do,” he juts out his chin defiantly, even though his hands are trembling. “You going to hit me, huh?” With courage he doesn’t really feel, he stands up taller, until they're nose to nose and he can feel his warm breath on his face. “Go on, asshole. Do it.”

The provocation gives Tony pause. His lips purse and his gaze flickers between fury and uncertainty. He doesn’t move his arms from where they have caged Peter in, but Peter can see the opening he’s created, as if Tony were a ticking bomb with seconds left before zero and he has once chance to cut the right wire.

Adrenaline racing through his veins, his circles Tony’s wrists with his fingers, pressing gently, intent on pushing him back or comforting him or something. But Tony doesn’t budge at all, he just stares Peter down until the offensive anger visibly bleeds into defensiveness. Tony dips his chin for just a second before meeting his eyes again, and it’s like watching a portcullis slam down behind them. In that moment, he feels any camaraderie they developed quickly vanished in a puff of smoke.

“I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you want, but just don’t be a fucking idiot. Ed was really looking forward to seeing you.”

“It’s Jarvis, not Ed, you braindead asshole,” Tony says finally, voice hoarse. “And stop holding my hands, I’m not your fucking prom date.”

Immediately Peter takes his hands away and Tony steps back, hands still balled into fists, albeit lowered at his sides; so it’s come to this again. Peter nods shakily, putting his hands up in surrender.

“I don’t know how you know them,” or what happened to you, Peter says, softly, as if not to spook him, chest heaving. “But you shouldn’t drive off. It’s late and you’re angry.”

“Yeah, because you’re here.”

He swallows around that particular sting.

“I told you about Margaret and May. Look, just come inside, okay? I’ll stay out of your way.”

The other boy still looks uncertain, but his anger is draining out of him fast, the rigid line of his shoulders slumping, arms crossing over his chest in a last ditch to protect himself from whatever phantoms Tony is seeing in Peter.

A little heartbroken by the sight, Peter croaks out, “Please.”

Tony’s face falls before the impassive, drawn expression returns.

“I’m - I wasn’t going to hit you. I’m not like that.”

“I know.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re - I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just -” he sighs, dipping his gaze to meet Tony’s. “Let’s go in. Foods still warm.”

Tony keeps his stare affixed to the ground for a long moment that has Peter waiting with bated breath, still outwardly appearing unsure and on edge, like the slightest misstep would startle him into racing off like the other day.

“Did Peggy make her pecan pie?” he then asks, very quietly, as soft spoken as Peter has ever heard him, arms unravelling to tuck his hands into his jean pockets.

“Yeah,” he smiles encouragingly when Tony finally looks at him. “It’s good, right?”

“The best.”

“So, you coming?”

“Okay…” he says, exhaling through his nose. “I’ll stay for pie.”

“I can’t think of a better reason to be here.”

“The company does leave much to be desired,” Tony nods agreeably, but there is no heat or sting in his words.

Their sides brush on the way in and Peter thinks, backwards and forwards, push and pull.

“Peter?”

He pauses before the front door, startled by the use of his first name.

“Yeah?”

For a second it looks like Tony is going to apologise again. But in the end he shakes his head, face closing off.

“Forget it. Let’s go in.”

----

Inside, Ed and Tony exchange some hushed words in the living room, while the remaining occupants talk idly about the spread, as if perfectly cooked green beans were the most interesting thing of the night.

When Tony re-enters with Jarvis, his demeanour a still a touch skittish, eyes low, but no longer appearing like he’s bracing for a fight. No one mentions the theatrics, and, like it was a deleted scene in real life, welcome him in. There’s a flimsy attempt to cover the awkwardness that lingers, everyone still clearly a little rattled, but May is the first to rise to give Tony a hug.

Margaret makes a big show of bringing in a spare chair and providing Tony a plate with a veritable pyramid of steaming meat and sides, taking his face in her hands and kissing his cheek.

And Peter sits there, awkwardly sipping his water far too frequently to be considered normal, trying to appear as unassuming as possible, and staring at the print of Caillebotte’s Rainy Day on the opposing wall, as if it were the most fascinating thing this night.

With a similar air of queer ineptitude, Tony seats himself at the table, settling in tightly next to Jarvis. As soon as he is seated, Friday immediately startles him by leaping upon his lap, tail flicking his face.

“You brought the literal embodiment of bad luck to the lake house,” Tony says. “That explains everything.”

It’s enough to break the air of tension in the room as the adults laugh and Tony breaks out into the first genuine smile of the night, dropping his fork so he can scratch Friday under her chin.

“Well, this is such a surprise,” May comments lightly, though looks genuinely pleased to see the other boy. “How do you guys know each other?”

Tony and Ed speak at the same time.

“They used to work with my dad,” says Tony.

“Tony works afternoons at the garage,” says Ed.

A beat of silence follows.

“They used to work for my dad and we kept in touch. Jarvis lets me work for him after school,” Tony corrects.

Peter blinks, a little floored by this revelation, mind rapidly connecting the dots. Not only did they know each other, but Tony had a job?

Torn between being confused and oddly delighted, he recalls suddenly each and every time that Tony was antsy to leave after school, about his ‘priorities’, he was just trying to get to work. Like a real job with money and taxes and responsibility. Holy shit.

Without voicing it, he queries what on earth a trust fund baby like Tony is doing working a blue collar job, certainly not for a lack of money, and certainly not because it was a quaint after-school activity.

But then Peter takes stock of his face - recalling all the injuries he has ever seen him with and he suddenly understands.

At once he feels very ashamed, and very sick.

From the corner of his eye he assesses Tony, eating slowly with one hand. Indulging Friday with the other, and Peter comes to understand that he’s either assumed too much about Tony or, given all the evidence, assumed too little.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Jarvis tops up his glass of wine, peering curiously between the boys.

May explains, when neither of them speak up. “They go to school together. They’re friends.”

She utters the last part with marked uncertainty, evidently the scene from earlier still on her mind. Peter understands. Tony’s anger and fear play over in his mind too, not just from this evening. With a sinking heart he recalls the night at the party, remembers drunkenly accusing Tony of getting into fights on purpose, that he would openly indulge in being violence. And Tony, nonchalant, not reacting at all like Peter would have. Took him home and took care of him.

He feels like the biggest piece of shit in the world.

Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite.

“I didn’t know you had a job,” Peter says delicately, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “That’s cool.”

Tony shrugs, sneaking Friday tiny cat-size morsels of food from his plate, getting flicked in the face with her tail as a reward. He doesn’t offer anything other than forced, casual nonchalance, despite seeming so tightly spun he could snap without a moment's notice.

“Peter said you were good with cars, that you restored yours,” May mentions, salting her potatoes, missing the surprised look Tony sends the both of them. “Makes sense.”

“He’s a natural,” Ed beams proudly at his employee. “An absolute genius.”

“Told you,” Tony looks up from under his lashes and smirks at Peter, addressing him directly. Genius, he mouths, pointing at himself with his knife like an idiot.

Which is apt when Peter mouths back the word idiot at him.

“That’s perfect,” May says, clapping her nephew on the shoulder, shaking him a little as if to rouse some enthusiasm. “Maybe you can diagnose the Volvo. You’re staying for the weekend, right, Tony?”

“Oh, no I’m not - I don’t want to intrude on -”

“Nonsense, you didn’t come all this way for one meal and I’m not having you drive back in the dark,” Margaret cuts in, her voice stern, her eyes knowing. “Stay the weekend, darling.”

“You’re having family time.”

“Stay,” May reaches over from where she sits opposite Tony, briefly gripping over his hands with hers. “It’s no bother to us, right, Pete?”

The entire table falls silent and the weight of several stares fall heavily on him, almost oppressively, but he’s only looking at Tony, trying to gauge his reaction. He’s met with an air of casual indifference, but the line of his lips is thin, and he’s stopped stroking a disgruntled Friday.

Risking a sonic boom, Peter kicks him under the table, testing his reaction. He smiles when Tony’s expression goes from cautious to irate, eyes finally flickering with something more familiar, and he deservedly gets kicked sharply on his shin in return.

It hurts, but also floods him with relief.

“Fine by me.”

As if he was ever going to say anything else.

----

After dinner May and Peter corral their hosts into relaxing by the fire while they attend to the clean up, hushing any protests to the contrary with tried-and-true Parker stubbornness. Once they were sure the hosts were situated in front of the old TV they’d set to disposing of the scraps and cleaning the plates by hand. This, at least, feels like something familiar, something he knows how to do without fear of stepping on a landmine.

They work efficiently like they do at home, May scrubbing and Peter drying and returning the cutlery and dishes to their rightful place. It’s the least they can do for the hospitality they’ve been provided.

“It’s such a weird coincidence,” May says lightly, passing him a freshly washed gravy boat. Peter accepts, swapping to the drier end of his kitchen towel and swiping away at the porcelain. “Tony, I mean.”

“I know.” He shakes his head, a huff emitting from his nose, echoing the same sentiment. “Small freakin’ world, right?”

“Do you think he’s okay? With the whole,” she gestures to her face worriedly with a soapy hand. “You know, at home? Should I call somebody?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “He doesn’t tell me those kinds of things.”

“I just mean, I thought - You were - you’re, y’know...”

He accepts a dripping plate, still hot from the running water. It scalds his fingertips upon contact and he nearly drops it before securing his grip, lowering it to the sink. “I’m what?”

“Y'know,” she hedges, voice deliberately light in a way that puts Peter on edge. “Dating.”

