“Hey, c’mon, before long we’ll be back to normal and we’ll look back at this and laugh.”
Peter just looked up at him with a slight glare as he scratched at his chin again. The itch of the facial hair was driving him crazy and Tony found it highly amusing. “You’re in the body of a 15-year-old boy. Why are you smiling?”
“You’re in the body of Tony Stark. Why aren’t you smiling?” Tony asked with a smirk.
Or, the one where Tony and Peter swap bodies.
- lol nothing too deep but a very cute story that i enjoyed thoroughly - Ella <3
Requested By: I honestly don’t remember, it’s been 8 months. Maybe me?
Tony Stark doesn’t get to die until I say! So, we’re just ignoring the last half of End Game. Cool? Cool.
Stars are completed, Swirls are requested
Natasha teaching Peter ballet. send tweet.
Akira Fudo is just the edgy Japanese version of Peter Parker okay?
A little IronDad and Spider-Son drabble for @heartofcathedrals ! (Won’t let me tag you for some reason, sweets.)
I actually don’t think I’ve ever written asthma before, so forgive me if I fuck something up.
Peter’s alternating from swinging across buildings to running on rooftops, arms and legs pumping hard and fast the second his feet hit the rough gravel. He’s working overtime to catch back up to the others, having drawn a few mutated aliens from a sporadic Earth attack away from the scene so the others could target the ship’s source that’s spitting out aliens left and right.
He held his own fighting off five aliens that were annoyingly persistent, killing each with practiced ease, yet once the last one hit the ground, his chest started to grow tight, feeling a little restricted, but he pegged it on the adrenaline from playing a large role in only his third official outing with the Avengers because the spider bite’s wiped away his past ailments, he’s sure of it.
Still, his chest is growing tighter with each slamming footfall and swinging web, and he’s struggling to suck in a deep, swelling breath, only managing short, weak intakes that just barely fill his lungs. He doesn’t hear the faint whistle with each breath, too lost in his thoughts, to wrapped around the pressure in his chest, but he does hear Karen’s voice chirping softly in his ear.
“Peter, do you have asthma?”
The question catches him off guard, and he loses his footing, tumbling onto another rooftop, landing on his hands and knees with a groan. “What? No.” He’s back on his feet in seconds, charging forward, regaining his pace despite his lungs beginning to tremble and burn against his ribs.
“You’re experiencing respiratory distress, and I’ve ruled out general illness and panic after scanning your vitals and running a brief neurological scan.”
“You can do that?” Peter shouts, stopping just at the ledge of the roof to cough dryly into his first. His balance teeters, but he forces his limbs back a few steps, blinking around slightly hazy vision. “That seems intrusive.”
“It’s necessary,” Karen answers, voice just as composed as ever. “Mr. Stark had me run a complete background check on you when you first piqued his interest, and I have an entire file on medical concerns, including asthma.”
“That was before,” Peter grumbles, motioning weakly with one hand, “the whole spider bite turned into super hero thing.” He leaps off the ledge, shooting sharp strings of web and swinging around buildings until he’s dropping to the ground just a few feet from the ship. “I haven’t had an attack since then.” A sharp cough punctuates each word, and he kind of really wants to rip his mask off because he’s sure it’s what’s keeping him from taking in air.
He thumbs at the bottom of his mask, swallowing back the urge to slip it away from his face. He glances around, hearing shouting and fighting, and starts running toward it as Karen chimes in his ear again.
He slams into Tony’s back, vision swimming, and Tony whips around, firing off a beam toward an oncoming alien in the process.
“Easy, Spider-Man,” Tony mutters, and he makes to twist around, to run back to the battle, but then Peter’s coughing behind him, and his muscles tense against his suit. “Hey, kid, are you okay?” He clamps one hand to Peter’s shoulder, and Peter swats it away, stepping back and hunching over to cough out dry coughs that do nothing to ease the pressure in his chest.
“Karen, what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing,” Peter wheezes out, voice panicked, but Karen’s already relaying all of his vitals to Tony, and she concludes with his current respiratory distress caused by a sudden asthma attack.
“Asthma,” Tony hisses when Peter finally rights himself, and he shakes his head quickly.
“No, Mr.– Iron Man, I’m fine, I swear!” His voice is shaking, weak with a need to grow around breaths, and he tries to push past it, he really does, but his knees are beginning to wobble, and his entire chest is really hot and tight.
