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lyssismagical · 4 years

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diamonds are forever, but i’ve got something better

Parkner Febufluff Day 27 & 28 - Teasing & First Date

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Peter was a little bit too excited.

Ever since he found out about Tony meeting a genius kid in Tennessee years prior, Peter tracked him down and started talking to him over texts and social media. They got really close despite having never met, similar in age and in IQ, in life stories and in knowing Tony, it was easy to make conversation.

And now, Harley’s official flying up to New York to take Peter on a date, to meet for the first time since they started talking nearly a year and a half earlier, since Peter was fifteen.

Tony knows about it, knows way too much from Peter’s rambling conversations and occasionally screenshotting texts from Harley and sending them to Tony. They were always really cute, playfully flirting on each other’s social media, and it took over the media quicker than anybody could anticipate.

Peter was well known as The Intern, the quirky kid who somehow worked as Tony Stark’s personal intern at fifteen years old, now seventeen, easily winning the public’s affection with his silly tweets and his endearing personality, not to mention the pictures he took of Tony being a good person, just to prove it.

But when Harley started showing up in all Peter’s tweets and Instagram comments and even on his Snapchat story, the public started showing Harley some unwelcome attention until Tony made the public statement that he did know Harley.

And now, the media is obsessed with Harley and Peter.

“You’re not, you know, worried about your relationship being exploited like this?” Tony had asked when both Peter and Harley’s follower count had skyrocketed.

Peter had grinned, already working on a Tweet directed at Harley, “Course not. They only get to see the things we want them to see. Plus, it’s fun.”

And now, Harley and Peter are finally meeting after eighteen months of only talking online.

“Could you relax?” Tony says, lifting his eyebrows as Peter’s leg bounces under the lab bench and his fingers tap incessantly on the table. “You’re making me nervous.”

Peter looks up from his homework, corners of his eyes crinkling as he lights up in a smile. “I’m just so excited! We’re actually finally meeting! The closest thing we’ve done so far is photoshop us into pictures together.”

Tony rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head. “He hasn’t even boarded the plane yet, kid, just relax. He’ll be here late.”

“I know, I’m just too excited! I barely slept last night-” Peter’s voice is cut off by his ringing phone. “It’s Harley! I gotta take this!”

Tony rolls his eyes again, turning back to his own work.

“Hey, I’m at the airport,” Harley says with barely contained elation. “I’ve still got a bit before boarding, but I wanted to call you before I left.”

“I’m so excited!” Peter says for probably the thousandth time, voice lifting high and happy.

Peter can practically hear Harley’s smile. “Me too. I should’ve found an excuse to fly up sooner, but between college applications and extra credits and the job I’m working… Yeah, it’s just been kinda crazy.”

Harley works with his mom at the diner now that his little sister is old enough to stay home alone. It helps to bring in the extra cash, especially with Harley in his last year of high school.

“Yeah, of course, and I’m sorry I couldn’t fly down and see you, just between Spider-Man and school…” Peter doesn’t say that he’s scared of planes, but Harley already knows that.

“No worries, we have the next two weeks to spend together and make up for lost time, darling. And if I get into MIT, I’ll be just a few hours’ drive away,” Harley says, smile in his voice. “I’ll be able to see you every weekend.”

Peter grins, fingers tapping on the tabletop. “That sounds wonderful and I’m going to apply to MIT too. Maybe I can see if Tony’ll pull some strings and get us a dorm together.”

Tony turns around from his project, eyes lighting up. “You’re applying to MIT?”

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Peter nods. “It’s my dream school and Harley’s going in the fall.”

“Hell yeah, I’ll pull some strings. I’ll pull all the strings, kiddo.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. He brings the phone back up to his ear, listening to Harley’s quiet laugh.

“That’s a yes, then?”

Peter laughs. “Yeah, that’s a yes from Tony, I think instead of the shovel talk, he’s going to end up offering to pay your tuition or something, maybe write you a letter of recommendation.”

Tony flips him off over his shoulder but doesn’t bother denying it.

“Oh shoot, boarding’s started,” Harley mumbles, some strange mix of disappointed and excited. Disappointed because he doesn’t want to stop talking to Peter, but excited because he’ll be seeing Peter soon.

“Okay, well I’ll see you in four hours then?”

Harley makes a noise, something like a squeal of excitement, muffled by a cough like he doesn’t want to admit how excited he is. “Four hours, Parker. I’ll get a taxi at the airport and meet you at the tower, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Peter says. “Be safe.”

Harley’s voice softens, “Of course. Bye, darling.”

“Bye, Harley.”

As soon as Peter sets down his phone, Tony turns around again, not even bothering to hide his obvious eavesdropping. “You wanna work on stuff or are you going to panic clean the whole tower?”

Peter laughs, standing up and stretching his shoulders. “I’m going to go patrolling because I don’t think I’ll be out much for the next two weeks.”

Tony smiles but he looks serious when he ruffles Peter’s hair. “I know Harley’s a good kid, but I still want you to be careful, alright? You’re my kid and I’ll give him hell if he hurts you.”

“He won’t, Mister Stark,” Peter says. “Plus, nothing could be worse than nearly getting killed by my homecoming date’s dad. I think that will forever stay on top of the worst dates list.”

Tony pulls Peter in for a quick hug before letting him go, calling out to be safe on patrol.

* Harley arrives to the tower, suitcase and duffel dragging behind him, just past four hours later, a little bit of traffic slowing him down from making it on time.

He makes it into the lobby, taking in the huge space and all of the eyes turning towards him when he hears the familiar voice.

“Harley!”

He turns, dropping his suitcase and duffel when he sees the mess of curly brown hair racing towards him. He catches Peter who throws himself into Harley’s awaiting arms, nearly knocking Harley over.

Peter, in his arms, for real, for the first time since they became friends eighteen months prior, feels right, like this is exactly where they’re supposed to be. Peter’s warm and smaller than Harley, smelling like expensive soap and motor oil, and so fucking beautiful in person.

He’s seen hundreds of pictures of Peter, facetimed him more times than he can count, but this is different. Peter’s real and touchable and in his arms.

He wants to say something smart, something meaningful because this moment is meaningful, but his brain blanks, caught up in only Peter.

“Darling,” is all Harley manages, kind of high and strained like he’s trying not to cry, maybe he is trying not to cry, and when Peter laughs wetly from where he’s hidden his face against Harley’s chest, Harley figures he’s not the only one.

“I can’t believe this,” Peter says, pulling away just enough to look at Harley properly. His fingers brush along Harley’s cheekbones, cradling his face like he’s made of glass. “You’re so- God.”

“I’m god, am I?” Harley teases, smile threatening to break his face in two. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this much pure joy.

Peter laughs, the same carefree laugh Harley’s been hearing through the phone for so long, and presses a kiss to Harley’s cheek, intertwining their fingers.

“I just never knew you had freckles,” Peter says, voice soft and careful and when Harley meets his gaze, Peter’s bambi-brown eyes are teary and his lip wobbles dangerously close to crying.

Later, photos will spread across the internet of the two of them standing in the lobby of the tower, hanging onto each other and crying and murmuring the softest of words, looking at each other with only one thing in their eyes, pure love.

For now, it’s just the two of them.

* Eventually, Peter shows Harley to his room, a few doors down from Peter’s, and around the rest of the penthouse, even down to the lab while Tony’s away at a meeting for Pepper.

Harley lights up when they reach the huge kitchen, way bigger than necessary, and spotless considering Tony can’t cook and Peter’s been banned from the kitchen since he started a fire a few months back.

“I just had takeout planned, but if you wanna cook, be my guest,” Peter says, hopping up to sit on the counters, feet dangling. “I think Tony keeps it pretty stocked.”

Since he works at a diner with his mom, he’s picked up cooking and he found out he really enjoys it. So he hops on the opportunity to cook in Tony Stark’s kitchen, and starts rifling through the pantry and fridge.

Peter keeps up the conversation, despite it being mostly one-sided as Harley cooks, but he doesn’t seem to mind, enjoying watching Harley cook. It’s so much better than watching the snapchats of Harley’s cooking.

When Harley presents homemade pasta, nearly an hour and a half later, Peter swears he could marry the boy right then and there.

“I swear you’re good at everything you do,” Peter says, not even hesitating to curl up against Harley’s side on the couch, tucking his feet up under him. “You could decide to become, I don’t know, a dancer, and it would work out for you.”

“Says the literal superhero,” Harley replies, balancing his plate on his lap to wrap an arm around Peter.

Peter rolls his eyes, tucking in closer. “You wanna watch Star Wars?”

It’s a strange first date, that’s for sure. Cooking together and then watching Star Wars, it’s not the expensive, overly romantic first date that a lot of people chase, but it’s homey and it’s nice. It’s them.

When Tony gets back, prepared to give Harley the talk about not hurting Peter, or maybe to offer to pay for his tuition, he isn’t really sure what his plan was, he finds Harley careful dragging a blanket from the back of the couch over Peter who’s fallen asleep, head tucked against Harley’s chest.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says, helping Harley spread the blanket to make sure Peter’s feet are covered.

“Hi. Long time no see,” Harley whispers, careful not to wake Peter. His hand comes up to brace the back of Peter’s head, making sure he doesn’t slip as he shifts.

Tony offers a smile, taking the plates from the coffee table to clean up. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d pay for your tuition or if you want a dorm room with Peter when he gets in or if you want a letter of recommendation. As long as you’re good to my kid, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Harley murmurs. He presses a kiss to the crown of Peter’s head. “And you don’t have to worry about him, it would be stupid of me to ever let this go. Thanks again for the flight.”

“No problem, as I said, I’m here for whatever you boys need, just… Don’t hurt him, alright? The world’s let him down too many times and I don’t need you to add to the collection. He- He’s too good of a kid… But don’t worry about me. If there’s anybody you need to worry about giving you the shovel talk, you should worry about May.”

Harley’s eyes widen a little bit, but he doesn’t seem too shaken. “I’m not going to hurt him.”

“Good. Now, get some sleep. If you spent last night like Peter did, bouncing off the walls with excitement, I’m sure you’re tired.”

Tony smiles at them one last time before he heads off, leaving Harley to press another kiss to Peter’s head, letting his eyelids droop shut, filled to the very brim with love and acceptance.

{I know I’m a month late, but I’ve officially finished Febufluff!!}

#lyss writes #febufluff #wow i did it febufluff is officially finished #parkner #parley #parkner fic #harley keener/peter parker #harley keener #irondad #peter parker

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shadedrose01 · 4 years

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Truth or Dare (Yes, I Double Dare You)

Ships: Parkner (Harley Keener/Peter Parker), mentioned Thompsborn (Harry Osborn/Flash Thompson)

Summary: Peter play Truth or Dare with his friends.

Tags: Febufluff, Day 8, I dare you to kiss me, Truth or Dare, Party Games, Birthday Party, They play truth or dare y'all, Peter has a crush on Harley, Harley likes him back, Thompsborn is in this too, Bisexual Peter Parker, Gay Harley Keener, Dare, Calling your crush, admitting feelings, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Kissing, Cute, Fluff, a lot of swearing, I dont know why i made them swear so much, im sorry lol, Bad French, Poor translated french, I Tried

Day eight of Febufluff: "I dare you to... kiss me"!

"Hmm, I dare you to speak in a French accent for the next three rounds." Flash grins over his cup, swirling the drink in front of his mouth before taking a sip, watching the smile drop off of his boyfriend's face, an incredulous expression replacing it.

"Seriously?!?"

"Yes, seriously! And that wasn't in an accent!"

"Oui, oui, baguette." Harry deadpans, looking so entirely done with Flash's bullshit, the entire room erupting into laughter as said boy sits up, shoving his boyfriend's shoulder hard.

"No halfassed bullshit, dickwad. The real deal."

"Fine, you want the real deal?" Harry sits up straight, and Peter starts giggling like a mad man from the other side of the room, leaning against the wall to watch the scene unfold, knowing exactly what is about to happen. Harry clears his throat, holds a dramatic pause for a few seconds, before- "Tu veux un accent francaise, tu vas recevoir un accent francaise."

"Oh my god, I forgot he spoke French!" Flash moans, slowly slipping down the wall in shame.

"Oh la la, ma chérie, qu'est ce que tu as fais, eh?" Harry grins, smug, cheeky, knowing he's won this hand as his boyfriend sinks even lower, his head almost level with the ground, his face red.

"And why is it so hot?!?"

"Okay, okay, enough." Ned laughs, sitting chris cross apple sauce beside Peter, the party hat sat on the top of his head beginning to sag.

It was Ned's 17th birthday, and instead of throwing a big party full of alcohol and loud music like most people in their classes did, he decided to have a smaller party, a sleepover full of board games, video games and now party games, with his closest friends, with their friend group. So here they all were, packing into Ned's smaller sized room, Flash and Harry practically conjoined at the hip sitting against the wall, Peter and Ned sitting on top of his bed on the other side of the room, and MJ and Harley leaning against said bed, sat on the floor, playing what would hopefully be a quick game of Truth or Dare. Hopefully.