“What?” He hisses, staring at her. “No, we are not dating. Why would you even think that?”

“It would be okay if you were, you can tell me --”

“We’re not,” he pauses his drying to look her in the eye, mortification surely written all over his face, heard in the suddenness in which he stacks the plates. “We don’t even like each other like that. That’s not what this is.”

“I’m just saying if it was, it would be okay with me -” “- oh my god, you did this with Ned, stop -”

“- it’s just you two seem awfully close.”

“We’re not close. It’s not a thing.”

“Well, no need to sneak if it was.”

“It isn’t.”

“Okay,” she turns off the tap, shaking her hands over the sink to rid the excess water. “I just never know. You’re awful good at keeping secrets these days.”

“Wonder where I learned that from,” he mutters, hastily drying the last plate, placing it back in its cabinet a little roughly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he gives his best try at a smile, wiping his hands on his jeans and backing out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay, just getting some fresh air.”

She stops him, gently grabbing him by the sweater.

“Just let him know he’s welcome, okay. I think he needs to hear it from you.”

----

It was a gentle stomp out the front door that brought him to the porch, a willingness to find calm in the stillness of the night, in the serenity of their surrounds, the chirp of crickets, the opportunity to see the stars, bright, crisp and speckled, like paint splatters against black paper, an inverse connect-the-dots.

A lot of people tell Peter the stars make them feel small, reminding them that they are just tiny specks in a gargantuan, ever-sprawling universe. But for him it’s the opposite, when he’s lucky enough to have a view of the night sky like this, he feels bigger, connected to the universe that he knows is alway there but often forgets. It’s a moment to marvel at the stars dying before him and revere them light years too late.

Perched on the top step and illuminated under the porch light, Tony has a burning cigarette between his fingers and, judging by the headphones over his ears, hasn’t noticed Peter’s presence. He’s not looking up at the stars like Peter has been, instead he stares out at the inky lake.

The yellow light does nothing to improve the discolouration on Tony’s skin, casting shadows over the contours of his face, he tries to not stare as he sits on the step beside him, careful and slow as to not spook the other boy.

They sit in relative silence together, Peter peering up at the round full moon as he digests the day, this arduously long day. It seems terribly wild that it was only twelve hours ago he was sharing pretzels with May and resigning himself to a delightfully boring, uneventful weekend with his aunt and people that he used to know, playing scrabble and skipping stones on the lake.

That was the plan, of course, before Tony blustered in like the thunderstorm that he is, and always has been since Peter met him.

Loud, dark, hard to ignore.

Tony slips his headphones down to cradle the back of his neck and takes a drag before speaking.

“You want?” He offers the cigarette, face impassive. “You look tense.”

Peter takes the offered cigarette, staring at the lit end, the pale wisps of smoke that curl from the end. Maybe it’s the guilt swirling in his gut that makes him do it, desperate for a distraction, or maybe it’s wanting to wipe away the morose contemplation etched on Tony’s face.

Instead of bringing it to his mouth, he stubs it out on the concrete, feeling satisfied when Tony makes an indignant noise.

“Those are expensive, you know.”

Peter shrugs, popping the stub into Tony’s makeshift ashtray. “Maybe you should stop smoking. You’re going to look like a leather bag by the time you’re thirty.”

He fishes another smoke from his pocket, lighting it and taking a deep drag.

“Wrong,” Tony tilts his head and exhales towards the sky. “I’m going to age like fine wine, princess.”

“You’re going to have emphysema before college,” Peter mutters, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands to keep them warm, tucking his arms to his chest. It’s so cold out here and yet, at a glance and in only a shirt, Tony doesn’t even seem remotely perturbed by the biting winds.

It’s because he’s hellspawn, it’s the only reasonable explanation.

“This is fucking weird,” Tony says after a moment, “I don’t like it.”

Peter nods agreeably.

“Yep, even in New York. Six degrees of separation. Could have connected the dots if you’d mentioned your job earlier.”

“Would have, but it’s not exactly any of your business.”

Right. Because they’re not friends. They aren’t anything.

“I didn’t lie,” he says, “in there. I think it’s cool.”

“I’ll head out in the morning,” Tony offers, in lieu of responding to Peter’s faint adulations.

“Don’t be dumb,” he sighs, a little frustrated. “I don’t care that you’re here. Might be nice to have someone around my age, actually.”

“What, you think we’re gonna sing Kumbaya by the lake and tell each other ghost stories at night, or something? Thanks, but I’d rather jerk off with a potato peeler.”

“I’m not saying that. I told you I’d stay out of your way, if that’s what you really want.”

It’s disappointing to even have to say it. He thought they were getting along.

“You don’t gotta do that, it’s fine,” Tony flicks his ashes onto the steps. “Just leave me the rest of the pie and we’ll call it payment for putting up with your ass. But I draw the line at hymns by the fireside.”

Not the pie. Anything but the pie.

Peter opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it quickly, eyeing the other boy as he puts out the cigarette in the ashtray. It’s a small price to pay, isn’t it really, for all of the time Tony has fed him, to absolve some of the guilt he’s carrying like a stone. And for respite, as he himself has had a long, topsy-turvy kind of a day - but undoubtedly not as onerous and difficult as Tony’s must have been. And a small price to pay to keep him here, safe.

For Margaret and Ed’s peace of mind, of course.

Also, because the mental image he’s conjured of Tony sadly eating pie all by himself is deeply amusing.

And maybe to soothe the weird ache in his chest, too.

“You really got a sweet tooth, don’t you,” he states, silently agreeing to the deal.

Tony sighs.

“You should see me on Halloween.”

----

When they head back inside only Peggy and his aunt are still awake, though looking far closer to the verge of sleep, blearily watching a Charmed rerun, bottles of beers and mixers littering the coffee table. They perk up, however, when both boys enter the living room, and maybe it’s roaring fire, or the near darkness inside, but Peter suddenly feels as tired as they appear, warm and weary all at once, like a plug has been pulled unceremoniously from the base of his spine.

Knuckling his eyes like a small child, Tony looks much the same.

“Bed time,” May croaks, her back audibly cracking upon standing. “Come on, boys.”

Peter politely averts his gaze when May draws Tony into a hug, pretends not to hear how happy she is that Tony is staying. He extends that particular pretence when his counterpart stands stock still, hands reluctantly returning the embrace seconds too late to be natural.

While May washes up, Margaret leads them to the last room at the end of the hall. It occurs to him very quickly, that he hadn’t quite factored in the math when he implored Tony to stay the weekend. Their approach turns trepidatious when he realizes that there are only three bedrooms in this house and five people; a couple, an adult, and two teenagers.

The hinges squeak horridly when Margaret opens the guest room door, revealing a double bed, a dated quilt and a musky smell revealing the extent of the rooms disuse.

“If Peter doesn’t mind you sharing,” she says, gesturing to the bed that Peter had already dumped his stuff on earlier, “or one of you can sleep on the sofa, but you’ll have to share the bathroom. There are spare blankets in the closet.”

Peter’s heart pounds as they’re left alone in the room, staring at the bed, experiencing the sort of breath-stealing trepidation one he imagines might have when the roller-coaster you’re on gets stuck mid-way through a loop.

“I can...” he clears his throat roughly, gesturing to the living room. “I wouldn’t want to make you - unless you want to sh- ”

“I’ll take the sofa, we can alternate,” Tony says with finality, already backing away, duffel slung over his shoulder.

Peter, blissfully glad that Tony cut him off before he could embarrass himself by suggesting something foolish like sharing a bed, says, “Okay, yeah.”

As a rare act of partisanship he locates the blankets and helps set up the couch, giving him one of the spare pillows from the bed.

While Tony uses the adjacent ensuite to brush his teeth and empty his toiletries, Peter waits, sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the material between his fingers, listening to the tap water run and waiting his turn. It’s not a large bathroom and brushing their teeth together would be weird, too intimate, even though he and Ned or he and Bucky did it all the time. He and Tony aren’t friends, in fact, Peter doesn’t know where their boundaries lie anymore, especially after tonight. He supposes, for a start, that he isn’t supposed to feel electricity around friends and frenemies.

Because maybe their elbows would brush as they crowded the sink and maybe they’d meet eyes in the mirror and maybe Peter might like that and, yeah, it would be super weird for them.

When Tony emerges he’s dressed only in his shirt and boxers, jeans slung over his arm, the glow of the bathroom light on the back of his head like a fiery halo. Somehow, seeing his bare legs for the first time, the curve of his calves, his naked feet, somehow was a lot more intimate than the idea of sharing a bathroom.

“So you do have something under all that denim,” he swallows, then cringes.

“You gonna cream yourself at the sight of skin or something, Parker?” he asks on a yawn. “Hmm?”

“No. You’re just...so pasty.”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, I’m out.”

Peter calls his name without thinking and Tony pauses in the doorway, the muscles in his back tensing for a moment, as if bracing for a fight, before relaxing again.

“I,” he says, unsure what he wanted to say. Settles for, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The look that Tony sends him over his shoulder is quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of gratefulness, and in Peter’s imagination, reciprocated fondness. That is until Tony taps on the door frame and opens his big mouth again.

“Night, Parker, I shall rid you of my pasty legs. Try not to get the sheets sticky thinking about my bare ankles.”

Asshole.

----

“You’re up late, kid,” May says the next morning, peering amusedly at his bleary-eyes and morning-induced disgruntlement over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Couldn’t sleep, his voice is hoarse with sleep, pouring himself his own cup of coffee and sitting beside her. “I kept hearing this clicking and beeping all night. You didn’t hear it?”

She shakes her head. “Was out like a light. Maybe someone was up watching TV.”

“Yeah, maybe. Where is everyone?”

“Peggy’s and Jarvis are in Syracuse.”

“Black Friday?” Peter wonders, recalling the hauls of gifts in his younger years whenever the couple would return from their hectic, discount driven ventures.

“Yep.”

“And Tony?”

“Out front, working on the car.”

“You really put him up to work?” He asks, leaning against the counter, bringing the cup to his mouth to hide his disapproving slope of his lips. “He’s on vacation.”

May holds her free hand up in defence.

“Don’t blame me. He offered and I turned him down. He’s stubborn, that one.”

“I’m very aware of that.”

“Once you’ve finished your coffee, be a darling and take out some water for him, won’t you? I would, but,” she winces, shifting on her seat. “my back’s killing me.”

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she waves her fingers at him dismissively. “Just slept funny.”

“Do you need anything?”

She pats his cheek, smiling from ear to ear. “Maybe another biscotti, bubby, if it’s not too much trouble. Love you.”

There’s something to be read in the way that she doesn't meet his eyes to follow her statement. In his heart he knows May, knows that she is still lying despite his attempts to have adult discussions with her, in the frank and embarrassing way he’s had to open up to her when he was younger and felt frighteningly not himself - except he’s nearing adulthood now. And maybe that’s the kind of transparency he seeks from her, because that’s what adults do, don’t they, they bring down the curtain when it comes to serious things.

And of course he brings her another biscotti, and while he’s up, he does as requested, filling a glass of water in the squeaky kitchen sink and takes a muesli bar from the pantry, pocketing another one for himself.

It’s chocolate covered. Not his favorite, more of a yogurt covered oats-bar fan, but it’s the least Peter could do for Tony’s free labour.

Outside it’s chilly, fog hangs low over the lake and frost clings to the grass in tiny ice crystals. There is a family kayaking out of The Narrows, a far away blur of bright boats and hi-vis life jackets, paddles parting through the still water like hot knives into butter.

Taking a moment to breathe in the clean air, Peter marvels at just how quiet it is, compared to the city. No traffic noises, no subway nearby and no neighbours creating all kinds of racket at ungodly hours. The only apt words that Peter can think of to describe it is: still. Nothing changes here. Or everything changes here and the houses and the lake and the trees have the good grace to stay the same while the rest of the world is in constant metamorphosis.

Peter likes it here, mostly as a novelty thing, and even more so for the company. But he’s a city kid through-and-through, loves the people, the awe of the tourists, the near helter-skelter way of life. It was a reflection of the orderly chaos in his own mind.

Here, there is nowhere to run from his thoughts.

Tony is bent over the open hood of the car, an old boom box by his feet playing Don McLean, a socket wrench in hand, twisting away at the insides of the car. He looks alive, happy. In his element with his hands smeared with rust and oil, dexterous fingers at ease with the tool in his hands.

Here, there is nowhere to run from his feelings.

Because there it is again, Peter pauses, struck by the rudeness in which it blooms; that feeling from the other day.

Not butterflies. More like pushing down on a bruise.

An exquisite ache.

It radiates through his whole body, his sternum the epicentre. Without thinking, he rubs at his chest, as if it might make the ache go away, but it doesn’t. It’s always been there, locked up in a little cage behind his ribs, set free these last few weeks.

Tony turns as he’s approaching, twisting the wrench in his hand like a cowboy with a pistol.

“If it isn’t Sleeping Cootie,” he greets. “He wakes.”

His mood seems to be greatly improved from the night before, seemingly back to his usual self. Whether that’s a good night's sleep, or their surroundings or getting his hands dirty, Peter’s not sure, but he’s not complaining.

“Here,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the radio, holding out the water and the muesli bar.

He accepts with muttered thanks and drains the whole glass back, sticking the bar in his back pocket. Peter, for some silly reason, doesn’t stop looking at Tony’s bottom lip the entire time.

The ache ebbs and flows, the closer he gets, and when he boldly presses their sides together, it’s almost completely gone and unbearably worse at the same time. And so he lingers, for a moment that stretches far longer than a passing interest in the innards of a Volvo.

Tony seems to notice.

“You know anything about cars?” he asks, pinching Peter’s side, smiling cheekily when he squirms, ticklish. “No?” he asks, dodging Peter’s protesting arms and pinching him again.

“A bit,” he elbows Tony back, their hands settling close enough on the mouth of the hood that their fingers brush. “Not much.”

“Stick around then, cotton-tail. Let me teach you a thing about radiators.”

----

Peter knows a lot about robotics. He knows a lot about computers. Cars, albeit a different species, aren’t all that different. He knows the basics.

But watching Tony explain in-depth the specific parts needed for specific models, the tools that are necessary, it’s another thing. It’s more than just soldering and nuts, bolts and pliers. Each model and make is like knowing a person. A Ford from a Peugeot, from a rear wheel to an auto transmission. It was like being a veterinarian, for big machines.

And so Peter watched as Tony explained that morning, and well into the afternoon, as enraptured as he’d ever seen him in what is evidently a deep love, flanked by the autumn trees and yellowing grades of sunlight. A memory he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

He shows Peter the track of water through their radiator, the leak, the speed of water versus engine output. They will need a new replacement part, he says, he can probably do it for free with Jarvis’ approval, which is so guaranteed, he assures, it’s called a discount, hello, Tony had said, but they will have to order the part in because this car is ancient and no one should drive these deathtraps -

“But in the meantime, we can put in some Chem-i-Weld, that should get plug up the leak long enough to you to the garage and we can replace it -”

Peter just nods, allowing Tony to manipulate his hands to drip coolant into the narrow opening of the radiator, the bright-green fluid dripping into the grass below when some spills over the steel mouth in their haste.

At some point Margaret and Ed return with their purchases, bringing them lunch from the diner they’d stopped at. Ed hangs around for a bit, listening to Tony’s assessment of the vehicle’s ails, nodding and immediately agreeing to the free repairs without needing to hear a pitch.

It wasn’t all that bad, he guessed, even when Tony deliberately smeared engine oil on Peter’s cheek and Peter punched his arm in retaliation.

It was kinda fun.

And maybe Peter didn’t mind so much that their shoulders brushed, when he once would have shuddered.

And maybe he didn’t squirm when Tony put his hand on the small of his back when he was pointing something out, but leaned into it.

In all honesty, it’s one of the best days he’s had in a long while. He tries not to read in too much that some of his best days lately were the ones where Tony was in it.

But of course, nothing is impermanent, and even good days go bad.

----

Some time mid afternoon, Tony heads out to an auto store in town, keen on doing a full oil change on the car, which was completely unnecessary, Peter had argued, and was told to shut the fuck up in return.

Which, fine. He could afford Tony the distraction he was in clear need of.

He heads inside then, hungry and a bit sweaty and wanting to check in on May. He feels a bit bad for having left her to her own devices all day.

It doesn’t take long to find her, she’s in the living room, fast asleep and snoring on the sofa. Margaret sits beside her on the armchair reading a newspaper, glasses perched upon her nose, bags of her purchases by her feet.

He reaches over to gently retrieve the glasses from Mays face without waking, placing them on the table. Knowing his aunt she’d probably flail in her sleep and smack herself in the face and break them. She’s done it before.

So has he.

“Poor thing has been through the gamut, hasn’t she,” Margaret mutters, without looking up. “I keep telling her to get on stronger medication.”

“For what,” he slowly rises. “What does she need medication for?”

She stares at him. “Her pain, darling.”

“What pain?”

Margaret swallows. “She hasn’t spoken about it with you.”

“No,” Peter says, “but I know something is wrong. I’ve asked. She won’t tell me.”

She sighs, dropping the newspaper to rub tiredly at the bridge of her nose, her glasses nudging up with the motion. “Right. Of course she wouldn’t. Look, Peter, it’s not my business to say, but she’s okay. Don’t fret. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“If there was nothing to worry about, why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“For the same reason you keep things from her.”

“I don't --” he stops himself. “She doesn’t think I can handle it, does she.”

“Darling, you know that’s not why.”

No, he doesn’t know that. What he knows is that May always has his prescription filled every month, always two days before he’s due to run out of meds. He knows that when things start to go south for him she cries when she thinks he’s asleep.

But he voices none of this, says instead, “I’m just gonna get some fresh air. Do you need anything?��

She doesn’t, and he can’t get out there quick enough.

----

Once, when Peter was thirteen, some jerks in his class found out that he did gymnastics. They teased him all day, called him a fruit, a fairy. That it was no wonder Piggy Parker was queer. Which wasn’t untrue, he was indeed very queer, but it wasn’t because he did gymnastics and they didn’t need to shove him against a locker for it or call him a pussy.

That was the first time that Flash ever stood up for him.

And it was the day he first thought about quitting gymnastics.

Not because he didn’t like it. But because of the way Ben looked when he picked Peter up that day, how his face twisted when he saw Peter’s black eye through the rear view mirror. And then the way he spoke to May in low tones later that night when she had gotten home from work when they thought he was sleeping.

He was good at gymnastics, and he thought he loved it. But nothing was worse than the feeling he’d had that day, something monstrously dark and twisted in words like burden and shame.