Peter had never liked this game. There was always too much risk for him in this game, of being asked to reveal one of his many secrets, or of being asked to embarrass himself for laughs. He gets the appeal of it, the adrenaline rush, the amusement of watching your friends do something stupid, it's a fun game to watch, but that doesn't mean he likes playing it. He hadnt even called on yet though, and he was hoping to keep it that way.

He shouldn't have jinxed it.

As if his thoughts manifested into reality, Harry turns to stare at him with a unknown, horrifying glint in his eyes. Oh no, this is definitely not going to end well. "Action ou Vérité?"

Peter sighs, looking up to the ceiling as he mumbles "Dare.", assuming that's what Harry asked. If he's going to go down, he may as well go down in style.

Harry's grin widens, and Peter is already regretting his decision. "Je te défie de telephoner ton béguin."

Peter blinks at him in confusion, before MJ translates, "He's daring you to call your crush."

"What?!?" Peter sputters, Harry cackling at his flushing face while Harley speaks up for the first time in a while, his ('beautiful, gorgeous, fuck-') face turned towards MJ, scrunched up in thought.

"You know French? Since when?"

MJ just shrugs, face impartial, the only sign of her shyness being her pushing a stray hair behind her ear. "Since I got bored one day and learned it."

Harley just nods, like that makes sense, all while Peter is internal freaking the fuck out. Normally, this type of thing wouldn't be an issue. Sure, your friends will find out who your crush is, and tease you about it, and it'll be embarassing and whatever, but that's not the problem. Oh no no no no no, that would be too easy for Peter Parker. No, the problem with this question for Peter is that his crush is in the damn room, sitting directly in front of him leaning against the bed, an easy smile tilting up his thin pink lips, showing off his adorable dimples as he scans the room again with those big, stunning ocean blue eyes, hair coiffed back just right, messy, but just neat enough to be perfect, one stray blond curl falling in front of his eyes and fuck, fuck, frick fuck.

What is he going to do?!? He can't exactly call Harley when he's right in front of him, but he can't exactly say that he won't do it either, he wont be that guy. And now everybody is staring at it, expectant, waiting, shit, shit, shit-

Ned's eyes are the only ones that are sympathetic, because he knows, he knows who Peter likes and why this is such a big deal. Harley is one of Peter's best friends, they've been friends for years, and Peter is closer to Harley than he is to anybody else, he cant just throw it all away because of a game, can he? Harley definitely doesnt like him back, so if he does call him, it'll only end badly, but theres this tiny, tiny, traitorous part of him that wants to fo it, wants to tell him, if only to get it out in the open. But he cant ruin their friendship like that, he cant, but- but- oh god, oh no-

"Come on, Parker, we don't have all day." Flash complains innocently, not knowing of Peter's internal dilemma as he throws a stray piece of popcorn at him, Peter catching it subconsciously and throwing it into his mouth, just to try and get a few more seconds of peace before all hell breaks loose, before he destroys his closest friendship with his stupid ass feelings, goddamn it-

"Yeah, Pete, come on, dont keep us on the end of our seats." Harley teases, placing his head onto the blankets and looking back at him upside down, his hair surrounding his head like a halo, making him look even more angelic that he normally does, and god, why him, why? "Who's caught your eye, hm?"

Peter takes a deep, long, shaky breath, trying to prepare himself for the worst (and failing), taking his phone out of his pocket and scrolling down to Harleys contract, the black letters and two heart emojis on either side staring back at him mockingly. He hovers his thumb over the call button, noting how much its trembling, before he gulps and presses it, placing the phone to his ear, squeezing his eyes shut like a coward, unable to watch, knowing that Harleys expression was going shift, was going to turn from soft and warm, friendly, to hard and angry, to hatred and disgust and-

ACDC blares out into the room, the noise very obviously Harley's ringtone, and Peter grits his teeth, biting his tongue hard, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Wha-" Harley sounds so confused, so so confused, and Peter's squeezes his eyes shut tighter, holding back the burning tears that are threatening to spill. "Peter, why are you- wait..." He stops, pauses, and Peter digs his nails into his palm, squeezing his phone until he hears it start to crack. "...really?"

His voice is shaky, and god, Peter made him upset, he is probably so hurt, so confused, so disgusted, god stupid, you're so stupid, why would you do that, why didnt you just not do it, why why why-

He nods once, slowly, swallowing down a sob before whispering out "I'm sorry," into the now eerily silent room, his friends seemingly shocked into silence. He doesnt even want to know what they're thinking, what expressions are on their faces-

Theres another pause, another moment before he hears somebody shifting, Harley standing up, he's leaving, he's leaving- Good job, Parker, now you're forcing him to leave, you made him feel so uncomfortable that he's leaving, good fricken job, god, what is wrong with you-

A hand rubs his cheek gently, so so gently, spurring him out of his head as it brushes away a tear that had broken free, before another hand joins it on his other cheek, cradling his face. Peter blinks opens his eyes, shocked to see that its Harleys hands on his face, and that its Harley sat right in front of his face, with a wide smile and glowing eyes, face bright. "You mean it? You really mean it?"

Peter just nods again, so, so confused but also filling with a spark of hope, of joy as Harley's smile grows even more, filling his face before he launches into Peter's arms, hugging him tightly. "Oh thank god," he breathes into Peter's shoulder, and Peter is so lost, what is happening- "I thought you were gonna call someone else, and I was gonna have to act all happy and like it didn't bother me when it totally would have and-"

"Wait, wait," Peter finally puts together the pieces, and pulls away to stare at Harley with wide eyes, the beginning of a smile twitching at his lips. "You like me back?"

"Yeah?" Harley cheeks grow a rosey hue, and he looks away bashfully. "I thought it was obvious."

Peter shakes his head wildly, eyes still wide, this cant be happening, he likes me back, he likes me- "No, no it wasn't, it really really wasn't-"

"So, what I'm hearing," MJ cuts in, tone blunt as always, but with hints of warm amusement softening the usual edge, "is that you two are oblivious idiots."

They both laugh breathless, staring into each others eyes. "Apparently." Harley murmurs, his blue eyes swirling and flickering up and down, looking down at his lips before looking back up again.

Peter gets an idea, a cheesy, cheesy idea, and grins. "Hey, it's my turn now, right?" He asks to the group, never taking his eyes off of Harley.

"Yeeup!" Ned responds enthusiastically, seemingly thrilled to see his two best friends realizing their feelings for one another.

"Well," he leans forward a bit more, watching as Harleys pupil's grow bigger. "Truth or dare, Harls."

"Dare." He responds easily, quickly, seemingly getting more and more antsy by the second. Peter can't blame him, he feels the same way.

"I dare you to kiss me." Peter doesnt even finish his sentence before Harley's lips are pressed to his, his hands moving upwards and running through his hair, fingers grabbing lightly onto the strands as Peter grabs his hips lightly, pulling him closer, both of the boys grinning into the kiss. Peter can hear MJ gagging in the background, Harry exclaiming "gross!" like he doesnt kiss Flash every two seconds, and Ned squealing like a fangirl, but he ignores it all, just focusing on Harley, focusing on this moment, his heart swelling in his chest.

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searchingforstarss · 4 years

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you heal me like the light of day

the third fic in my febuwhump/fluff series is here :)) this is written for the fluff prompts sick day + waking up together and the whump prompts graceless + stabbed.

ps there’s mild injury description in here as well as a super brief mention of violence and shootings in schools. look after yourself x

posted on ao3 here

---

Scaring Morgan half to death really wasn’t part of Peter’s plans when he agreed to go outside and play pet hotel with Gerald after dinner in the dying autumn light.

He was in the middle of getting the alpaca ready for his spa appointment (aka Morgan brandishing a bucket of soapy water) when he lost consciousness.

It’s not like he did it on purpose. It just sort of... happened.

---

There’s a hand pressed across his forehead. It’s nice, cool - cooler than he feels anyway. He leans into it.

There’s a brief moment of confusion in which all of Peter’s thoughts jumble together and when he blinks his eyes open again, he’s not in Gerald’s pen anymore but spread out across the couch in the living room. Morgan’s there still, standing off to the side with strands of hay still stuck to her shoes while Tony is hovering over him closely, concern etched all over his face.

Peter is about to ask him what’s wrong before something is being pushed into his ear and he frowns, trying to squirm away.

Tony rests a hand on Peter’s shoulder, applying just enough pressure to keep him in place. “Just a sec, Pete. Gotta check your temperature.”

Peter scowls weakly. “Not sick.”

“You fainted, bud. I thought Gerald had bitten Morgan’s hand off or something judging by the way she was screaming.”

Guilt washes through Peter as the tinny beep echoes through his ear and Tony pulls the thermometer away. There isn’t much he hates more than scaring Morgan.

Tony glances down at the screen on the thermometer and Peter doesn’t like the brief look of worry that crosses his face as he does. “Not sick,” Peter mutters again petulantly.

“Not sick, huh? The thermometer and I beg to differ. You’re running a pretty impressive fever, just about to hit 101 degrees.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Reckon this is the flu?” Tony asks, voice still gentle even despite Peter’s clear attempts to push him away. He really doesn’t need hovering over right now. “Have you got a headache? Sore throat? Feeling achy?”

Tony’s taken a seat across from him on the coffee table, reaching out a hand to brush it over Peter’s forehead again, thumb smoothing a few strands of hair away from his eyes. Peter just reaches up to bat it away weakly.

This isn’t the flu, Peter knows it isn’t.

The only part of him that’s aching is his side, just above his hip bone, but in all honesty that’s a secret that Peter was really hoping to keep to himself - for his own good. He's starting to doubt he'll be able to though, judging by the way that Tony’s staring him down and how his brain is starting to feel like it’s melting a little inside his own head.

Peter flounders uncomfortably under Tony’s gaze, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get up off the couch and get out of this situation.

He’s always been hopeless at keeping secrets from Tony. He only didn’t cancel this weekend at the lake house because he knew cancelling would be a sure-fire move to make Tony suspicious. Now, he’s wondering whether that was the right call at all.

“I, uh, you know what? I think you’re right. My head’s really sore, it has been all day actually, and I think that’s… that’s my stomach now, feeling really queasy. The flu really is the worst. I really should be in bed right now, shouldn’t I? Sleep cures all ailments or something like that…” Peter trails off awkwardly. Tony carries on staring. He’s suspicious now, Peter can tell, and he curses himself. He must have taken the flu thing too far. Damn it.

“Peter, if there’s something I don’t know about then I need you to tell me.”

Peter shifts. He fidgets with his fingers, tries to stall having to open his mouth and say anything else. His eyes dart over to Morgan, who’s now made herself comfortable on the armchair in the corner, distracted by a couple of animal figurines now, completely oblivious that her older brother is about to get himself in a lot of trouble.

Tony takes a gentle hold of his chin and tilts it back towards him so he’s got no choice but to look the man in the eyes. Peter exhales slowly. His side really does hurt and he wonders whether he tore a few of his (very shoddily done) stitches when he collapsed. He really doesn’t remember it throbbing this much before then.

“Peter,” Tony says again, and Peter pulls his chin away from Tony’s grip so he can avert his eyes down to his lap.

“Iwasstabbedafewdaysago” Peter blurts, and Tony’s eyes narrow infinitesimally as if this wasn’t what he was expecting at all.

“I don’t know if I quite got that, you wanna try slowing it down this time?” he says carefully, very clearly daring Peter to repeat what he’s pretty sure he heard.

Peter swallows. He dares. “I was stabbed. A few days ago. I took care of it, I promise, but it’s not, um, not really healing?” Peter says, voice rising at the end like he’s questioning.

“You were stabbed,” Tony repeats slowly, and Peter nods. “Okay. Wanna tell me how?”

Tony’s still staying fairly calm and measured. Peter isn’t sure where the angry reaction that he’d been expecting is.

“It was, um, look, it’s not that I wasn’t listening to you, but there were these guys and I overheard these things and I couldn’t just not-”

“You were out as Spider-Man?” Tony’s voice is lower now, just a touch more dangerous and Peter thinks ah, here’s the anger.

See, this is the issue. He’s kinda, sorta, definitely not meant to be out at Spider-Man at the moment.

He and Tony made an agreement a few weeks ago. After Europe and the whole Beck fiasco happened, Tony thought that Peter could really use the time out. Something about how being away from the Spider-Man suit would help him become clearer in his own head and himself again. The idea was mostly born out of the worry and panic that had resided inside Tony since the second he found out Peter was in trouble halfway across the damn world and he couldn’t do anything but sit back uselessly while Rhodey and Happy went to his aid. Tony doesn't like being useless, and he definitely doesn't like seeing Peter hurt.

Peter hadn’t thought it was too bad of an idea at first. He did really need the break at the time, but it was foolish to hope it would last. He wasn’t going to just sit back while everything was happening, not while there were men with weapons, not while they were threatening-

“Peter,” Tony snaps, waving a hand in front of his face. “Are you listening to me? I asked you a question. Were you out as Spider-Man?”