He’d always been an anxious kid. He’ll never really know if it was the result of losing his parents young, the fear of abandonment, or if that’s just the way he naturally was. There were the panic attacks, the social anxiety, the waking up in the middle of the night so sure the world was ending.

And now this.

He didn’t want any more pity or coddling.

The next day, on the way to school, he told Ben that he didn’t want to do gymnastics anymore. He didn’t have to tell him why. Ben already seemed to put two and two together. They argued about it. Ben said he was giving in and giving up and it doesn’t seem like he ever told May about how Peter wanted to quit because of that day, she never brought it up and he never told her.

But none more so than the day Ben died. The vehicle that would later become known as the May-Mobile was at a mechanic somewhere, something else had gone wrong with it, once again. So, keen to get Peter to gymnastics, despite his vehement protestations, Ben had borrowed a car from his work colleague, just for the afternoon.

The front passenger seatbelt hadn’t been working, it kept getting stuck and couldn’t be buckled properly, so Peter had been sitting in the backseat. At the time he was tight lipped, giving one word answers, arms crossed petulantly over his chest. He wasn’t being taken seriously. Again. He was so mad that day, he hated everyone. Wished everyone would just leave him alone.

Then they were at a stop light.

Having gently tolerated Peter’s childish indignation the entire ride, Ben had turned around in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other steadying himself on the passenger seat to implore with Peter.

To tell Peter to just give it a shot, just keep going with it, that he shouldn’t give up what he loved for anyone --

If he hadn’t been looking away from the road, maybe he would have seen the drunk driver that crossed traffic before it plowed head-on into their car. He might have been able to avoid it.

If he hadn’t been such an ungrateful, insolent child, Ben probably would have swerved and survived.

Peter never told May about the arguing. That Ben’s death was his fault.

She had enough on her shoulders. It was enough that he knew - and it was his to live with.

So in a weird way, he kinda gets it.

Doesn’t make the jackhammering of his heart ease any though. If anything, the air in the house starts to get thinner, the occupants more intrusive to a cohesive stream of thought, even if they aren’t in the same room.

Spying his sneakers by the door, he slips them on, too eager to get out to bother with socks. foregoing socks and taking a run by the lake.

He has blisters by the time the house has disappeared in the distance, but he doesn’t stop. Not when Tony drives past him, looking at him with surprise through the window, not when he feels blood slipping down his heels, not until he’s out of breath and his feet can’t carry him anymore. Even then, the thought of going back inside makes his stomach curdle.

It’s not even that he’s mad. He isn’t.

It’s just that everything in his head, the catastrophe of it all, is too big, and the house is too small to contain it. The thought of stepping foot inside has him feeling claustrophobic.

So he walks along the dock and sits, hoping the outdoors will swallow his thoughts.

----

There was something about this lake at this time of year. The leaves of the trees flanking the water, ruddy and ocherous, the way the water was so still as if it were straight out of that Monet painting, Morning on the... something or other, he can’t remember. But if Peter sat down long enough and stayed still it felt like he became a part of the canvas. If he didn’t move he could stay, etched forever in the sublime tranquility.

But something always moved, even if he didn’t. A bird. The light sprinkle of rain rippling across the lake. Tony settling down next to him on the dock, jostling him when their shoulders brush.

“You look like a sulking pomeranian,” Tony says, apropos of nothing.

“Well, I’ve been called worse, I guess,” he says quietly, digging deep to find amusement in the comparison despite the maelstrom of thoughts, the heaviness in his chest.

Tony nudges his side. “Spill. Tell me what’s earned your scorn today.”

“You remember the letter? The one from the hospital?”

He feels, more than he sees Tony stiffen beside him, the mockery gone from his voice when he answers. “Yeah. What ended up coming from that?”

“Nothing. May insists she’s fine. Peggy knows something but won’t tell me what, but says it’s fine.”

“Could it be possible,” Tony says dryly, “that everything is fine?”

“If it was, then why wouldn’t they tell me?”

“Don’t know, princess.”

“I just wish they’d tell me so I can stop,” he points to his head and makes an explosion noise, “you know.”

“Adults,” Tony shrugs. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Well, at least according to state law.”

He looks over to the bruising on the boy's neck, chest going tight at the sight. It must have really hurt. It must have been scary.

“You seem to know a bit about that,” he hedges.

“I guess,” Tony looks down at his hands. “Doing my best to live without one particular adult.”

Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite.

He clears his throat, willing his nerves to settle before he says the next part, the memories of the previous night at the forefront of his mind. “I know we’re not,” he gestures between them, “y’know, and I’m not your favorite person, but If you need a place to stay, you can always stay with us.”

Stark is quiet for a long minute as he looks out to the lake.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any handouts. I can take care of myself.”

“Not saying you can’t. Is that why you work at the garage? And take money to help others cheat?”

“You know about that, huh,” Tony grins wryly, but it quickly fades, voice getting darker. “Yeah. Been saving up. And now I don’t have to ask anyone for anything.”

“You know that’s not a bad thing, right. You can ask for help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“But do you want it?”

“Just leave it,” Tony says as gentle as he’s ever heard him, as if Peter were the one who needed comforting. “I made it this far. I know what I’m doing.”

Peter twists his lips, wants to be defiant and try to give this guy hope from where it had clearly and literally been beaten out of him. But it’s not right to insert himself like he knows anything more about the situation than the glaringly obvious. Like it was with Bucky, all he can do is be there, if someone wants him there.

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re heading into a pity party, Parker, I’m going to stop you there.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry I just assumed that you were just some rich asshole, that you were an angry kid. That you were violent.”

“I am angry,” Tony interrupts. “I am violent.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. You don’t know me.”

Peter scoffs, shifting on the dock until his knee nudges Tony’s thigh, a small point of contact meant to keep them both grounded. He releases a breath when Tony doesn’t move.

“I know that you drove me home while I was drunk and paid for my meals when you didn’t even like me. I know you could have hurt me when you hated me, but you didn’t. You made sure I had a ride when it was raining.”

“No need to get all starry-eyed,” Tony shakes his head. “I’d clock Rogers’ stupid fucking face again if he wasn’t too chicken shit to come near me. I’m not a saint.”

“No,” Peter bumps their shoulders together. “But you are a sucker. And angry, violent people just aren’t suckers.”

“Says who.”

“Science.”

“That’s some pretty questionable science, Elle Woods.”

“How about you shut up and take my word for it?”

Tony exhales, shaking his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

They sit quiet and unmoving for a while, becoming still with the scenery again, becoming surreal with it, sitting long enough for the moment to process, and for Peter’s heart to stop beating so fast. But something always moves.

By the time Tony moves to light another cigarette the kayaking family are back, tiny patches of yellow in the far distance. The sun has started to get low, taking the precious few degrees of warmth with it.

This time when Tony offers his cigarette, Peter doesn’t turn him down.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting my cooties,” Peter asks dryly, accepting the cigarette, placing the filter between his fingers, inspecting it. He’s never smoked before, never thought about it, never wanted to. May would lose her damn mind if she ever got whiff of nicotine on him.

“Terrified,” Tony nods seriously. “But, in the common interest of getting you to unclench, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“I am unclenched,” Peter mutters, bringing the cigarette to his lips, right where Tony’s lips were before and inhaling.

Tony’s only response is to lean back on his hands to leer at his ass, no doubt to evaluate that claim, his eyebrows raised dubiously in Peter's direction when he straightens.

There’s only a split second for heat to curl pleasantly in his stomach before he inhales too quickly, smoke seizing the breath out his chest. The other boy laughs, whacking Peter on the back as he catches his breath, taking the cigarette back from his fingers.

Despite himself, a little embarrassed, Peter laughs as well, vowing not to take up that particular habit, not even when he wanted Tony to look at him like that.

“Alright, toots,” Tony says loudly, and without warning reaches over to tug the brim of Peter’s cap over his eyes. “Enough feelings for one day, I’m starting to break out in hives. Let me show you how to do an oil change.”

----

They head back to the Volvo then, Peter’s stomach growling which he ignores, his feet aching. He’s sure that these shoes must be ruined now, the blood from his heels tacky, sticking to the fabric of the insides of the sneakers. He just should have worn socks, for fucks sake.

“I hit him first,” Tony says suddenly, breaking him from his thought. “I’m not a victim. I hit him first.”

His throat is immeasurably dry when he goes to answer, even though he’s not sure of what to say. He swallows and tries to buy himself time to find the words, to be the person that a kid like Tony might need.

“He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t have hit you back.”

“Yes, he should,” Tony’s voice is like gravel. “You don’t get to hit people and not get what’s coming to you.”

He gets the acute sense that Tony isn’t talking about himself and, for once, he wisely doesn’t prod him on it, can see in the tautness of his body that he’s wound so tight the barest brush could have him snap.

“Why’d you hit him?”

“He was talking shit about my mom. He wouldn’t stop.”

“Where is your mom?”

“Cliffside.”

“Where’s that?”

From the corner of his vision he observes his profile. Tony’s lips twist derisively.

“Malibu.”

Tony is quick to change the subject from there, though the conversation is light, the gravel never really leaves his voice much as he explains the relatively simple, if not tedious ways to do a complete oil change on the car.

While Peter’s sure he’s never really going to need to know, he let’s Tony gravitate to other easy repairs, apparently while he was getting oil he’d bought a new air filter as well, and also new brake pads, but without a ramp or a hoist, the pads couldn’t be changed, but keep them in the back seat and he’ll change them when he fits in the new radiator.

Peter lets him talk and talk and talk until his voice grows hoarse and the buzzing swarm of thoughts in his head go quiet.

----

“What are you smiling about,” Jarvis asks later when Peter enters the kitchen, keen to help out with dinner. A lasagna, if the minced meat and flat pasta sheets are a sign of what's to come. He washes his hands free of all the dirt and oil before putting them to culinary use.

“Nothin’,” he treads over, taking the wooden spoon over by the sizzling pan, homemade marinara sauce underway. He dips a pinky in, tasting it. It’s far too acidic, verging on metallic, like as if it came straight from a can. “Needs sugar,” he says, scrunching his nose.

Ed leans over to taste, humming with agreement before pausing midway, sniffing his hair.

“You smell like cigarettes and grease. What on earth have you been doing all day.”

“Tony taught me how to do an oil change,” he says, spooning in a touch of sugar into the sauce.

“Did he? He’s a good lad, that one.”

Momentarily distracted by the sound of daughter, Peter pauses to sneak a glance into the adjacent living room where Tony is regaling May with some story, his expression open and comical, his gestures exaggerated and broad. She’s laughing though, snorting through her nose, which catches Tony by such surprise it sends him off too. Then, the ache is back, sharp and unexpected.

It’s like the pain he sometimes gets in his right humerus, the pain he always gets on a rainy day. He broke his arm when he was eight, falling from the still rings during gymnastics training. The ache isn’t so bad.

Peter declines to respond, lest it get back to his protege, but silently agrees.

----

Tony, it would appear, does not hold the same reservations as Peter when it comes to domestic tasks, like brushing their teeth together, if the way he barrels right on in, shoving Peter a bit when he reaches for his toothbrush, is any indication?

“Don’t you knock, asshole? What if I’d been naked?” Peter asks around the toothbrush in his mouth, a little disgruntled by the constant jostling as Tony vigorously brushes his teeth, nearly elbowing Peter in the head.

“Why would you brush your teeth naked?” Tony gives him an odd look. “Weirdo.”

“That’s not what I -” he starts, stopping himself with an annoyed, minty huff. “Nevermind. You’re such a dick.”

As he suspected, it is oddly intimate - for him anyway - the heat of Tony’s side pressed against his, their bare arms brushing. Peter pointedly looks away from the mirror and gets a rush of self consciousness, and a little vulnerability, as he rinses and spits. Wiping his mouth free of any lingering suds, he makes the mistake of looking into the mirror. There, Tony addresses his reflection.

“You done yet? I need some quality time with the crapper.”

Peter scrunches his face up, shoving Tony out of the way so he can exit, the boys snickering following behind him as he heads to the sofa for his turn that night. Friday vacates her spot on the sofa, as if sensing his need for rest, leaping on the armchair with a disgruntled purr.

It’s pretty lumpy and smells faintly like mothballs and a bit like May’s perfume. He turns on his side, body exhausted after the long day. Body exhausted, yes, but as standard, his brain doesn’t know how or when to click off. The house is too quiet.

He takes his phone out and texts Nat and MJ and asks them about their weekends, hoping desperately for an opening in which he can talk about his own.

They’re two of his most reasonable friends. While the laughter and mockery he receives isn’t entirely uncalled for, and eventually subsides over the course of the next hours, he values their opinion almost above all of their bloated circle of friends, classmates and teammates.

Call me if you need an out, MJ texts as a bookend to their conversation sometime near midnight. Seriously. My cousin Drew is here and he keeps talking about his anal fissure.

Say the word if you want a rescue, I know how to hotwire Yelena’s bike, is what Natasha sends.

He loves his friends.

He closes his eyes, thinks of Tony the next room over, and drifts, drifts away.

----

He wakes while it’s still dark, not remembering having fallen asleep.

There’s an ache in his neck, and a blanket over his shoulders that he didn’t put there himself. Odd. But then, maybe he did, he doesn’t remember falling asleep either.

Before sleep again tugs him under, he hears a faint click, clack.

----

On Saturday, Tony wakes up to the sound of Northern Cardinals tapping at his bedroom window and the occasional chirp, and quite immediately regrets not bringing ear plugs or having an extra pillow to suffocate himself with.

For some reason everyone says the red bird has a lovely song.

Tony thinks they sound like squeaky toys being stepped on.

Consciousness is a horrible thing, and as soon as his brain becomes aware that he is, in fact, conscious, there’s no going back. Because now he’s all too aware of how unfamiliar the mattress underneath him is, the scratchiness of the sheets that bind his legs and how badly he needs to pee.

It’s with his eyes half cocked that he stumbles over to the adjacent bathroom, waking incrementally. He shivers as his bare feet hit against the tiles and relieves himself, groaning deep in relief, heading into the shower after.

Lucky for him, the water is blissfully hot and lasts long enough for him to wash and to soothe his aching lower back, compounded by sleeping on the sofa the night before and being bent over the hood of a car for hours yesterday.

Once out he wraps a towel around his waist and brushes his teeth, wincing when the cut on his lip stretches a little bit with the motion. Once done, he slaps his face with cold water to wake up a little more and prays to any deity listening that someone has put on a pot of coffee for him to guzzle.

Yes, he thinks, inspecting the fading bruises around his neck, refusing to think about how they got there. What’s important is caffeine, mother-fucker. The life source. Piping hot, right down the gullet. That’s what the doctor ordered. The doctor, being Tony.

He’s so distracted by the idea that, as he turns to leave, he doesn’t notice the bathroom door being opened and walks straight into a tired looking Peter Parker.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry - “ Peter immediately apologizes, clutching a towel and a change of clothes, “I didn’t realize you were -”

It’s when Peter’s eyes not-so-subtly rove over his body that Tony quickly remembers, hair dripping droplets down his neck, that he’s half-naked and covered in a towel.

His hands fly to cover his stomach and his nipples and he gasps, pretending to be scandalised for being caught in such a state of dishabille.

“Buy me dinner first, hornbag,” he chides disapprovingly, deeply amused when Peter stumbles back, gaze averted to the ground, mumbling more apologies. Tony can’t tell if he’s shy or just exceedingly polite, but his cheeks are blooming pink and he looks as if he’s trying to melt through the floor. It’s funny.

Clearly a virgin.

“I’m just gonna...” he trails off, squeezing past Tony to get into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Tony places his hands on his hips and grins to himself.

Great start to the day.

----

Despite the rough, splenetic start to the weekend and the shit-show that he knows he has to go back to tomorrow, Tony is actually, surprisingly, in rather high spirits. He’s not a dweller, so, that helps.

And it’s the location. The great outdoors and all that garbage, as people say.

Maybe it’s the company as well. Parker excluded, of course.

And it’s definitely assisted the hot brew of coffee in his hands.

“You complete me,” Tony whispers over the rim of his mug, taking another sip. It’s hot, almost scalding the roof of his mouth, but it’s so freaking good, his desire positively carnal. “Hell fucking yeah, baby. Get in me, that’s it, just slide on inside.”

Jarvis, across the table, blinks at him. “Are you quite alright there, Anthony? Do you two need a moment alone?”

Tony shakes his head, taking a bigger sip.

“No, we don’t mind people watching.”

Friday enters the kitchen then, and upon spotting Tony, hurries over on her delicate paws to rub her head against his calves, her purr rumbling as she weaves through his legs like an infinity sign. He indulges her then, leaning down to scratch her tiny face with his free hand.

“Hi, stinky,” he greets, delighted when she butts her head against his palm.

Pets were the best. Not that he has any.

“Don’t feed her,” Jarvis warns, “I already gave her breakfast.”

“Sure,” Tony lies, already sneaking her a sliver of bacon from his plate.

What. He’s helpless against big, water eyes. It’s not his fault.

Speaking of, Prissy Parker is taking forever in the bathroom. By time he comes out, hair gelled perfectly into submission even though it’s mostly hidden under a Mets cap - of course this loser goes for the fucking Mets - Tony’s already on his third cup of coffee and is silently working on his ability to disassociate on command after having heard more anecdotes about May and Peggy’s college life than he ever cared to know.

“Long shower,” he whistles as Peter heads for the near depleted coffee pot. “Took my advice about not getting the sheets sticky, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, punching Tony in he arm as he passes.

Jarvis, who had been enjoying his tea, looks up in mild alarm.

“Gee, he’s so sensitive,” he leans in to whisper.

Peter’s eyes flash over to him as he waits for a new pot to boil, a flare of anger that Tony is all too familiar with. The fire in his eyes reminds him of when they first met, when Tony turned down his offer of friendship, a brilliant, flawless augury of many moments to come.

But Tony can see the heat for what it is, just a front.

Because he knows, it’s all a mirage, isn’t it. Both of them. It makes him think of how their sides brushed yesterday while working on the car, something that would have incensed the both of them in another life, would have had them flinching as if they’d been burned. Disgusted with themselves. Each other.

Sometimes still are.

But Tony knows; a flame manifests and scorches in resoundingly different ways.

What a fucking world, he thinks, that fire and singe. He sips his scalding hot coffee again, locking eyes with Peter.

The smirk around the rim of his cup is sidelong and gleeful. What a fucking world indeed.

----

Tony doesn’t know why he does it. Doesn’t know why he does anything, really, barring the gratification he gets from succumbing to his impulses.

Maybe that’s why he does it.

Or maybe it’s because of the terse conversation he overheard between May and Peter after lunch that day. Something about pain and medication, Tony doesn’t know, he wasn’t meaning to pay attention. They were on the porch and their voices drifted in through the open door. He really was too busy kicking Peggy’s ass playing Super Smash on the dusty old Gamecube to pay attention to it.