Peter rolls his eyes, against all his best instincts. He feels like shit, he’s being interrogated and all he wants is the waves of red hot pain to leave him alone. “I… ugh, yes, okay? I was. When the hell else am I going to be stabbed?”

Tony raises his eyebrows at Peter’s tone but doesn’t do anything to reprimand it. “This is New York City we’re talking about. I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt but apparently, that was absolutely the wrong thing to do.”

Silence.

“See? I told you anyway. Not sick,” Peter mutters suddenly after a moment, and Tony makes a slightly choked sound of outrage.

“Not sick? Peter Parker, in what world can you not see that maybe hiding a stab wound is worse than just being sick?”

Peter just shrugs. He could really use a nap right about now. This conversation is officially right down the very bottom of the list of things he wants to be doing right now.

“Let’s see it then.”

Peter pulls back slightly. “What?”

“Where you were stabbed. I need to see it.”

“It’s taken care of. You don’t need to-”

“If you’ve got a fever, I have a feeling it might not be nearly as well taken care of as you think,” Tony says sternly and Peter realises that he’s backed into a corner. There’s no way he’s leaving the room, or even getting up off the couch, without letting Tony examine him.

“But, Morgan…”

Peter hopes she hasn’t been listening in too closely, but for better or for worse, she’s fairly desensitised to hearing about Peter’s escapades by now. That doesn’t mean he wants her to see the consequences of them though.

Tony glances over his shoulder as if he’s just remembered that his daughter is in the room. “Hey, baby? You wanna go find Mom for a second?”

Morgan looks up from the animal figurine clutched now in her fist - a zebra - and shakes her head. “Petey’s hurt. Wanna stay with you.”

So she has been listening.

“I’ve got a really important job for you that you could do for me and Peter, though. Reckon you could tell Mommy we might need her down here with the special spider first-aid kid?”

Morgan jumps up and dashes from the room just as Peter protests, “I don’t need the first-aid-”

“Kid,” Tony warns and Peter shuts up. “Right, show me what we’re working with.”

Peter grimaces, but reluctantly tugs up the hem of his jumper to reveal the white bandage he’d adhered slightly wonkily over his wound. Pus and blood leak from the edges, but Tony barely even flinches until he reaches forward to slowly pull the bandage away, revealing the swollen, angry-looking skin underneath. There are red streaks that travel from the wound, further up Peter’s side.

“I - okay, Jesus, fuck,” Tony breathes out, jerking his eyes away from the injury.

Peter just looks down at it with an almost morbid fascination. He’d figured that his healing was working a bit slower than usual and that was why he was feeling run-down, but he didn’t think it was this bad.

“That’s infected, Peter,” Tony says shortly.

“I thought it would heal.”

“Yeah? Well, it isn’t and you know what sepsis is. I know you do. That can kill you. Is that what you want?” Tony presses, leaning in a bit closer to Peter but he pulls away from the man.

Peter freezes. “N-No, it’s not, I - I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just had to-”

“You didn’t have to do anything. What you were meant to do was remember that we had an agreement - which is clearly defunct now - about you and Spider-Man. So why are you sitting on my couch with a stab wound in your side?”

“It’s not what you think, Tony, I-”

“I think it’s exactly what I think. I know you, Peter, you have a hero complex the size of Manhattan but you need to learn that you don’t have to be the one throwing yourself down on the wire every damn time. You and I both agreed that you were going to have this break because you were worn down. You needed it.”

Peter’s too tired to even try and explain anything to Tony anymore. He knows nothing will get through, and he feels sick to his stomach but he’s not sure whether that’s from the weight of Tony’s disappointment or the infection.

“Did I really need a break? Or did you just need a break from having to worry about me?” Peter dares to ask. His voice is quiet with the knowledge that he's stepping into territory that he's not even sure he wants to be in.

Tony’s head shoots up and an odd mix of hurt and indignation twists on his face. He considers his words.

“I’m not doing this with you, not while you’re hurt. I’m going to call Bruce. I’ll get Pepper to come and look at that for you.”

As Tony gets up off the coffee table and turns to leave the room, his shoulders are pulled up in a tight, defensive posture. Peter almost wants to ask him to come back. He doesn't. Pride lodges itself in his throat instead and stops him from calling out.

He slumps and presses himself further into the couch. Slightly deliriously, he thinks that if it wasn’t for Gerald and his damn spa evening then maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

Pepper’s in front of him a few minutes later. She takes one look at his wound before declaring that there’s no way she’s going to deal with it on the couch because "blood truly is a pain to get out of these cushions.”

They end up in the spare bathroom downstairs, Peter perched precariously on the edge of the bathtub. His head is still spinning a little and he keeps a tight grip on the sides to try and stop himself from slipping backwards.

“Let’s have another look,” Pepper murmurs, and she helps Peter lift his jumper off over his head, wincing in sympathy as his face screws up in pain at the movement.

“Tony said you tried to take care of this yourself?” she asks once she’s fully removed the bandaging, "you stitched it up at home?" Peter gives a feeble nod in response.

“Okay. Clearly, your body didn’t love that, but your healing has definitely been trying a little bit. It’s healed enough that we won’t need to re-stitch this up once I’m done. We have one positive,” Pepper tells him, clearly trying to keep her voice light.

Peter tries for a laugh, but it comes out stunted and forced.

He sits as still as he possibly can, teeth digging into his bottom lip as Pepper cleans the wound with warm water, using some mild soap to wash away all of the gunk and fluid clogging it before she examines it closer.

Pepper focuses on the task at hand, but every so often Peter catches her looking up at him slightly questioningly as if she’s trying to figure something out.

“What?”

Pepper looks up again in surprise.

“Sorry,” Peter mutters, already regretting his abrasive tone. “I just - I, you keep looking at me funny.”

Pepper considers for a second.

“Sorry, no, I just wonder - why don’t you get May to do this? With her job and all. You don’t need to do everything by yourself, Peter, not all time…” Pepper says, trailing off at the end with worry that she’s overstepped but Peter just shakes his head to tell her it’s okay. He doesn’t mind. It’s only Pepper. He trusts her.

“I - I can’t.” He pauses. He fidgets with his fingers then stops because he knows he’s meant to be trying to stay as still as possible. “It's just, um, I don’t want her to worry, or have to see things like this when it’s me, y’know. Not after my uncle.”

“That makes sense,” Pepper says softly. There's a sort of underlying understanding clear in her voice and it fills a need for validation inside of Peter, that he’s doing the right thing by trying to look after himself, that he didn't know he had.

The bathroom falls into silence after that, and Pepper pulls what Peter thinks must be an antiseptic cream out of the first-aid kid, because when she applies it, as gentle as she is, it stings. Peter can’t stop the groan of pain through his gritted teeth.

A few minutes later there’s a thumping on the stairs above them, just as Pepper sits back. “There, we’re all done. We just have to leave it a couple of minutes to air dry and then we can bandage it back up again but I’ll use gauze this time. It’ll breathe easier.”

“Thank you, Pep,” Peter sighs, more frustrated with himself than anything but she just shakes her head.

“It’s nothing. We can’t be perfect all the time.”

Peter scoffs humorlessly. He’s perfect approximately none of the time.

The thumping sound stops and now there’s footsteps running down the hallway. Pepper gives him a small smile. “Looks like we’re just in time as well.”

“Peter! Daddy says it’s time for bed so I wanna say goodnight,” Morgan exclaims, bursting into the room just at the same time as Tony, a few paces behind her, lets out a slightly suffering sigh.

“You need to slow down on the stairs, Morgan. Mom and I keep telling you. You'll fall down them one day.”

Morgan doesn’t even turn around to grace him with a response, all her attention focused on Peter. “I’ll do the stairs super slowly once I’ve given Peter all his goodnight kisses!”

She wastes no time in reaching up on her tiptoes to capture Peter’s face between both her much smaller hands and press six kisses all over his forehead, nose, cheek and jaw.

“Six magic kisses to make it all better! Six is my lucky number,” she explains, before adding, “because I’m six years old now,” in the same proud way she’s been doing since her birthday a few weeks ago. As if Peter could ever forget. He spent the day letting himself be showered in confetti and his face assaulted with face-paint by the gaggle of Morgan’s tiny friends that were running around the garden, cake induced sugar-rush in full swing.

“I feel so much better,” Peter says, mustering up as much energy as he can to sound enthusiastic. It’s worth it for the beaming grin that Morgan gives him.

“Love you, Petey.”

“Love you too, bug,” Peter murmurs into her hair. It’s a little damp and it smells of her strawberry shampoo.

Tony’s standing in the doorway watching the scene with an unreadable expression on his face. He won’t look Peter in the eyes. “You feeling any better?” he asks plainly as Morgan pulls away and reaches up to give Pepper her goodnight kiss as well.

Peter’s not sure. He still feels kind of dizzy and a little bit out of it, but the antiseptic cream has soothed some of the hot pain that had been radiating from his side so he guesses that’s a good thing. In the end, he just raises his shoulders a little in a shrug.

Tony nods in response to this and opens his mouth as if he wants to say something else before Morgan is springing out of Pepper’s arms and back over to Tony, latching her hand inside his.

He closes his mouth again, words left unsaid.

They leave the room and the bathroom sinks back into a silence that’s more uncomfortable this time, as if Pepper doesn’t know quite what to say to make up for Tony’s clear cool demeanour.

“Why don’t you head upstairs and get into bed, honey? I’ll bring you up a glass of water and some fever reducers soon.”

---

Peter’s still awake half an hour later, staring at the ceiling, when there’s a knock on his door.

“Yeah, Pepper, I’m awake,” he calls out. He could really use those fever reducers right about now because his body can’t seem to make up its damn mind. He keeps throwing his blankets off when he gets too hot and then having to endure the searing pain when he gets too cold a few minutes later and he has to lean down to pick them up off the floor.

The door cracks open.

“Not Pepper,” a voice says. Peter looks up and - oh, okay, it’s Tony. He steps in the door. “She did ask me to bring you these though.” He raises the glass of water he has in one hand and an assortment of colourful pills in the other up slightly. “I’ve got fever-reducers and some of your pain killers. I spoke to Bruce before and he recommended these. He’s sending up a course of antibiotics to start you on tomorrow as well.”

Peter nods slightly listlessly against his pillow, trying to process the information through his fever-addled brain.

“Okay. Thanks,” Peter says eventually. He’s not sure what else to say. Is he meant to apologize? He doesn’t think he wants to. He’s not in the wrong, he had to do something.

“No problem.”

Tony sets down the glass of water on the nightstand, and Peter reaches out to grab it, downing a few gulps and swallowing the pills that Tony had set down next to it at the same time.

“You need anything else?” Tony asks.

Peter shakes his head. “No, I’m good, thank you.”

“Have a good sleep then,” Tony says, turning to leave the room. The unsteady waves of anxiety that have been sitting at the pit of his stomach suddenly rear up as he sees Tony’s hand hovering over the door handle.

“W-Wait, no, Tony?” Tony glances back and he meets Peter’s eyes properly for the first time. “Are you, um, are you mad at me?”

Peter hates the way his voice sounds small, childish, unsure.

Tony's silent for a few moments.

“I don’t know, Peter. I don’t think mad is quite the right word. But we had an agreement, an agreement that was solely to keep you safe." Tony sighs. "It would make me feel a lot better to know I could trust you to stick to your word."

Only ten minutes ago, Peter had been dramatically musing what could possibly be more painful than the throbbing in his side. He knows now. Tony’s words. Tony’s words are more painful.

Peter doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how.

Tony leaves the room.

---

“I’m just about to crawl into bed, you need anything?”

Peter turns his head against his pillow to see Pepper at his door about an hour later. He shakes his head, but she crosses the room anyway and lays a hand on his shoulder.

Peter sort of feels like he shouldn’t, that he doesn’t deserve it, but he can’t help leaning into the way her palm cups his forehead gently before she leans down to press her lips to the same spot.

He looks up at her, and he knows defeat is probably shining in his eyes.

“S’Tony really mad at me?” he asks quietly.

Pepper gives him a sympathetic smile. “You know how he is,” she murmurs, “he can’t do the whole superhero thing himself now, so watching you out there getting hurt when he can’t protect you is hard. He wants to keep you safe. That’s all it is.”

Peter finds this kind of hard to believe but he doesn’t ask any more questions. Pepper squeezes his shoulder and wishes him a good sleep before ducking out of the room, leaving him alone once again.

---

Peter’s freezing, icy water surrounding him.

It’s filling his throat.

He doesn’t know where he is, the stormy waters that surge around him have long since risen up over the tops of buildings, only the roofs visible.

He kicks out desperately to try and reach one of them for a moment of respite but just keeping his head above the water drains all the energy from him. He has to find a vantage point, he has to find Tony, find May. They were just here, they all were. Pepper, Morgan, Happy, Tony, May. They were just here. Where are they?

A shape forms in front of his eyes, flailing arms, a body and a head appearing out of the water.

Its arm reaches down for him and Peter turns, wants to run, willing his weak and shivering legs to carry him but he’s still surrounded by water, still drowning, and he can’t push hard enough-

He’s knocked down.