But what he does know is that May came inside and went to go lie down in her room after and Peter didn’t come back in.

It wasn’t until he went out for a cigarette some hours later that he spotted Peter, sitting by the docks, much like he had been yesterday. He stares for a moment, trying to reconcile the figure hunched over on the dock with the person he knows Peter to be.

For all of Tony’s memories are worth, Peter has always been this annoying larger-than-life figure. But, emphasis on the annoying. From the moment they met, Tony had pegged him to be some old-money, football playing degenerate like everyone else on his team.

The moment he tried to befriend Tony two years back was jarring, infuriating, because the kid was new and had clearly sniffed out the influence where he could smell it. He’d had Barnes and Rogers on either side and although Tony wasn’t at the top of the social pyramid, his familial connections had him in the upper echelon of the so-called food chain.

That’s what he thought it was, back then.

He didn’t need to think about disdainfully slapping away Peter’s literal and metaphorical hand of friendship, it was obvious to him what value he was after and it had nothing to do with Tony.

But, the assignment taught him in many ways that his impulses and his own assumptions were categorically erroneous in this instance.

Because he didn’t have enough data to base his hypothesis on, then, just a petty first impression. How was he to know that the torn jeans and ratty hoodie weren’t a fashion statement. How was he to know that Peter was genuine, when his smile looked as practiced as everyone else's.

He’s not proud to admit that it took a real peek into his life to know that Peter wasn’t who Tony thought he was.

Turns out he really was larger than life. Tall and strong. Handsome, even with his dorky glasses and signature scowl. Super smart and modest and what Tony had thought was pandering was really just Peter giving away love like it was for free. Everything Tony wasn’t.

But right now, at the edge of that pier, Peter looked small. Scattered. Like a short gust of wind could knock him over.

Tony didn’t like that much.

And maybe that’s why he does it.

Maybe that’s what convinces him, half-burned cigarette tucked between his pursed lips, to shed his jeans and sunglasses right there on the porch, despite the frigid air. It’s the impulse, and he hasn’t ever been real good in saying no to those.

It’s definitely the urgent impulse that convinces him to set off into a run, leaping over the stairs and sprinting for the dock. Perhaps that’s what convinces him to hurdle himself over Peter’s hunched figure and cannonballs directly into the lake, knees clutched to his chest.

It’s worth it, to hear Peter shriek in surprise as the water splashes over him until he can’t hear anything.

And the look of outright indignation when Tony resurfaces?

Bliss.

“Asshole,” is all Peter says, wiping his phone free of water. He tugs his cap further over his eyes, and directs his attention back to his phone as if Tony had not just executed a perfect dive into a dirty, rotten lake.

That is not acceptable, Tony thinks.

He swims for a bit, gliding on his back, and staring at the sky. The clouds are grey and swollen, lingering overhead and threatening a deluge of something unpleasant.

“You think it’ll snow?” Tony asks, moments later.

Sullenly, Peter shrugs, attention focused on his phone.

Larger than life Peter may be, he’s still inexorable when he wants to be.

Not that he’s ever been particularly chatty with Tony even on his best days, but it’s hard to miss how he’s been growing steadily more quiet this entire weekend, giving clipped, one-word answers. And Tony’s pretty sure that the fidgety fingers and the restless legs have a lot less to do with him and more to do with whatever existential crisis a sixteen year old might have, or perhaps with his ailing aunt.

Tony tries not to take notice for all of about four seconds before he gives in. In the peak of the noon sun, Peter has abandoned his sweater, donned in only a graphic tee and jeans, slouched so low that his spine almost looks like a sagging crescent, the sleeves of his shirt riding up on his remarkably toned arms.

Oh, I do declare, Tony thinks amusedly, fanning himself in his mind.

Anyway.

Priorities.

“What’s up with you, hmm?” Tony presses, wading closer. “What's gotten stuck up that bubble-butt of yours?”

“Nothing,” says Peter, tapping away at his phone, not even acknowledging Tony’s backhanded compliment. “What are you so happy about?”

“Your misery.”

“I really hate you,” Peter mutters without feeling, putting his phone away to stare moodily out at the lake.

Well, that will just not do.

“C’mon now, chin up, frog-face. You look like you’re about two seconds away from needing to breathe into a paper bag.”

Tony’s probably not far off the mark. He saw the half empty bottle of Klonopin with Parker's name on it stashed in the bathroom cupboard. You learn something new every day with this guy.

Not that pharmaceuticals were a personality trait.

But, well.

Moving on.

“Don’t call me that.”

“You really do have your panties in a twist, don’t you,” Tony says, mostly to himself. Peter doesn’t even bristle like a snooty cat like he usually does. Just stares forlornly to the distance like he was in some indie film. It’s weird. “You know, someone who pulled one off recently isn’t usually this tense.”

Finally, Peter’s attention is firmly on him.

“I’m not tense and I pulled one off just fine.”

“Oh, did you,” Tony teases, enjoying how pink Peter’s complexion suddenly turns. “How saucy. Did you think of me and my pasty skin, hmm?” he prompts. “It was the sight of my perky breasts, wasn’t it, you little perv.”

“No,” Peter adjusts his cap, cherry-cheeked. “You’re weirdly bent on when and where I jerk it and I’m the perv?”

“I’m not bent. I just think you’re uptight and need to relax. Ergo, penis-colada.”

“I am very relaxed. Ergo, you are an idiot.”

“Oh, precious,” Tony flicks water up at him. “Come on, be honest.”

“What,” he says defensively. “If I’m uptight it’s because you deliberately wind me up.”

“In a sexy way?”

“In a ‘I’m going to disembowel you and feed you to Friday’ way.”

“We’ve talked about your sweet nothings,” he tuts. “Terrible. Zero out of ten. My dick just shrivelled in on itself to seek shelter. Look.”

He holds up a single pinky finger and wriggles it.

It has one of the possible intended effects when Peter laughs through his nose, the tight line of his shoulders easing. And this, this is what Tony has found in recent days that earns him a great deal of satisfaction - winding Peter up just the right amount when warranted, and getting him to uncoil when it’s not Tony that’s done the winding.

“C’mon, stop being such a buzzkill,” Tony implores. “We’re not at school. Could you stop being chronically constipated for a minute and have some fun.”

Peter looks at him suspiciously.

“And what happens when we go back to school?”

Well, he hasn’t considered that yet, and doesn’t really want to.

Instead, he makes a show of scanning their surroundings and appearing contrite, peering up at him through his eyelashes. He watches as Peter’s defensiveness gives way to curiosity, the tautness in his arms melting as Tony swims closer, beckoning with one hand as if he had a secret to tell.

“Don’t tell anybody,” Tony whispers, hands sneaking up to grip at Peter’s wrists, “but here’s the plan. I think we should --”

“Tony, no,” Peter realizes a second too late, already pulling on his hold, voice raised with barely restrained laughter. “Do not, stop, stop - don’t you fucking dare - ”

Then he pulls, Peter shrieks loudly before he hits the water.

“Tony!“

----

Peter emerges from the water furious, a scowl that could rival the mythical scorned, cheated out of their fate, water dripping from his eyelashes, his perfect hair a sodden mess over his face, snorting lake water inelegantly from his nose.

For his troubles, Tony gets an angry splash of gross lake water in his mouth and hands pressing down on his shoulders, pulling him under.

And Tony gets the uproar, because this lake is really not made for swimming. It’s dirty and more suited to kayaking than it is accidentally inhaling the water in any orifices, but Tony is nearly seventeen and if he wants to play around in scum and dubious bodies of water, that’s his decision, poor or otherwise.

He’s close enough to the lake floor that he can plant his feet on the rocks and thrust upward, thwarting Parker's half-hearted attempts to drown him, laughing at Peter’s put-off expression even as he fights to catch his breath.

“You are the fucking worst, I could kill you right now,” Peter says, low, with what Tony guesses is supposed to be a menacing expression as he wipes his glasses free of water with his abandoned sweater. It’s quite adorable.

He spreads his arms wide and grins.

“Do your best, baby.”

----

There’s a lot of things that Tony would never have thought he would say.

Like, for example, that peanut butter and cottage cheese on toast were a good combination.

Or that The Black Parade was the modern incarnation of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Or that Peter Parker looked strikingly handsome, wet and sputtering after being unwillingly pulled into a dirty body of water, and that having a water fight with him would constitute as a good time.

And it’s not that Tony hasn’t ever thought that he wasn’t attractive. Of course he was, with a body and a face like his, sprung to life as if it came carved from marble, it was undeniable to anyone with functional vision. But while Tony lumped him and his dumbfuck teammates and friends in one category, it never struck him just so.

“You didn’t answer my question about school,” Peter says during a truce, wading in the water, seemingly content with his new habitat.

“What, my dear, was the question?” Tony blinks, eyelashes laden with droplets, genuinely having forgotten. “Be precise.”

“What happens when we go back? Do we just... ignore each other like before?”

Tony places a hand on his own chest. “I never ignored you.”

“You were an asshole to me.”

“And you were such an angel to me,” he rolls his eyes. “What’s your point. You wanna hold hands in public or something?”

“No,” Peter flushes. “I don't know, just act like we don’t actively despise each other?”

“Don’t we? Are we friends now?”

“No.”

“You crushin’ on me?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“You don’t hate me,” Peter breathes, swimming closer. “And I don’t hate you. You know what, yes, actually. Let’s hang out. Come to the game next week. It’s against Aldrige.”

“Football?” Tony huffs amusedly, locking his eyes with Peters. “You think the path to reconciliation is in me watching a game I don’t even like played by the future, festering dregs of our society? Think again, dollface.”

“I think you think too much,” Peter says before splashing him in the face with freezing lake water.

“And I think I have better things to do on a Thursday night.”

“Like what,” Peter swims closer until they’re nearly nose to nose.

“Becoming one with my bed, cutting my toenails, crying myself to sleep,” Tony ticks off his fingers. “Literally anything that isn’t sport. If I wanted to watch a bunch of repressed angry dudes jump all over each other and hump grass I could just watch porn.”

“So, I’ll see you there?” Peter grins in that cheeky-cherub way of his.

“Are you even going to play?” Tony tries, his will faltering.

Peter had taken the brace off his wrist over the weekend, but that didn’t mean he was done being benched.

“I’ll get cleared next week. Just don’t rub one out in the bleachers if the grass humping becomes too much for you. They frown upon that.”

“For the record,” Tony says flatly, “I dislike you very, very intensely. Especially right now.”

“Feeling’s mutual, bub.”

Neither of them move, and somehow they’ve managed to gravitate disconcertingly close to one another during their back-and-forth. The fire is back in Peter’s eyes, utterly magnetic and a gust of unexpected want barrels into his body.

Tony wants so excruciatingly in that moment to bridge the gap, wants with his whole body, whether it’s to dunk him under the water or to pin him to the dock, kiss the cocky out of him. Wrap his arms around him and keep his lips and body warm from the freezing water.

God, wouldn’t they be something. All push and pull.

The want just keeps building like a score reaching crescendo until he can feel it like a suffocating pressure, right to his very fingertips, in his nails, and it just makes him want to reach out and do things he has no permission to do, even when they’re so close that he can feel Peter’s breath on his face, even though Peter’s eyes have gone dark and heated, so all that’s left to do is -

Peter’s outraged squawk when Tony splashes him again is terribly satisfying.

Not as satisfying as kissing him might be, he imagines.

But it will do.

----

Tony has learned a lot about Peter since the time they started working on their assignment, but nothing near the information he’s managed to accrue over the course of this weekend. How his nose scrunches when he sneezes, that he’s allergic to nickel, that he’s the worst type of human being: read, a morning person.

Peter fucking Parker. Really?

This guy wears punny shirts and hums the Star Wars theme as he’s studying, Tony’s been on the unfortunate receiving end of it so he really, truly has to ask himself. This dweeb?

Yeah, his heart beats in response. This fucking dweeb. What are ya gonna do about it?

If he had a Magic-8 Ball to shake it would likely land on some ambiguous and unhelpful advice.

Who the fuck knows?

----

They’re saved the disgrace of having to walk back dripping wet and half frozen into the house - while they have been dilly-dallying the day away in a cold, dirty lake, the adults have set up a bonfire between the porch and the dock, largely without their notice.

By dusk Tony is starving and accepts his pyramid-like stack of food graciously as he settles in a rickety wicker chair by the fire, diving into his helping of steak, corn on the cob and potato salad. Jarvis heartily offers a boat of mint-flavored gravy which Tony declines because he hates mint in anything that isn’t gum and even then cinnamon is clearly the superior alternative.

Once dinner is finished the marshmallows and crackers are distributed - and Tony is shit, he means shit, okay, at getting the marshmallows right, too bored to keep an eye on it, but Parker does it right nearly every time. He passes his best around the fire and keeps the few horribly charred ones to himself and that used to be something that Tony would want to sneer at him for.

Goody-two-shoes.

Now, it just makes Tony want to watch him.

Beside him, Peter shivers as the warmth of the flame starts to burn some of the chill from his skin, their clothes slowly starting to dry. It makes him think back to how May had tutted fondly at their wet appearances after they had emerged from the lake, flocking to the fire like overgrown human moths, running back into the house and emerging soon after with towels for them both, tugging Tony’s around his shoulders playfully like a scarf.

She’d been so… patient. And warm. The reprimand never came, not from anyone, despite Tony's expectations.

Now, he stares at the bonfire, idly listening to the faint music and yelling from a party at the other side of the lake, finally allowing himself to relax.

You can never be surprised by someone's actions in the heat of the moment if you’ve already tested their limits beforehand. That’s what people were. Full of variables, yes, but predictable once you knew how they responded to particular stimuli. It wasn’t a perfect methodology by any means, but at the very least Tony could count on knowing what might earn him a fist to the face with most people. Or a flinch.

It’s the first proper Thanksgiving he’s had since he stayed with the Potts two years ago. Rhodey and his parents always go to Minnesota each year to see family and last year Tony’s mom came up from California, and, well, wasn’t that was a fucking disaster.

So this? This is one of the nicest nights he’s had in a very long time.

Nobody expects him to be proper, to sit upright, to only be seen or heard if he was being useful. He wasn’t being useful. He was getting the seat wet underneath him and he planned on convincing Peggy to let him have a beer and he’s sure his unexpected presence was akin to a meteor collision on this otherwise quaint family weekend.

But no one looked at him like he should be punished, or like he was an outsider. It was like he was supposed to be there all along.

His own mom, as much as he adores her, wouldn’t be caught dead in this scene.

But still, Tony might call her later and tell her about it.

They stay out there for a while, Jarvis’ boom-box playing Cold Chisel on some local radio station, but it's just slightly not tuned right and the noise is a bit pixelated.

It’s a long time before he draws his eyes from the fire. The adults are laughing about something and Peter is on his phone again, though his features are much lighter than earlier in the day.

“Your hair is curly,” Tony observes, they’re both dry now. “Huh. I didn’t know that.”

Peter’s hand flies to his hair, running his fingers through it, chip dipped in what Tony can construe as a self-conscious habit, his low laugh short and void of genuine amusement.

“Hah, yeah,” he tugs a lock in front of his brow, pulling it straight before releasing it. “You can see why I don’t walk around like this all the time.”

“No, I don’t,” Tony says, not understanding.

Peter looks at him oddly.

“I should head to bed,” he says eventually. “We have to leave early in the morning.”

Tony doesn’t want to be out here alone and he doesn’t want this weekend to end so he nods, stands and follows him inside.

It’s good timing then. It doesn’t snow, but the sky does finally split open and it rains.

----

At first observation it seems everyone has already gone to bed. Save for the TV playing Jeopardy the house is quiet, dark and still. However both stop dead in the living room, pausing when Jarvis, asleep on the sofa, snores loudly.

They stare, transfixed, as he mumbles answers to the game show in his sleep.

Friday is curled on his chest, looking very pleased with herself.

“Right. Well, I can just,” Tony gestures to the floor after a moment, as it’s his turn for the already appropriated sofa, “the carpet is fine.”

It won’t be a comfortable night, but it can’t be any worse than the time he camped out in the cramped backseat of his car after a fight with his father.

“We can share,” Peter rolls his eyes, already heading to the room. “The bed’s pretty big, so. As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

Tony follows with an air of casual disinterest and aims for puerile with his next words, just for the small thrill of winding Peter up.

“I’m going to tell everyone at school you propositioned me to get into your bed.”

“Shut the fuck up or sleep on the floor,” is all Peter says before he locks himself in the bathroom. Tony grins to himself.

Success.

They settle very awkwardly on either side of the bed after they’ve both had the opportunity to piss and brush their teeth, looking around each other but not really meeting eyes, flinching any time their skin nearly touches. Yes, the bed is fairly big if you’re a teenage kid and the sole occupant, but, as it were, the bed looked impossibly small now, as if it had shrunken overnight

Well, no time like the present is there. Tony’s the first to move, pulling back the sheets and climbing in. Peter’s quick to follow suit, lowering himself gingerly, shuffling awkwardly until they’re both settled on their sides, facing away from each other.

“You better keep to your side. I swear to god,” Peter says in the darkness, “if your butt or any other part of you touches me...”

“And sully my reputation as a perfect gentleman? Please.” Tony fakes a yawn. “We both know you’re the sexual deviant here.”

“You’re a moron.”

Tony smiles in the darkness.

----

It’s been twenty minutes of rigid backs, carefully measured breathing and staring at walls, glaring evidence that neither of them are asleep or even close to it.

“Can you hear that noise?” Peter whispers. “That clicking noise?” He imitates whatever his freakishly good hearing is picking up, sounding like a vaguely predatory, foot-high dinosaur, but Tony knows what he must be referring to, even though his own hearing doesn’t pick it up - or is so used to it by now it doesn’t even register.

Tony’s eyes widen as he thinks of his bot, stashed in his duffle in the closet, the zip slightly open so he can ‘breathe’.

“Nope,” he says. “Don’t hear anything.”

----

An hour later, both still very much in the same place they were before with added sighs of annoyance and the occasional cough. Sleep isn’t coming any time soon. Sleep and Tony have had regular disagreements for as long as he’s known it.

“You wanna watch Gordon Ramsay yell at people?” Tony says, turning onto his back.

“Okay.”

After fishing out his laptop, Tony has to very carefully open an entirely new window to stream an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, lest Peter see the thousand and one tabs Tony has open on his main window. Some of them benign, like google results of what does fremdschämen mean, others a little more embarrassing like the numerous PornHub tabs and the YouTube playlists of questionable reality TV shows.

Best to avoid that situation completely.