His head is submerged, water rushing over the top of his head, filling his nose. He tries to push to the surface, to gasp, but water just rushes down his throat.

“Peter!”

Peter hears the scream before the elemental, the Hydro-Man, knocks him back down and the screams become garbled background noise to the water gushing past his ears.

He kicks to the surface again and swallows down a huge lungful of oxygen.

“-eter! Over here!”

Peter turns his head frantically, battling the waves to try and search all around him. Where are they? They have to be-

There!

Happy, May and Pepper are huddled on a rooftop not far away. The water’s rising up towards them quickly. The Hydro-Man turns as he hears them yell and he’s heading towards them. Peter barely has time to yell out before the creature is bringing its force down onto the roof.

The roof crumbles into the stormy waters. Pepper, May and Happy disappear with it.

“May!” Peter hears himself scream. “Pe-” he coughs violently, water clogging his airways, “P’pper! Happy!”

They’re gone though. Swallowed up by the water.

“Kid!

That’s Tony’s voice. Peter has to get to him. He can’t lose everyone he loves. He won’t survive it.

Tony’s on another rooftop, feet slipping over the shingled roof. One hand is clinging to what looks like a piece of wrought iron fence while Morgan is wrapped in his other.

Peter swims and swims and swims, never daring to take his eyes off them even as the water stings his eyes, splashing up into them as he tries to keep them open.

He grasps onto what he thinks might be a bit of the roofs guttering, only feet away from Tony and Morgan now. He pants, chest burning-

The water is rising up around them, trying to drag Peter away. He clings on tighter.

“Tony, T-Tony, I don’t know what to do,” Peter wheezes.

The water level reaches the roof, the singles disappearing underneath a dangerous sea of blue.

Tony slips a little. A scream catches in Peter’s throat and he shoots out a hand to try to grab him.

“Take Morgan,” Tony’s saying desperately, pulling his own hand away from Peter’s and motioning hurriedly for him to take Morgan’s.

“Ton-” Peter starts, Morgan’s wrist wrapped in his precariously slippery grip.

The Hydro-Man raises his aquatic fist again. He brings it down, and the force from it knocks Morgan’s hand from Peter’s own. He fumbles, opens his mouth to yell her name-

When the water calms again, she’s nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Beck’s there. On the rooftop in front of him, having absolutely no trouble whatsoever weathering the stormy waters around him. There’s a sick smirk on his face.

He flickers for a split second, and a cluster of drones appear in his place before he’s back, reaching, always reaching, leering as he does, arm closing around Peter’s throat and-

Peter lurches awake, pathetic whimper choked in the back of his throat.

Beck’s here. Tony and Morgan, Pepper and May and Happy. Everyone is gone. He’s on dry land again. The water has retreated and they’re still gone, washed out far away. Nowhere to be seen. Nowhere to be found.

Dry land. He’s not drowning. His feet are brushing against something solid. He chokes down a gasp and his hands shoot out to find the crumpled cotton of his bedsheets swimming around him. He grasps at them with shaking hands. They’re dry, mostly save for the clammy feeling of his own sweat that he can feel seeping into them. He’s not underwater.

He’s… he’s in bed?

He lets himself take in his surroundings properly this time. He dares to open his eyes for longer than a few seconds now that he’s sure he’s not going to be snatched away by the tide, even though he’s still shivering, can still feel the icy water lapping at his skin.

He counts five things he can see, a technique Tony has always encouraged him to do to ground himself after nightmares throw him back to a hellscape of places and memories he would rather never experience again.

The curtains.

His backpack shoved into the corner of the room.

The empty glass of water on the nightstand.

The Lego set sitting on his desk that he and Morgan were planning on building this weekend.

The bedside light. It casts a soft glow around him. It’s warm, so far away from the cold blue he’s been submerged in that Peter closes his eyes for a second again, lets the golden light wash behind his eyelids so that’s all he can see.

His head is still muddling all his thoughts into a panicked mess. All he can hear is the echoes of terrified screams in his ears. The screams of the people he loves that he couldn’t save, that he let fall to their death in the arms of the elementals, of the Hydro-Man, of Quentin Beck.

So much for grounding. He can’t breathe again.

It’s not real. They’re safe. It’s not real.

The elementals are illusions. The elementals aren’t real.

It was just a dream. The dream wasn’t real.

Beck is dead. Everyone you love is okay.

It’s not real.

Peter sucks in a few deep steadying breaths to appease his quivering lungs and burrows back under his comforter to try and find some source of comfort.

Then he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

At first, it’s just the flickering of a grey storm circling in the corner of his room underneath the window. Lightning flashes from within it and Peter swears when it does, he can see a face within the darkened swirling clouds. It reaches for him, and god, it has arms now as well, just like Peter’s dream, just like the elemental in London had. Peter flinches back and-

It disappears.

It’s like it was never there in the first place. Peter dares to blink a few times and drones take its place, hovering menacingly.

Someone has to be controlling them. Peter’s eyes dart around, searching and searching, not sure exactly what he’s looking for but then finding it anyway when he lands on Beck standing at the foot of his bed, only a few feet away.

Fear freezes like ice in his chest.

They’re here. In his room. The drones, the elementals, Beck. He could get to Morgan, and Pepper and Tony. He could hurt them.

Peter shudders. It can’t be real. It can’t be. Beck is dead.

But he’s here. In Peter’s room.

Peter forces himself to close his eyes. He can feel his entire body trembling with tightly-wound shivers. He’s not sure whether it’s from the cold or the fear anymore. He closes his eyes for a long moment and when he re-opens them, Beck isn’t there. The room is empty.

But there’s a flash to his right and he jerks his head around just in time to see fiery orange molten lava creeping through the cracks in the floorboards. It rises and rises, slowly forming into a threateningly recognisable figure as Peter’s rapidly beating heart crawls further up his throat.

Peter was stupid to think he could ever be rid of Beck. He’s still here, he’s still controlling everything and Peter doesn’t want to be a pawn in one of his games anymore.

He wants what he couldn’t have the first time.

He wants Tony.

Peter tries to swing his legs over the edge of the bed but he can’t quite get them to cooperate. He’s tangled in the mess of his sheets, and he kicks out against them, panic still coursing through his veins. No, no, no. Get me out of here. I can’t do this. Not again. Tony. Tony.

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He wants to call for Tony. He needs help, but he’s too choked with terror.

Tony.

Need to get to Tony.

With one last fumbled kick of his leg, Peter throws himself from the bed, almost managing to catch himself but his limbs collapse beneath him, knees hitting the ground with a lump. Lava is still rising from the floor, and it towers over Peter now when he’s this low, taking on a burning figure of destruction.

Peter manages to make it to his feet, wrapping his hands around his nightstand to pull himself up. His legs feel weak beneath him, barely holding his weight. He knows he can’t afford to fall, not again, not when he has to get out of here, has to find Tony.

He fumbles a hand out until he finds the wall to his right, and he uses it to keep himself upright.

The hallway is darker than his bedroom once he throws the door open, but he lurches out and pulls the door hurriedly closed again behind him as if that will keep the monsters contained. As if a closed-door has ever stopped Beck.

He can’t see where he’s going. Everything is blurry. He wants Tony. Tony’s room is at the end of the hall, next to the landing at the top of the stairs. He knows this.

He just needs to get there.

Peter can’t remember the hallway being this long. Has it always been this long? His legs shudder and nearly give way as he nears the stairs, but he just shoots out to grab at the wall to steady himself again.

He’s so close.

He makes the last few steps and closes his hand around the door handle. Usually, if he was in a sane state of mind, not riddled with a high-grade fever and the claws of his trauma that have latched on and refused to let him go, he would be far more apprehensive about entering Tony and Pepper’s bedroom in the middle of the night for comfort. He’s basically an adult. He shouldn’t need it.

But right now he does. He needs Tony more than anything.

But when he yanks the door open and stands in the doorway, Tony isn’t there. His side of the bed is completely empty, still made up.

Pepper’s there though, and she stirs at the intrusion. She sits up and looks blearily towards the door. “Peter? S’that you?”

“T-T’ny? I need, I, um, I just - Tony,” Peter stutters out, eyes wide and pleading.

“Honey, take a breath. Is everything okay?”

“Tony,” Peter repeats again. It’s clearer this time, his desperation ringing clear.

“He’s downstairs,” she tells him, voice worn with sleep. “I can help you down there if you want?”

Peter shakes his head in the darkness. He doesn't want to be a bother. He’s already been a bother. He’s woken Pepper up. He didn’t mean to. He just needs Tony.

“No, it’s o-okay. Thank you,” Peter whispers.

Peter’s bedroom door is still closed at the end of the hallway when he retreats from Pepper’s room, but he still doesn’t feel safe.

Beck and his monsters could be lurking anywhere.

The stairs are his next big challenge, and logically Peter should probably be more worried about the challenge of navigating them when his entire body feels like it’s barely functioning and he’s in danger of collapsing at any second. He’s just focused on getting to the bottom of them though and he grips the railing for dear life as he makes his way down, barely registering the wood splintering a little beneath his grip.

He stumbles down the last few, clumsy footsteps thudding against the rug at the bottom of the landing.

He’s downstairs.

Tony. Where’s Tony?

“Peter?”

That’s his voice. Peter tries to follow it, unfocused eyes searching until he lands on the dim light of the TV. Tony’s sitting in front of it on the couch and Peter’s lungs feel like they almost collapse under the weight of his own sigh of relief.

“Hey, Peter. Kid? What’s going on?”

Peter realises he’s just standing there, swaying and staring like an idiot. He takes a few tentative steps forward, and then he’s moving and he can’t stop himself.

He’s only a few steps away from Tony when he all but collapses, the tension in his legs from the fear and trembling finally flooding out and it’s like his strings have been cut.

“Whoa, whoa, steady on there, Bambi,” Tony rushes out, both arms wrapped around Peter to stop him from falling. He pulls him closer to him to steady him and gets him settled in the spot next to him on the couch. This is nice. Tony feels strong and steady when Peter is sure that he’s neither of those things right now.

“We’re not exactly feeling very graceful tonight, are we?” Peter hears Tony muse. He’s only half paying attention, eyes locked on the singular one of Beck’s drones he can see suspended in the corner of the room.

He was right. Of course a closed bedroom door was never going to hold back Beck and his horrors.

He shoves himself closer to Tony’s side, a whine escaping from the back of his throat before he can help it.

“Hey, no, that’s okay,” Tony placates, “that’s what I’m here for.”

Peter shakes his head. No, no. That’s not what he’s worried about. Beck followed him, he followed him downstairs and Peter led him straight to Tony.

Peter flinches as more drones appear overhead. Beck must be controlling them, making them disappear and appear at will to mess with him. They circle above him and Tony, green lights glowing eerily.

“No, no, no,” Peter mumbles, eyes fixated on the drones above them. He can feel himself shaking again.

Tony’s eyes follow his up towards the ceiling.

“Peter?”

“Make it stop, p-please. Make them go away.”

“Make what stop? I can’t help unless you talk to me,” Tony says gently. He draws his eyes back down to focus on Peter’s face, the way his eyes are darting around in an almost crazy fashion.

“I keep seeing things. I-I don’t know if they’re real. Beck’s here, he’s everywhere. He’s gonna hurt you, he’s gonna hurt e-everyone, I-”

Tony’s face softens in a sort of understanding, and Peter doesn’t get it. How is he not scared right now? Can he not see what’s going on right in front of him?

“Pete. There’s nothing there, I promise.” Oh. “It’s just your fever messing with you, buddy, you're hallucinating. You’re safe - nothing’s gonna get you here.”

It’s not real? Peter tries to remember the mantra he’d been repeating to himself earlier in his bedroom.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

Beck is dead. Everyone you love is okay.

It’s not real.

“How do we know?” Peter asks, voice small. “He’s clever, he could hide them, he could hide them from you if he wanted, how do we-”

A sudden thought catches Peter off-guard and he drops off mid-sentence. Tony’s voice doesn’t sound angry anymore. He was so angry with Peter before, disappointment dripping from every word he spoke.

He doesn’t sound like that anymore.

Peter hasn’t done anything to redeem himself, anything to make Tony forgive him.

What if this isn’t his Tony?

His breathing catches and he stares up at Tony - illusion Tony? - with wide eyes.

“You’re not real,” he murmurs. He shakes himself a little and it makes him dizzy again. He can’t believe he fell for it. “You’re not real. The real Tony is angry with me. This isn’t… you’re not - not him. You can’t fool me, Beck.”

Peter only has a short second to see the way Tony’s face falls with anguish before he’s being tugged towards whichever Tony is sitting in front of him.

Real or not, he feels real enough as he threads a hand through Peter's hair. Peter should pull away, shouldn’t let himself fall for this so badly, but he can’t help it. It even smells like Tony, like home, and he buries his face into the gap between his shoulder and neck, lets himself hide there.

Darkness envelopes him, and even though it’s not real, he feels safer, Tony’s arm curled protectively around him.