----

“It’s fuckin’ raw,” Tony does his best impression of the accent an indeterminate time later, the laptop stowed away, the room pitch-black save for the strip of light under the door and warm, sleep finally tugging him down to its dark depths.

“I’m shutting it down,” Peter imitates with vigour, laughing softly to himself.

Tony closes his eyes and allows the sandman to do his work.

----

When he wakes he notices three things.

One, is the sound of the kettle boiling, a screech of noise as it hits crescendo. The second is that it’s very cold, the heat of the fireplace not quite sufficient to reach the guest room, the snappy, waspish wind against the window a sign of the conditions outside.

The third is the warm huff of Peter’s breath on Tony’s face.

And that leads to the observation that they’ve drifted closer to each other through the night, facing one another, faces inches apart. This close, like earlier in the lake, Tony can count Peter’s eyelashes, the stipple of pale freckles upon his nose. His face is lax with sleep and his lips are parted slightly.

He’s snoring, just slightly.

Also, he fell asleep wearing his glasses.

It definitely is not endearing.

The bedside alarm clock says it’s only just past five, which would explain the tired ache around his eyes, and why Peter is dead to the world, motion behind his closed eyelids as if he was in a dream.

For some reason, the only thought that accompanies the sudden swell of emotion in his chest is, Toto, I've a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.

There’s a warm looking flush dusted over Peter’s cheeks, and of course there is, Tony thinks, he’s gone and stolen all the blankets through the night, leaving Tony little more than a pitiful square to cover his torso. That’s why he’s shivering.

Shit-head, Tony thinks, sliding closer under the comforter, hoping to share some of Peter’s heat, desperate to go back to sleep.

Except sleep doesn’t come, it never does.

Not when Peter unconsciously shifts closer, sighing softly as his bare legs brush Tony’s, not when he gravitates like a planet in orbit, close enough that they’re sharing a pillow, lips smacking drunkenly on their combined body heat.

Not when Peter wakes some moments later, eyes opening confusedly before dimming with fondness, like maybe that was what more or less than what he had expected. The thing that annoys Tony is that he doesn’t know which - they’re so close their breath mingles, and their toes and knees brush under the blankets and it’s more intimate than friendly - so which is it, he wonders; more, or less?

“Hey,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony can feel the soft brush of Peter’s hair against his forehead. “Morning.”

Tony’s betting on more. Peter is braver than Tony is - and this - this is.

His stomach drops, courage slipping from his grasp.

“Do you know what really annoys me about you?” Tony whispers in lieu of returning his greeting, his voice shaky and easily blamed on the lack of sleep. “What really annoys the shit out of me?”

“What,” Peter queries softly, eyes still closed.

“This,” Tony extends a finger to flatten the hairs of Peter’s ridiculous wayward eyebrow, stupidly captivated by the way that Peter leans into the touch ever so subtly, like a cat being pet.

He feels the huff of laughter over his lips before he hears it.

“My eyebrow?”

“Yes,” Tony mumbles, stroking over the hairs again to ensure they remain flat, like a normal eyebrow should be. “Why is it always like that.”

“Not sure,” his bed companion hums, careless and minute, slurred with sleep enough that Tony might not have caught if he weren’t already studying the lines of his face. “Maybe it just likes to annoy you.”

“It’s very successful in annoying me. As is every other part of you. You’re infuriating.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

To steel himself he takes a deep breath, drawing on his remaining reserves of courage as he breathes out, encouraged ever so slightly by the way Peter hasn’t yet flinched away.

Tony allows his finger to trail from Peter’s eyebrow down the slope of his nose, his skin sleep-warm and smooth. Then his finger moves to trace the curve of Peter’s cheekbone, and that’s when Peter’s eyes open.

His stare errs on soft, curious and Tony doesn’t know why he’s doing it, except that the need to touch is too great, feels drawn to him, like this is the perfect state of being, intertwined and silent. And that the way Peter shifts closer to him until their foreheads touch means maybe he feels that way too.

Curiously, always pushing boundaries, his finger trails from his cheek, to gently stroke his philtrum, and then down to the soft bow of his upper lip.

“This weird?”

“A bit.”

Ever so gently, he traces the curve of his lips, sighing when Peter’s hands come to clutch his shirt, not flinching, not looking away.

“Do you like it?”

Peter just nods, shifting even closer until the tips of their noses touch.

“Can I -” he asks, cutting himself off, letting go of Tony’s shirt to raise one of his hands until one of his fingers touch the apex of his shoulder, stroking down over his arms, the bump of his elbow and down the sharp slope of his forearm, resting at the underside of Tony’s wrist where his pulse beats fast and fierce.

They remain like that, the moment sweet and gentle in a way the two of them rarely were. Courage builds at the same time that his fear escalates, like standing at the precipice, sick with nerves but elated at the prospect of taking the leap.

He wants to lean in so badly and capture those lips with his own. Wants to climb over Peter’s body and press him down. To bite that full lower lip, to cradle his hips with his thighs and pin him down, make him gasp, beautiful and breathtaking.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, pressing his lips against his thumb. He thinks he will move it and lean in and replace it with his own lips.

But before he can there is a loud knock at the closed door.

They still, lips the barest width apart.

It’s May.

“Pete?” She raises her worried voice through the wood. “Time to wake up, kiddo. We gotta go soon.”

“Okay,” Peter calls back, still staring at Tony. After the footsteps retreat from he inhales deeply before letting the breath go and taking his hand away from Tony’s.

Neither of them move for a moment, Tony’s thumb still resting on Peter's plump lower lip, their gazes heated and locked, but then, Peter’s hand slowly slides up from his wrist, feather-light, to rest over Tony’s hand, clasping around it.

At this moment, their only point of contact were their touching foreheads, their hands and Tony’s finger on Peter's lips, but his whole body felt as if it were floating, buoyant, like being grounded and suspended in the air at the same time.

Underneath Tony’s thumb, the lips stretch into a resigned smile.

“I gotta go.”

For a moment he doesn’t let go and wishes that the universe would go his way, just for once, wishes that time would do him this one favour and stretch these seconds interminably, hit the breaks, play itself out like the movies where everything pauses.

If it did, he would shift, slide his nose against Peter’s and wait for him to give Tony a sign, or for Peter to bridge the distance. But time doesn’t work that way and the universe rarely indulges him such hedonistic impulses.

As it was, in real life, his finger drifts to stroke the sharp line of Peter’s jaw until it reaches his chin then, down his throat, just for a second he lets his touch linger, not knowing when or if he will get this chance again.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, soft.

Conceding the moment to the whims of time, Tony pulls away then, shoving down the floaty feelings. A mocking grimace crosses his face as he decides to go for push, instead of pull.

“If you lift up that blanket and hotbox me I’m going to break your nose.”

And just like that, the moment broke.

Peter snorts before sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed. “Your dirty talk needs work,” he mocks.

“You shouldn’t fart the bed, honey,” he leans up, resting on his elbow. “How’s that?”

As has become the impulse of the day Tony sneaks his free hand from under the comforter and pinches Peter’s side where he knows he’s sensitive. As predicted, Peter squirms and bats away at Tony’s offending hand and takes grip of his wrist, laughing breathily.

“I’m going to tell everyone at school to call you Farty Parker.”

Peter squeezes his wrist, thumb stroking the underside, his expression, Tony might dare say, indulgent.

“No, you’re not. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

No, he wouldn’t.

Well, maybe he’ll tell Rhodey. Then he’ll look at Peter with judgement and Peter will know what Tony told him and it will be hilarious.

Tony watches while he gets to his feet and reaches his arms over his head, back cracking with the effort. Neither of them say a thing when makes no effort to hide the way he stares appreciatively at the sliver of skin that gets exposed when his shirt rides up before he saunters to the bathroom.

He stays in the bed and listens to the sound of the shower running, the creak of the old plumbing, replaying the last few minutes in his mind. Tony was going to kiss Peter.

And Peter was going to let him.

Tony’s lips stretch to capacity.

“What are you smiling about, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, when he returns. Something soft hits Tony in the face.

“Nothing, Mr. Parker,” he says, clutching what appears to be a forest-green hoodie, one he knows he’s seen Peter wear before, and often. It’s the same one Tony pulled the strings on to annoy Peter those weeks ago. “What’s this?”

“Collateral,” Peter replies, towelling dressed in a white shirt and jeans he slings a duffel over his shoulder, looking like James Dean, eyes roving Tony up and down. “Until I give back your jacket.”

Tony manfully waits until Peter leaves the room to bring it to his nose and breathe in.

Fuck.

----

“You come over whenever you want, sweetie,” May hugs Tony at the open front door, kissing his cheek again. “You’re welcome at any time, remember, I mean it.”

“Thanks,” he hugs her back, warmth blooming in his chest, giving her a grateful smile when she releases him.

Peter walks back slowly towards the car, waving a hand and visibly softening when he gets a wave in return. “See you tomorrow,” Peter calls back, adjusting his cap and biting his bottom lip, managing to make it sound like a promise. Cute tells, Tony thinks, those are the variables he can work with.

“So,” Jarvis says once they’ve driven off, a knowing look on his face, “that the guy?”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“I’m not smug, Anthony, I’m English.”

Tony sighs. He can’t really argue with that, can he.

What a weekend, he thinks, throwing an arm around Peggy and Jarvis, steering them to the kitchen for coffee. What a world.

For once, he can’t wait until tomorrow.

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #iron spider #starker high school au

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