Then Tony starts speaking.

“God, kid.” His voice sounds so distraught. “I’m right here. I’m real. There’s no room on the planet for more than one Tony Stark, you know that. You got the real deal right here.” He pauses. His fingers carry on running through Peter’s hair. It feels so familiar. “I wasn’t angry with you, you know. I don’t know what it was. I was scared, probably. But it doesn’t matter how I was feeling, it never does and it never will when it comes to you. If you need me, that’s more important than anything.”

Peter tries to pull away, to look up at Tony, to meet his eyes. He wants to see if he can let himself believe that this is real but Beck still lurks in the corner of his mind. Tony must see the fear still lingering on his face because he tucks him back closer to him.

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? We’re just gonna relax for a bit, give your fever a chance to stop kicking everything into overdrive. You’ll feel better in a minute,” Tony promises, and Peter so badly wants to believe him, wants to believe that it is him.

The room is quiet for a few minutes. The television is still murmuring in the background. Anxiety thrums steadily through him until Tony opens his mouth to start speaking.

“Remember when we did the road trip to Massachusetts to pick up my stuff from that MIT alumni exhibition? I could have had it delivered, you kept telling me that, but I kinda wanted to show the campus off to you, see what you thought. I mean, after everything, you staying closer to home doesn't sound half as bad as I thought it would, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Tony chuckles. It reverberates in his chest and Peter feels it against his ear. He knows what Tony's doing. He's reminding him who they are.

Peter and Tony.

Not illusions. Both real, both alive. Warmth blossoms in his chest and banishes some of his nerves.

He continues. “And then the car broke down on the side of I-84 on the way back? The tow truck took hours and you told me it was too dramatic to ask Bruce to come down with a quinjet so you dragged me down to that McDonald’s because you wanted me to try that god-awful thing you do where you dip your fries in your milkshake. I still don’t understand how you like that.”

Peter makes a slightly indignant noise.

He’s breathing easier now, the illusions, his hallucinations - whatever they were - slowly loosening their hold on him. Peter focuses in on Tony’s heartbeat. It sounds like the one he knows so well.

“Y’know, I still think about the first convention Bruce and I took you too, as well. We worked on that biomechanics paper and I thought you were gonna vomit on my shoes before we went out to present it but turns out Bruce was the front contender for that one right before we got on stage. He made it to the trash can. Thank god for that, those shoes cost-”

“I don’t wanna know how much the shoes were, Tony,” Peter mumbles in protest. Everything Tony wears - or, maybe, used to wear - probably cost more than months rent for his and May’s old apartment.

“Okay, yeah, sure, we can do that. I just need you to know that they did not deserve to be vomited on.”

Peter chances taking a glance out of one eye. The drone has disappeared from the corner, and a little bit of the last tension he’s been holding onto dissipates. Tony carries on anyway, voice calm and soothing.

“What about the first time you and Morgan did me that joint Fathers Day present? I dunno if I ever told you how much I love that. I still have it hanging on the wall in my office. It really should be out here in the living room somewhere, pride and joy and all that, but Pep reckoned the colours would clash with her cushions. We’ll blame Morgan for that though, between us, we all know she can get a little bit over-enthusiastic with the paints.”

“You kept that?”

“Course I did. One of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten.”

“But it’s awful.”

Peter feels Tony shrug, his head shifting a little where it’s resting with the movement of his shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter," he says, laughter in his voice. He doesn't bother denying Peter's statement because it really is true. It is awful, splotches of paint in mismatched colours, something that's maybe meant to be a stick-figure family in the foreground. It's chaotic. That doesn't mean Tony doesn't absolutely love it.

"It's still the best,” he says, not a shred of doubt in his voice as he sits up slightly. Peter frowns at the movement but lets Tony maneuver him a little so he’s resting against Tony’s side rather than hidden in his neck. “I want you to open your eyes properly for a minute now, bud. Anything there?”

Peter does. He tentatively casts his eyes around the room, but there’s no one there apart from him and Tony.

“No. No, it’s just us,” Peter says, tone awash with relief and tiredness.

Beck isn’t here. This is all real. Tony’s here. Tony’s real.

He lets himself go lax. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony just waves off his thanks with a lazy hand movement. The man kicks his legs up onto the coffee table and lets his head fall to the side, cheek resting against Peter’s curls.

It’s nice, Peter thinks. The feeling of Tony curling around him, protecting him from the demons that he knows are just in his head now, but are still his demons nonetheless.

“Any idea why Europe’s in your head again all of a sudden, buddy?” Tony asks breaking their quiet after a while. “It hasn’t been this bad in a few weeks.”

Peter considers whether he really wants to divulge and bother getting into it. He doesn’t want to bother Tony with everything, but maybe he owes it to him to let him know what’s going on after he’s just spent fifteen minutes talking him down from whatever the hell his fever was putting into his mind. The rational part of his brain tells him he doesn’t owe Tony anything. Tony would hate to know that Peter ever thought like that, even for a second.

He wants to tell Tony though.

Now that Beck and the drones and everything has vanished from where they were lingering in the corners of the house, taunting him, this feels like their familiar brand of normal.

He’s pressed to Tony’s side on the couch, there’s shitty late-night TV playing in the background and one of them is tangled up in their trauma. That’s Peter, tonight. He should let Tony play his part, help him sort through the mess and untangle whatever’s in his head. Peter would want Tony to let him do the same.

“I had a nightmare,” Peter admits, finally.

“You wanna tell me what it was about?”

“Yeah.” Peter stays silent for a few moments and Tony lets him. He doesn't push, just wraps his arm more securely around Peter and rubs a thumb over his shoulder absent-mindedly. He’s still way too hot even through the fabric of his pyjama shirt.

“I, uh, I couldn’t save you guys,” Peter offers up eventually. “You, n’ Morgan and May and everyone. There was all the water, like in Venice and you all needed me and I couldn’t help any of you. I… Morgan was the last to go. I tried to save, um, get to you but you told me to help Morgan instead and then you were gone and I tried, I did, I p-promise but there was too much water and she fell and I couldn’t… she didn’t… she was just gone. Everyone was gone.”

Tony sucks in a quiet breath. Peter watches him carefully. He doesn’t want him to be disappointed. It was just a dream but he didn’t mean to not save Morgan. He’s always trying to look out for Morgan - even when it results in a stab wound in his side.

“M’sorry, I tried. I just, I thought I did a good job the other day, with the guys n’ the bombs, but… but I couldn’t save her now and I think I’m still just so worried about that, that I’m-”

Tony holds up one hand to halt him and Peter bites down on his bottom lip nervously. He knows he's let his fever-addled mind and desperate need for Tony to not be disappointed with him get away from him. He wonders whether he’s disclosed too much.

“Peter,” Tony says carefully, “we’re being honest with each other right now, right?”

“Uh, yeah?” Peter says, but that sounds a bit too unsure so he tries again. “Yeah, yes, definitely.”

“Then I need you to tell me this, what are you talking about? Guys with bombs?”

Peter swallows.

“I promise I didn’t mean to go out as Spider-Man, I really didn't, but I just overheard this conversation the other night and these guys sounded kinda sketchy so I put one of those trackers you gave me on one of their cars without them noticing and I went out there later that night.”

“Okay…” Tony says. He sounds unsure as to where this is going but he nods as a signal for Peter to keep going anyway.

“They were, uh… they had this warehouse, super typical I know, nothing we haven’t seen before. But there were guns n' bombs, all that sorta stuff, loads of it. I was going to leave, I swear, I was just gonna call the police but then I heard them talking. They were going to - they were, um, gonna use them to target schools so I had to do something. I couldn't... couldn't not."

“They were going to use them in schools? To try and take out school kids?” Tony asks slowly. Peter looks up at him and he considers the words for a second before he nods his head.

“Elementary schools.”

“Pardon?”

“Elementary schools,” Peter repeats. “That’s what they were saying. And I couldn’t, I couldn’t just not do anything because I was there, and what if they got away and if anything ever happened, to anyone, to Morgan… I would never forgive myself, Tony. Never.”

This seems to shock Tony into complete and utter silence. His jaw goes slightly slack and if this was any other night, any other scenario, Peter might be pleased with himself for being able to invoke this sort of reaction out of Tony.

“You got the guys?” he asks eventually.

“Yeah. Webbed ‘em up - that's when one of the guys got me with a knife. The police swept the place out, got all the weapons.”

“Good. Good.”

“I really was going to try and stick to this whole no Spider-Man thing, I promise, it’s just-”

Tony holds up a hand.

"No. No," he says, taking a steadying breath. "I want you to be able to admit when you're wrong and that means I have to set a good example, right? I was probably too rash. I should have heard you out. It sounds like you did good, kid.”

“So we’re okay?” Peter asks tentatively.

“Of course we’re okay, bud. We’re always okay, even when I throw a bit of a strop. If you ever need anything, I don’t want you to ever not come to me about it. I just, seeing you hurt is a little harder now that I'm like this," he says, raising his prosthetic arm. "And now that we're all, uh, everything is like this..." he finishes, gesturing around the cabin, Peter’s shoes and textbooks strewn around, Morgan’s toys covering the rug. Now that we're a family, is what Peter thinks he's trying to say.

“It’s okay,” Peter says. He knows what Tony is trying to say. He remembers Pepper’s words earlier. He kind of gets it, in a weird way. He always used to hate when Tony used to jet off on missions he was barred from due to inexperience. “I know you worry.”

“Who told you that?” Tony says with a gentle scoff.

“Pepper.”

“Of course she did. That woman knows too much.” There’s a mock scowl on his face and Peter is relieved to have some sort of lightness injected back into the conversation.

They can talk everything out once they’ve both gotten some sleep. Peter knows Tony. He knows that he’ll probably spend hours on the phone to the NYPD tomorrow to make sure that they got every single explosive and firearm out of that warehouse.

He’ll then probably spend multiple more hours on the phone to Morgan’s elementary school trying to convince them to up their security or at least let him donate the equipment.

That sounds like exhausting work for a worried father. They both need rest.

“You making yourself comfy here then?” Tony asks as Peter buries himself further into the couch cushions, head still resting on Tony’s shoulder, the spot he fully intends to keep it in.

“Kinda planning on it. S’that okay?”

“Course. Mind if I join you?’

He couldn’t leave even if he wanted to. Peter’s trapped Tony’s arm between him and the couch, and he hopes he doesn’t try to tug it away. He likes the little bit of extra comfort.

“You were here first.”

“Touché.”

Tony turns the television on mute but doesn’t turn it off. Peter appreciates the light that the TV exudes into the room, and he knows Tony probably did it on purpose.

As soon as Peter lets his eyes close, drowsiness begins to ebb its way in. He’s content to let himself fall completely into it this time. He’s safe and warm. He’s real. This is real. They’re okay.

“Pete?”

“Mm?”

“I don't know if I say it enough, but I'm proud of you.”

---

Peter’s muscles are stiff when he wakes up, a drowsy yawn escaping his mouth without warning. He’s shifted in the night, somehow ended up with his head shoved up against the side of Tony’s leg. There’s a throw blanket over him that he doesn’t remember being there before.

Tony shifts beside him.

“What’re you doin’ awake, Pete?”

“Dunno,” he mumbles back dopily.

“If you want any more sleep, I’d get it now. The little monster’ll be up soon.”

Peter knows he’s right judging by the gentle morning light starting to creep in through the curtains.

“M’kay. You too.”

Tony threads a few lazy fingers through his hair in response and he closes his eyes.

They both drift back off.

#my writing #irondad #irondad fic #febuwhump #febufluff #i like this one #:))

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ilovereadingandilovebreathing · 4 years

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Febufluff(whump) Day 9: Sick Day (& Creators Choice)

A/N: I’m always a slut for the Terror Twins, a.k.a. Harley & Peter, being best friends (sorry, Ned.) A universe in which Harley bugged the absolute hell out of Tony until he let Harley live with him and go to Midtown. Definitely softened by Peter.

Summary: Harley gets sick. Tony & Pepper are away, so naturally, Peter has to come help.

WARNINGS for food poisoning, talk and some descriptions of vomiting/gagging, etc.

Peter is busily scribbling away at his latest AP Language assignment when his phone buzzes multiple times in quick succession, “Hardly Queener” lighting up his phone screen.

Peter

Peter help me

SAVE ME

FACETIME ME NOW

Hardly Queener would like to FaceTime...

Peter rolls his eyes and answers; Harley’s forehead fills the screen, a muffled groan filling Peter’s ears instantly.

Peter chuckles humorlessly. “What’s up?”

“I’m d y i n g.” Harley groans loudly and looks up just enough for his eyes to be visible.

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re homophobic.”

“You’re bisexual, Harley.”

“Shut up.” Harley buries his face in his covers.

“Sure, I’ll hang up-”

“NO.”

Peter sighs. “Why did you text bomb me and insist on FaceTiming?”

Harley barks out a few rough coughs. “Can you not HEAR the phlegmy evil that plagues my lungs?”

“So you’re sick. You weren’t sick at school today.”

“Not showing it, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you stay home if you felt bad?”

“Didn’t hit me until 6th period.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Harley groans again and lets his phone fall on the bed. “You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, I’m a real stickler.”

“Oh my god. Maybe it’d be better to be alone than to deal with your rancid cheese.”

“Oh yeah, Tony and Pepper are gone this weekend, huh?”

“Yeah.” Harley rolls onto his side and props the phone up against a pillow.

“But, like, you’re not alone at the Tower, right?”

“I mean, security is here, but hell if I’m getting any of them to go get me food.”

“Door Dash and Grub Hub exist.”

“Yeah, but they’re overpriced.”

“You live with a billionaire, Harley.”

“Mama raised a Frugal Hoosier.”

Peter sighs.

“So I’m guessing all of this is because you want me to come over?”

“Maybe.”

Peter looks at his phone. “I’m leaving for patrol soon. I’ll come over after?”

“Fine. Leave me to wither alone.” Harley grumbles into his comforter.

“You’re fine. It’ll pass soon. Time to go help the helpless. Adios!”

“Bye.”

Peter clicks off of the call and clicks open his Spider suit unit. He does feel a little guilty for leaving Harley all alone when he’s not feeling well, but he seems fine enough to Peter, if not a little glassy-eyed and flushed. He supposes he can make it up to his friend by bringing something by that night, and resolves to do so as he swings out his window and into the night.

-------

It’s 9:03PM when Peter latches onto the outside of the Tower, feeling a little guilty for leaving his patrol early but proud at how much he got done in a few hours.

Peter crawls up to Harley’s window and taps on the glass, frowning when a few moments pass without movement or a reply. “Harley?” Peter knocks again. “Hey, Karen? Can you patch me through to FRIDAY?”

“Sure. Connecting Peter Parker to Female Replacement Intelligent Digital Assistant Youth.”

“Hello, Peter.”

“Hey, FRI. Where’s Harley?”

“Just a moment. Harley Keener is in the west lavatory on the top floor. He seems to be in distress.”

“Does Tony know?”

“He insisted that I did not tell Boss, and the request does not violate known protocols.”

“That’s hard to believe.” Peter has crawled to Harley’s bathroom window by now and knocks lightly on the window pane. “Hey, Harls?”

There’s a muffled grunt and shuffling like socked feet on tile before the window slides open. “Don’t call me that. Too close to what I just did.”

Harley moves aside for Peter to climb through the window. The healthy teen looks his friend up and down. “Aw, man.”

“I know. I look incredible for a guy who just puked his guts out, right?”

“Not exactly.” Peter cringes at how pale Harley’s face is, sweat beading on his forehead and eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “How long you been at it?”

“On and off for the last 3 hours or so. It’s really just been dry heaving lately. Sucks ass.”

“I can imagine. Do you know if anyone else is sick?”

“Ned and MJ are fine. I’m thinking food poisoning, honestly.”

“For real?” Peter quirks a brow and lays a hand over Harley’s forehead; it’s sweaty but not warm. “Tony buys pretty high quality food.”

“I brought some leftover Panda Express from like...”

Peter swallows. “I don’t wanna know.”

“I don’t want to think about it, honestly.” Harley swallows thickly.

“You good?”

“I dunno. It’s always a surpri-” Harley coughs and trips back to the toilet.

Peter grimaces in sympathy before following carefully behind him; he comes up behind Harley. “I’m here. Whatever you need.” He sits behind Harley and places a hand on his back.

Harley finishes dry heaving and leans heavily against the toilet as Peter lightly rubs his back.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Hasn’t been long enough yet.”

“I’m gonna go change out of this. Be right back.” Peter slips out of the bathroom and quickly heads toward the guest room reserved for him. “Hey, FRI?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Can you order some stuff for me?”

“Sure.”

Peter pulls out a t-shirt and sweatpants, quickly slipping into the clothes. “Does Target deliver around here?”

“With the SmartPhone Application.”

“That works. Let security know?”

“Alerting Harold Hogan, as well as Gregory Stevens, presently at the security desk.”

“Thanks, FRI.”

“Of course, Peter. What would you like to order?”

Peter leaves his room and crosses to Harley’s.

“Saltines if we don’t have them.” Peter rummages around in Harley’s drawers for something more comfortable than his sweat-soaked jeans and hoodie while listing off the sick day (or night, now) necessities. “Schweppes Ginger Ale. Plain wheat bread, none of the ones with flakes or nuts or anything. Applesauce. Tums. PeptoBismol, tablets and liquid stuff. And a whole case of water bottles.”

“Got it.”

“Thanks, FRI. Let me know when it’ll be here.”

“Absolutely.”

Peter is back at the bathroom now and taps lightly on the door before entering. Any other day, he would have laughed at the now-stripped Harley, sitting in only a white t-shirt and his boxers, but his friend looks miserable as he sits propped against the bathtub, breathing hard with his eyes scrunched closed and a hand around his abdomen.

“Almost empty?” Peter mutters and taps Harley’s foot with his.

Harley cracks an eye and scrunches up his nose. “Maybe. Can’t tell if my stomach actually hurts or if being doubled over like this is habit now.”

“You wanna change clothes?”

“Why not.”

Peter turns around as Harley pushes himself up and struggles to change into fresh boxers.

“I’m covered.”

Peter turns back around and clenches his jaw at how exhausted Harley looks. “Here.” Peter unfolds the new t-shirt and kneels, laying it beside him before reaching out to pull up the sides of Harley’s soaked shirt. Normally, Harley would protest and bat Peter’s hands away or make a joke about Peter seducing him, but now Harley is pliable as he slowly raises his arms, allowing Peter to gently dress him. Peter cradles his feet as he slides the sweats on but allows Harley to finish the job.

“Feel better?”

“A little.” Harley mumbles. “Damn jeans were chafing me from all the damn sweat.”

“I’m sorry, but at least you’re comfy now.”

“This sucks ass.”

Peter sits next to Harley, and the blond drops his head onto Peter’s shoulder. Peter wraps an arm around Harley’s shoulder, and the boy slumps heavily against him at the confirmed invitation. Harley lets out a deep sigh.

They sit like that for a little while, until Peter’s butt and legs start to tingle, and he’s wondering if Harley has dozed off.

“Peter?”

“Yes, FRI?”

“Your delivery items have arrived.”

“Your what?” Harley mutters, hardly audible through his heavy lips.

“Thanks, FRI.”

“Mr. Stevens is bringing the items up.”

“Have him leave them in the kitchen, please.”

“Got it.”

“What’d you order?”

“Everything to make you feel better. You feel up to finding out?”

Harley considers for a moment before lifting his head slowly. He stares across the room for a moment before closing his eyes and nodding.

Peter rises and holds his hands out for Harley to take; he easily pulls the boy to his feet but moves slowly to be conscientious of Harley’s state.

The boy stands unsteadily for a moment before grabbing on to the vanity counter. “Guess I don’t quite have my sea legs yet.” Harley jokes dryly.

“Here.” Peter turns around and gestures. “I can carry you.”

“Geez, Parker, I’m not totally out of commission. What if I get motion sick or something?”

“I’ll be careful. Better to get it over with.”

Harley huffs before wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck; he lifts one leg which Peter easily takes and hoists up the other, settling against Peter’s back with a grunt.

“Where to?”

“Bedroom is closest.”

It’s a little awkward logistically because of the inches Harley has on Peter, but Peter manages his weight easily. Peter walks steadily into the living room, Harley’s hot, stale breath on his neck making him a little queasy, and stops before carefully depositing the boy on the bed.

“FRIDAY?” Harley croaks out pitifully. “Fan.”

“Of course.”

Harley groans in relief and curls up on top of his covers.

“I’ll be right back.”

Harley grunts in reply as Peter heads out into the kitchen and quickly returns with his spoils and a small stack of bowls and a cup.

“Feel like eating anything?”

“Maybe in a little bit.” Harley’s voice is a whisper as he pries open an eye. “What you have?”

“Crackers, of course, Ginger Ale. Applesauce. Pepto and Tums if you need them. And lots of water.”

“You really are a mother hen, Parker.”

“Only for you, Keener.”

“Don’t tell Ned.”

“He knows nothing can outdo our sacred bromance.”

“We’re cutting it pretty close here.”

“What sounds edible?”

“Water and Tums for now. I’ll let you know about the other stuff.”

Peter helps Harley sit up to chew on a few of the antacid tablets and sip some water before he collapses again.

“Scoot.” Peter nudges Harley, and the latter raises a brow. “I’m not going back home. I already texted May; I’m staying with you until Tony and Pepper get back tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Harley pulls himself over and Peter settles against the bed’s headboard with his ankles crossed. Harley’s head is against his thigh, and he carefully rests his hand there. Harley doesn’t protest, so Peter slowly moves his fingers through Harley’s hair, like May does for him when he doesn’t feel well.

They sit in silence for a moment. “Did you tell him?”

“Not yet.”

Harley groans. “Don’t.”

“Why’d you tell FRIDAY not to?”

“Didn’t want him to worry. You know he’s a worrier. Worse than you.” Harley sighs and looks up between Peter and his stomach. Peter nods and Harley scoots up, resting his head on Peter’s stomach, the latter’s hand still running ministrations through his hair.

“Wanna watch anything?” Peter whispers.

“Mmmm nothing I actually have to watch.” Harley replies, eyes closed lightly for sleep instead of clenched in pain. Finally, progress.

“Hmm....Disney?”

“Whatever.”

“Finding Nemo?”

“Depressing, but sure. Sadie loves it, so I’ve seen it 12,000 times.” Harley yawns through the hyperbolic estimation, and Peter gives a breathy snort.

“Perfect. We love an orphan story.”

“His dad’s alive.”

“I meant me.”

Harley lightly nudges Peter’s leg.

“FRIDAY? TV on...My movies...Finding Nemo.”

They make soft banter throughout the beginning of the movie, Harley’s voice getting quieter as his breaths get heavier, and soon he is dead weight against Peter, his arm having snaked around Peter’s waist to hold him like a beloved stuffed animal.

Peter looks down at Harley’s face, now snuggled into his abdomen, and can’t help the grin on his lips. Harley finally looks at peace, if not hilarious, and Peter can’t resist reaching down for his phone. He jumps when Tony Stark’s contact jumps out at him in a FaceTime request, and quickly gropes around for Harley’s AirPods before popping them in, answering the call, and swiping to his settings.

“Hey-hold on-okay.” Peter settles back in again, one hand holding his phone and the other on Harley’s back, and whispers, “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, Squirt.”

“You don’t seem surprised to find me here.”

“We have Find My Friends or whatever set up, remember, kid? Part of the phone upgrade deal.”

“That whole thing was your idea. I told you I didn’t need a new phone.”

“Besides the point. What’s got you all whispery in the Tower?”

“Harley’s asleep.”

“Really? It’s barely past 10.”

“He’s sick.”

“Sick how? How sick? Why didn’t I know?”

“Food poisoning doesn’t align with any of the alert protocols. It’s technically not biologically sick, and it’s not true poisoning.”

“Shocking. No wonder FRIDAY’s been so quiet. That little shit would find a loophole unintentionally.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“So, how is he?”

“Asleep. Hurled his guts out earlier.”

Tony cringes in sympathy. “Nasty stuff. How’d he get it?”

“Leftover Panda, probably.”

“Dammit, kid. I told him that junk had gone off.”

“Yeah, well, it is Harley.” Peter angles the camera down, and Tony’s eyes turn down at the sides as he studies the slumbering Harley.

“He holding anything down?”

“He’s only had water and Tums. We’ll find out in the morning.”

“If you say so. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Pep and I will be back ASAP tomorrow.”

“Take your time. We’re all good here.”

Tony smiles. “I know. He’s in good hands.” Tony looks past his phone. “Gotta go, Spider-Kid. See you tomorrow.”

“See you. Bye, Mr. Stark.”

Peter sets the phone on the nightstand and slowly reaches down to grab a throw Harley had brought from Rose Hill, a Granny Square pattern his mom had crocheted for him as a gift. A small piece of Tennessee in the middle of the big city. Harley makes a low noise in his throat in protest of the movement, but sighs and holds tighter onto Peter when they settle in again, his nose buried in the front of Peter’s shirt.

“Lights, please, FRIDAY.” The lights dim to a very dim glow, and Peter sighs. “Night, Harls.” Peter whispers with one last ministration over the boy’s back.

“Night...” Harley’s words carry along the air, light and barely there. “Love you, Pete.”

Peter blinks. Harley’s a great friend, loyal, hardworking, and will punch anyone’s teeth in with little need for reason, but affection is low on the list of Harley Keener characteristics. He’s not sure he heard correctly, so he carefully replies, “Love you, too, Harls.”

A ghost of a smile tugs on Harley’s lips and vanishes before Peter can blink, and Peter melts into a grin. Sick Harley is whiny, needy Harley, but also a loving Harley that Peter could get used to.

Peter closes his eyes and starts to doze, his hand still one Harley’s back when the pair wakes in the morning, stiff and sleepy but satisfied at making it through the night.

Harley would chomp down the scrambled eggs Peter makes and poke at him for the weird looks he keeps giving Harley, throwing snowballed napkins when Peter refuses to tell him why.

#febufluff #febufluff 2020 #febuwhump #febuwhump 2020 #irondad #spiderson #mine #spiderbabyfic #harley keener #peter parker #really platonic but if you want to read romantic you probably could but not my thing

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cinnamon-bunni · 4 years

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I just started the Febufluff 2020 prompts, so go check it out!

#Febufluff #Febufluff 2020 #Ducktales 2017 #Darkwing Duck

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trapezequeen · 2 months

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@monthly-challenge 2024 | Day 14: “I Love You” | Fluffy Daya

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lilywily143 · 2 years

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Gift for @legogeek33

Enjoy!

#Lilywily143 #lilywily post #lilywily art #lloyd montgomery garmadon #brad tudabone #Ninjago Gene #Fem Gene #Ninjago Chunami #Badboyshipping #ForgivenShipping #ReformShipping #LeaderShipping #FebuFluff 2022

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nianso · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hyrule & Legend (Linked Universe) Characters: Legend (Linked Universe), Hyrule (Linked Universe) Additional Tags: Vignette, Fluff, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Fairy Hyrule (Linked Universe) Summary:

Stuck in fairy form? Out of magic? Don't worry, Legend's got you covered.

#linked universe #my fic #lu hyrule #lu legend #febufluff 2022 #reposting because i absolutely butchered the tags the first time #also forgot to add a summary on ao3 lmao

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littlemissagrafina · 4 years

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Hi guys! I'm back again with this years febuwhump/febufluff! This is my first time writing this much consecutively and I'm still not happy with some of the chapters that I have so far, but I thought I'd get this out anyway. This is my second time ever writing fanfic and I would love to be told what you guys think!

Kudos and comments are my diet♡

(Shout out to my loves @scooter3scooter and @itsreallylaterightnow! I would not have been able to do even a fraction of this without them! I love you guys!)

#Agrafina Speaks #febuwhump/febufluff 2020

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gaylactic-fire · 2 years

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FebuFluff prompt 2

“You seem good at this… Can you show me how?”

Main character(s): Sky and Hyrule

List of prompts here

“Ah!”

A short, breathy gasp leaves the Hero Of Hyrule as he lets his knife clink to the bottom of the bucket. Instinctively he goes to suck at his thumb.

“You ok?” Asks Sky next to him. There’s an air of amusement laced with worry in his voice.

Hyrule removes his thumb from his mouth with an audible lip smack. “Yeah. Just nicked my finger.” He sighs, frustrated.

Wild had injured himself earlier in a monster battle. This was how the duo found themselves sitting together peeling potatoes. They had all agreed to help take a load off dinner so as not to overwork the champion. For the most part it was going well…

The only problem is that Hyrule’s most definitely not good at this.

“You want me to finish off the last ones?” Sky offers sympathetically. “It won’t take long.”

Hyrule brushes him off, huffing in stubborn determination.

“I got this. I got this.”

Fetching his knife from the pile of peelings he goes back to removing the skin off the clunky (now slightly bloodstained) spud. Almost immediately, like some cruel joke from Hylia herself, Hyrule loses grip while trying to peel off the last of the skin. The potato shoots comically from his hand, rolling off into the distance.

Sky can’t help but snort in laughter.

“You sure you’ve got this?”

Hyrule lets out a long, long sigh.

“Seriously..” Sky hums, once he stops giggling. “Just let me finish this. It’s ok.”

Hyrule groans, gritting his teeth as he goes to pick up another. His posture looks more deflated.

“I want to be useful…”

Sky’s expression softens a little.

“Just.. just let me try! I know I’m not good but-“

The traveller pauses, sighing again and playing nervously with the knife in his hand before speaking, lower this time.

“You uh, you seem good at this. Can you.. show me. How to, y’know?”

“How I peel them?”

“Yeah…”

It’s a battle to even ask and Sky can tell that the other Link is clearly embarrassed by his own lack of knowledge. Nonetheless he gives Hyrule a genuine smile before taking both of his hands.

“Here.” The chosen hero hums, guiding Hyrule’s hand for him.

“Peel them like this. Toward your thumb. Be gentle with it.”

The traveller’s eyes widen as the knife glides through potato flesh, smooth and effortless. He almost wants to slap himself now, knowing how easy the proper technique is. And to think he was fighting for his goddess damned life before this…

“How are you so good?!” Hyrule blurts out. Sky chuckles.

“It’s a bit like whittling. Well. It’s a lot easier. But you get used to these kinds of hand motions, I suppose.”

A few more strokes in once his marvelling at this new technique is gone, Hyrule looks kind of glum again.

“I’m such an idiot..”

“No you’re not.” Tuts Sky, finishing off the last spud.

“What kind of h-“

No. Let’s not use the H word.

“-person doesn’t know how to peel goddess damned potatoes?!”

“Hey” Sky shrugs, not even looking at him. “We all have our strengths. Yours are healing and fighting and being a wonderful friend.” Tossing the last potato into the bucket of freshly peeled ones, he turns to Hyrule with a smile.

“And mine is peeling potatoes.”

Hyrule can’t help but laugh this time, letting out a small srnk.

“You’re underselling yourself a bit there, cloudhead.”

“As are you, traveller.” The brunette hero retorts right back.

“...touché.”

The laughter starts again and Hyrule hopes that his eyes are telling enough to the other hero just how appreciative he is. It may seem like a mundane skill, but to Hyrule it’s just one more thing to make him feel useful. To make him feel worthy of being in this group of incredible heroes.

The next time they have potatoes for dinner Hyrule is the first to volunteer on peeling duty.

#fires posts #my writing #linked universe #linkeduniverse #febufluff #sky linked universe #hyrule linked universe

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lyssismagical · 4 years

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sweetheart, you look a little tired

Febufluff Day 19, 20, 21, & 22 – Safe and Sound, Butterflies, First Kiss, & Love at First Sight

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Peter’s eyes are drifting shut, swaying on his own two feet behind the cash register. He’s already been benched from actually making anything, so he’s stuck on taking orders.

“Parker!” one of his coworker’s shout from somewhere behind him. He jerks awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he yawns.

“Sorry, man. I’m awake, I’m good,” Peter says quickly, turning his attention to the next customer in line and taking their order. Thankfully, it’s a slow day at the café so he doesn’t feel as bad for not being a model employee.

As soon as the customer is through, another coworker of his, Betty, touches his shoulder and pushes a drink into his hand.

“Who’s this for?” Peter asks, looking over the cup for any name.

“For you, dumbass. A few extra shots of espresso to get you through the shift. On the house.”

Peter stares dumbly down at the coffee for a good few moments, not understanding, before he offers Betty a tired smile. “Thanks.”

She shrugs, turning back to her job. “Finish your shift and get some real sleep before your next one, alright?”

Nodding, Peter turns back to the cash register, sipping at his coffee. He’s never really liked coffee, especially now that all it does is remind him of the people he’s lost. His parents used to drink coffee practically religiously, and he remembers Sunday mornings would always smell like coffee and pancakes with his aunt and uncle. But he supposes now he doesn’t really have a choice but to get over it if he’s going to keep his head on his shoulders.

He’s currently working two part-time jobs. One at the coffee shop he’s at now, and another at a nearby restaurant where he’s a waiter. He also picks up odd jobs as often as he can, the extra cash helping to keep their heads above water.

The amount of work he does is already a lot, he barely has any downtime. Especially since he’s a single dad. His daughter is his pride and joy, the light of his life, but it’s tough, he can’t lie.

She’s three, and she’s everything, but between his two jobs and the odd jobs he has to pick up and singlehandedly taking care of a toddler? It’s taking its toll on his health.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world though. He loves her with everything he’s got, even if it means working eighteen-hour days or if it means staying up all night at her bedside when she swears there’s a monster under her bed.

“Excuse me?”

Peter jerks, eyes flying open as a flush immediately fills his cheeks. He quickly takes a gulp of his coffee and turns to the customer.

“I am so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to, uh… What can I get for you?”

Peter tries his best for a smile as he looks up at the man, and holy fucking shit.

Harley Keener is leaning against the counter nonchalantly, a charming smile adorning his face. He’s holding his wallet, which is surprisingly old and worn, and is looking at Peter with raised eyebrows.

“Your number?” Harley says, smiling a little brighter and dimples show in his tan skin.

Peter, visibly flustered, fumbles for his own coffee cup anxiously, nearly knocking it over. “I, uh, I’m-”

“Kidding, darling, unless you want to.” Harley winks obnoxiously, licking his bottom lip. “I could actually go for a large black coffee. Thanks, love.”

Knowing he must look as red as a tomato, Peter rings up the price. “That’s, uh, three dollars.”

He pops open his wallet and pulls out a bill. “Keep the change, darling.”

And then there’s a one-hundred-dollar bill in Peter’s hand.

“I can’t- I can’t take this. It’s a three-dollar coffee.”

Harley’s smile falls a little bit, and he looks at Peter with confusion sparkling in his brown eyes. “You know who I am, right?”

Nodding, Peter tries to hand back the money. “Yeah, I don’t know anybody who doesn’t know you.”

“So, you have to realize I don’t need the money. I always give generous tips.”

“Generous is like twenty percent, not three thousand percent,” Peter says. He doesn’t mean to be angry, but it feels like a dig at Peter, not as a kind gesture. It makes Peter feel like he’s not working hard enough, like he’s failing his daughter if he needs to get charity from a rich man who throws around his money.

Harley shrugs and doesn’t take back the money. “Split it with your coworkers. I don’t want to carry around change.”

Peter tries his best to look polite despite being exhausted and upset and wanting nothing more than to pick up his daughter from kindergarten and take her home for a movie night.

“Large black coffee,” Peter tells Betty over his shoulder. “Is that all?”

“Yep, that would be wonderful, darling.”

As much as Peter wishes he was angry at the pet names, he can’t be. Harley Keener, son of Tony Stark, one of the most famous billionaires ever, is really hot. Tan with a mess of purposefully wild light brown curls and a wonderful smile that makes little dimples in his cheeks, and the prettiest brown eyes he’s ever seen.

Betty passes Harley the coffee over the counter with a knowing smile.

Harley sees it at the same time Peter does.

He’s too much of a coward so here’s his number.

“You’ve got a nice wingman back there,” Harley says, grinning at Peter. “I’ll call you, beautiful.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Peter doesn’t bother telling him he hasn’t had the money to pay his phone bill in a little over six months.

* “Daddy!” His daughter exclaims, racing across the schoolyard to him. As soon as she reaches him, he scoops her up into his arms, pressing a long kiss to her forehead.

“Hi, baby, I missed you loads,” Peter says, smiling at her. He ignores the tiredness that hangs from his very bones and his aching joints and focuses on the unfiltered joy in his daughter’s eyes.

June Parker was born when Peter was only eighteen. He wasn’t ready to have a child, but MJ and he decided that they could do anything so long as they had each other.

And then there were complications with the birth.

Peter doesn’t remember much from that night, one of the longest nights of his life, all he remembered is the doctors refusing to give him the baby when he was allowed into the nursery. He remembers the worry that almost had his knees giving out. They sat him down in one of the chairs and broke the news. And he sat there, and he cried until he thought his chest would cave.

And then they were tucking his baby into his arms.

“I missed you more!” she exclaims before launching into a detailed explanation of her school day.

He walks them home, a good seven blocks away from the elementary school, but it’s not like he has the spare cash to pay for a car, insurance and gas.

Eventually, they do make it home to their little apartment building, and Peter’s never been happier to peel off his sneakers and fall onto the couch, June immediately curling up against his chest.

“Do you work tonigh’?” June asks, a pout tugging at her mouth.

“Nope, got the night off, honey.” Peter doesn’t tell her that it’s because he looked dead on his feet last night and was forced to take a sick day to get some real sleep. Instead, he grins down at her, and lifts his eyebrows. “You know what that means?”

“Movie night!” she squeals, sliding off the couch and racing for the kitchen and their poorly stocked cupboards.

Peter laughs and drags himself to his feet. “Dinner first, June.”

He scoops her back up, sitting her down on the counter. “What do you want to eat?”

She pretends to think really hard for a few seconds like she hasn’t already made up her mind. “Mac and cheese!”

Shaking his head in amusement, he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Mac and cheese, it is then, baby.”

* He doesn’t sleep well again, instead making some decent money by reviewing and editing essays online and making sure June sleeps soundly despite the noise of the city, louder than ever.

And then he’s up early as ever to walk June to school and then head to the café for his shift.

“Wow, you look like you were hit by a bus,” Betty says. Not in a mean way, she’s one of the only friends he’s got. “You weren’t working last night, were you?”

“Not at the restaurant,” he says. He doesn’t need to say that he was working anyways. He doesn’t like sleeping anyway.

As soon as he takes up his position at the cash register, Harley Keener walks in.

He’s dressed immaculately as always, but there’s a frown on his face as he walks in.

“Black coffee again?” Peter says when he reaches the counter.

Harley falters for a second, eyes losing the spark of anger before it comes back with intensity. “I texted you last night. Like six times. And I called you too. Tony thought I was losing my mind over a guy at a café.”

Peter winces, opening his mouth to apologize, but there’s a bit of shame burning his chest. He doesn’t want to tell the billionaire’s heir that he’s too broke to pay for his phone bill, that’s why he couldn’t text back.

“If you didn’t like me, you could’ve at least been honest,” Harley says, genuine hurt flooding his eyes.

“I don’t even know you,” Peter says instead. But he does know that Harley’s pretty and he has hints of a southern accent from before he got adopted as Tony Stark’s kid. He does know that it’s been three years since MJ, that if he wants to get back in the game, he’s allowed to.

“You could’ve gotten to know me if you had answered your phone,” Harley counters easily, eyebrows lifting. He leans forward, closer to Peter, voice low. “Can I take you out for dinner, darling?”

Peter swallows thickly, mind blanking. All he manages is a slow nod, trying not to stare too blatantly. Harley’s so close to him that Peter can smell the expensive cologne on him.

Harley smiles, leaning back. It’s less of a cocky, arrogant, rich boy smile, and more the most genuine smile Peter’s seen, dimples showing and the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Perfect. I’ll text you?”

This is where Peter should’ve said something. Where he should’ve admitted that he didn’t have a phone plan anymore and that he doesn’t even know where his phone went, probably lost in their apartment somewhere.

Instead, Betty’s sliding a coffee across the counter to Harley who puts down a bunch of coins.

“Three dollars and sixty cents,” Harley says proudly. He’s grinning as he takes his drink. “Your twenty percent like you asked for.”

Before Peter has the time to say anything, Harley’s out the door.

* The rest of Peter’s day is busy enough to keep his mind occupied and away from thoughts of Harley. He works at the café, gets June home from school, helps her with her kindergarten homework, welcomes June’s babysitter, Ned, works at the restaurant, and gets home with just enough time to shower and get an hour or two of sleep before he’s taking June back to school.

He only realizes his mistake when Betty skips over to him. “How was your date?”

“Oh shit,” he says, jaw dropping. He stood up Harley fucking Keener. He runs a hand through his hair and leans back against the counter.

Betty’s expression falls, eyebrows crinkling. “What happened?”

“I just- I was working till three and I just- I forgot.”

As if on cue, Harley walks into the café, nonchalant, uncaring, sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Harley, look, I’m sorry-”

“Large black coffee, thanks,” Harley says, dropping three dollar bills on the table.

There’s a second where all Peter does is stare dumbly, speechless before he gets his head back. “I’m sorry, Harley. I swear I have a good explanation for this. It’s just-”

Harley shrugs. “You know I acted like I was a stupid teenager. I went home and I gushed to Tony about the cute boy at the café who was good at math and who got all flustered when I flirted with you and didn’t trip head over heels just because I’m Tony’s kid. And then yesterday, I went home and I wouldn’t shut up about how I got a date. And then you never picked up your phone. You never answered my calls. You totally stood me up.”

“I couldn’t pay for my phone plan,” Peter blurts, shame rolling in his stomach. “I should’ve told you sooner, I just- I didn’t know how. I wanted to go on that date, but I- I worked all night and I- I don’t have a phone plan anymore, so I couldn’t.”

And like someone flipped a switch, Harley’s smiling in relief, tugging his sunglasses off his face.

“In that case, when does your shift end?”

“You forgive me? Just like that?”

Harley shrugs, grinning brightly. “Course I do, wasn’t your fault. Plus, I really do like you, Peter.”

“I’ve got plans after my shift.”

“Like what?”

Peter tips his head to the side. “Before you really decide that you like me, you should know I have a daughter. I pick her up from school after my shift.”

And instead of confusion or disgust or anger or anything, Harley’s smile widens. “I know it doesn’t sound like a perfect date, but I would love to tag along.”

Peter can’t help the little smile that creeps onto his face. “I mean, yeah, sure, if you really want to. I get off my shift at two.”

“Perfect!” Harley exclaims. He grabs the coffee Betty left him on the counter. He turns away from Peter who expects him to head out, but he sits at the closest table to the counter.

“You do realize there’s still six hours until two, right?” Peter calls out.

“I have wonderful entertainment,” Harley replies, resting his chin in his hand and simply staring at Peter from across the room.

* They walk all the way from the café to the elementary school, joking and flirting and teasing each other, knocking shoulders and playfully pushing each other.

It’s fun. Peter hasn’t had fun in a really long time.

“Daddy!” June exclaims, racing towards them. She stops short when she sees Harley. She squints up at him for a moment before shrugging and lifting her arms for Peter to pick her up.

“How was school, baby?”

“Good! Miss A gave me a sticker for cleaning up!” she says, smiling brightly, little hands curling into Peter’s shirt.

Peter smiles proudly and kisses her forehead. “June, this is Harley, a friend of mine. Harley, this is my daughter June.”

June’s face scrunches up. “Daddy doesn’t have any friends.”

“Oh my god,” Harley says, trying to stifle his laughter. “Well, he does now. It’s nice to meet you, June.”

She giggles, hiding her face shyly in Peter’s chest, wide brown eyes looking Harley over as though she’s the one protecting Peter.

“Back to mine?” Peter offers. “As much as I’d love a regular afternoon hanging out, I’ve got a shift at the restaurant tonight, so I’ve gotta get dinner started early. You’re welcome to hang out.”

“You work two jobs?” Harley asks, tipping his head to the side, curls flopping across his forehead. “And look after your kid?”

It’s not said with any judgement, just curiosity with a splash of worry.

“Yeah. June’s mom passed away during childbirth,” Peter explains quietly, pressing a kiss to June’s forehead. “Just me and her now, so I’m trying my best.”

The grief is still there, but it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. He knew MJ for nearly six years, dated her for two years. He was going to propose after June was born, he didn’t want MJ to think he was only proposing because she was pregnant. He had to sell the ring not long after June was born to pay for diapers and other supplies, so he doesn’t even have it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Harley murmurs, gently taking Peter’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

Peter offers a smile and points in the direction they have to walk. “You prepared for a seven-block walk?”

“You walk this every day?” Harley’s eyes go wide, jaw dropping. “Carrying her? Oh my god, no wonder you’re so fit!”

June giggles lifting her head to look at Harley. “Daddy’s so strong.”

“He sure is,” he agrees, grinning. “You want me to take her?”

Normally, Peter wouldn’t have agreed to give his kid over to anyone, but Harley’s been incredibly sweet and understanding over the past three days. So, he lets Harley take June and swing her up onto his shoulders, not even wincing when June grabs his curls, giggling brightly.

“Look, Daddy! I’m so tall!” she exclaims, little legs accidentally kicking Harley in the chest, but he just smiles, and holds onto her ankles.

“You sure are, baby, be grateful. This is probably the only time you’ll ever feel tall if you inherited my genes,” Peter laughs.

They walk the seven walks together, Harley never once complaining about June on his shoulders or having to walk so long, chatting about everything and anything. Harley’s more down to earth than Peter would’ve expected for Tony Stark’s son. He talks about his mom and his sister back in Tennessee, about how Tony adopted him when he was eleven so Harley could have the best opportunities he could.

And Peter talks about his own family. His mom and dad, and their plane crash, his aunt and uncle, and their car crash. About how he was living with MJ to finish his high school education when she got pregnant and he lost her too.

Harley’s sympathetic, but not in a pitying way, not in a way that Peter feels judged or uncomfortable. And it’s nice. Peter’s spent the past three years only really talking to a toddler and coworkers.

It’s just nice to have a friend.

June pulls out her colouring books when they get home, immediately racing off to the living room to turn on Paw Patrol and colour.

Harley sits up on the counter in the kitchen as Peter pulls open the fridge, sighing and rubbing his eyes when he realizes it’s pretty much empty.

“You wanna order in?” Harley offers, already pulling out his phone and wallet. “I can pay.”

“I’m not your charity case,” Peter says. He knows Harley’s only being nice, but it stings to think that June could be with someone like Harley, not living off boxed mac and cheese, and cheap snacks.

Harley lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying you are. This is a date, right? I’ll cover dinner this time. You can get the next one.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Peter bites back a smile, butterflies filling his stomach. “Already planning a second date, Keener? A little presumptuous of you, isn’t it?”

Harley reaches out to grab Peter’s waist, pulling him into the spot between his legs, grinning carelessly. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Let’s get through this one first before we start making new plans, hm?” Peter replies, a smile touching his face.

Sure, there’s a headache growing behind his eyes, one that’s been there for as long as he can remember. Sure, he’s exhausted and his feet hurt and he has another shift at the restaurant that night. Sure, he’s only known Harley for three days. Sure, Peter doesn’t feel good enough to be with someone like Harley.

But Harley’s looking at him like he hung the stars, grinning brightly like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here with Peter.

So, Peter leans in and presses a kiss to Harley’s lips. It’s been three years since he’s kissed anybody, but Harley doesn’t seem to mind because his hands lift to cradle Peter’s face, kissing back enthusiastically.

Until, “Daddy! Look!”

Peter pulls away, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face and laughing at the terrible timing.

“Yeah, honey?” Peter calls out, turning to the kitchen door just as June barrels in, coloring book in hand.

“Lookie!” She says, giving him the book. It’s a picture of Sky from Paw Patrol, messily scribbled in with every color in the rainbow.

“It looks great, baby. Way better than anything I could do,” Peter laughs. “You want pizza tonight?”

She lights up, bouncing on her feet. “Yes please! Thank you, Mister Harley!”

Harley grins down at her, ruffling her hair. “Course, kiddo. Anything for you.”

And Peter believes him. In the hour or so that Harley’s known June, he’s been nothing but a picture-perfect guy to both Peter and June.

June shouts a quick thank you and then she races back through to the living room, leaving the two boys alone.

“Thanks for everything,” Peter murmurs, leaning into Harley’s chest. “You’ve been a really nice guy, so thank you for that.”

“You’re thanking me for being a decent human being?” Harley asks. But then he laughs and kisses Peter’s cheek. “Course, darling. I really do like you, I wasn’t lying earlier.”

“I really like you too, not for your money or for the title, but I like you.”

Something about Harley’s demeanor relaxes infinitesimally. “Thanks. Most people hear my name and they just want the minute of fame from knowing me, I guess.”

“Well, most people look at me and see somebody who’s not worth the trouble, so thank you for overlooking the fact that my life is a mess right now.”

Harley smiles, dimples showing in his cheeks, and runs his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone softly. “If you’d let me, could I pay for your phone bill. I wanna be able to text you and call you. This would be for me, not for you, obviously.”

Peter laughs, kissing Harley again. “For you, of course.”

* Peter gets home from the restaurant to find Harley still in his apartment with Ned. Harley had offered to babysit, but was understanding when Peter said he wasn’t sure if he trusted Harley alone with his daughter and Ned was already on his way.

Peter had expected Harley to head home after Peter left, but from the looks of it, Harley had hung out with Ned and June all night.

“Didn’t think you’d stay,” Peter admits, dropping onto the couch beside Harley. “You have a good night?”

“We watched a Barbie movie and ate way too much pizza. June told me all about school and you and everything.”

Ned leans over the back of the couch, yawning. “Gonna head home, Pete. Do you work tomorrow too?”

“Nah, took the weekend off, had some plans. Bye, Ned. Goodnight.”

“Night, Pete. Night, Harley.”

Ned heads out, and Harley immediately turns to Peter with a knowing grin. “Plans?”

“Yeah, you promised me a second date, didn’t you?”

“Me, you, and June should go to a park. Have a cute little picnic, fly some kites.”

Peter can’t help but smile. For their second date, Harley includes June without a second thought. It’s the sweetest thing in the world. Peter can’t help but slide into the space beside Harley, curling into Harley’s warmth, and kiss him sweetly.

“Sounds wonderful.”

“This is probably going to sound insane, and it’s too late for anything I say to be taken seriously, but do you believe in love at first sight?”

Peter thinks carefully, remembering the first time he saw MJ at school and the way his heart almost beat out of his chest, remembering seeing Harley three days prior at the café and the way he thought he was going to die on the spot.

“I think so, yeah,” Peter says, voice quiet. “Do you?”

“Saw you, falling asleep at the counter, and I swear to you, darling, I just knew. I know I was a bit of a jerk to you, but I just- Falling that quickly, never happened to me before, and I panicked a little bit.”

“Don’t wanna drop that word yet,” Peter says, shaking his head.

“Me neither, but I just know I really like you, darling.”

“I really like you too.”

Peter snuggles up closer to Harley, draping his legs over Harley’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Comfy?” Harley asks, pressing a kiss to Peter’s temple.

“Mm, yeah.”

“Good. You’re safe and sound with me, darling.”

#lyss writes #febufluff #parkner #parkner fic #parley #harley keener/peter parker #harley/peter #harley keener #harley x peter #dad peter parker #coffee shop au #peter parker

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