“I’m pulling you out,” Tony snaps, swapping back to the joint comms. “Gotta run with the kid. Think you all can handle the rest?”
“Yeah, sure, this will be much easier two men down.”
Sam’s annoyance is evident through his tone, and Peter winces, shoulders sagging as he tries really hard to suck in a deep breath.
Peter makes to answer, to tell Steve he’s totally fine and that Tony’s being over dramatic, but then he’s coughing again, and his lungs are shaking hard. Everyone’s shouting loudly in his ears, asking if he’s okay, what’s going on, and Tony shuts them up with a low growl.
“He’s having an asthma attack apparently, and I need to pull him out.”
Peter’s hand flies to his ear at the loud, rapid talking in the Comms, but then Tony asks Karen to break the link, and he’s left only hearing his heart hammering in his ears.
He doesn’t hear Tony talking with Happy because the wheezing is suddenly too loud, and his legs are shaking. He fades out, only coming back when Tony wraps a cold, steel arm around his shoulder. “Happy’s pulling up the car a block away. Think you can make it?”
Peter’s body is screaming no, his lungs are quaking for help, but he nods weakly, leaning into Tony’s cold suit, and they start toward the car. He makes to rip off his mask once they spot the car, but then a crowd of filming bystanders start toward them, and Tony tenses at his side, urging Peter to the car.
“Go, I’ve got this.”
Peter stumbles the rest of the way, hand shaking as he pulls the door open and collapses into the back seat, tugging the door closed and ripping his mask off hard enough to fling it at the window. His breaths are weak, raspy, and he clutches at his neck, only faintly aware of Happy whipping around to him with a sharp frown.
“Boss had me store the car with medical supplies,” Happy says, digging through the glove box for the bag labeled ‘Parker,’ and he grabs the inhaler from it, handing it to Peter who clutches it like a lifeline.
Peter’s hands are shaking too hard, his vision is going in and out of focus, but then Tony’s slipping into the car beside him, suit gone, and he’s taking the inhaler from Peter’s hands and pressing it to his lips, and Peter slowly sucks in the medicated air when Tony quickly pushes down on the inhaler, and he holds it in, feeling the swell of relief hit his lungs, before exhaling shakily as the pressure breaks away in his chest.
“Take us back to the tower,” Tony tells Happy, yet he keeps his eyes on the color returning to Peter’s cheeks. “Make sure med-bay is ready for him.”
“I don’t need–”
“–If I say you need to take a trip to med-bay, then you need to take a trip to med-bay, got it?”
Peter nods, sinking back against the seat as Happy drives them away from the scene. He stares out the window, quietly taking in deep breaths, but then he drags his gaze to see Tony gripping the inhaler hard enough to have his knuckles fade to an off-white.
He’s got his gaze trained forward, but Peter doesn’t miss the tense line of his jaw, an indication that he’s clenching his teeth, so he clears his throat, turning briefly to cough weakly into his fist.
“I haven’t had an attack since before the bite, Mr. Stark.”
Tony sounds mad, and Peter chases that muted anger with a frown. “I really thought I was over it–”
“I know you did, kid,” Tony sighs, fingers finally easing up on the inhaler. “But super hero or not, you’re still human, and you still have to pay attention to stuff like this,” he says, placing one hand to Peter’s chest, feeling the strong, rhythmic beats of Peter’s heart against his palm. “You can’t be a super hero if this stops beating.”
“I know,” Peter mutters under his breath, eyes falling to his own hands, but then Tony’s hand moves to his shoulder, prompting him to bring his eyes back up.
“We’ll get you looked over at med-bay. It won’t take long, and then I’ll take you back home so you can rest.”
“Are you going to tell May?”
“No,” Tony says, turning back to the front. “But I”m going to wait there while you tell her.” His lips curl into a hint of a smile when Peter groans, tilting his head back against the seat.
“I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra.”
THE KGB DISBANDED IN 1991 SHE COULD NOT HAVE BEEN BORN IN 1984 IF SHE WORKED FOR THE KGB–ARE THEY GOING CANON WITH HER AGE?!?!?! I’M FREAKING THE FRACK OUT—
IT TOOK ME 6 YEARS TO FIGURE THAT SHIT OUT?!?!?!?!
i drew a leetle spider-kid!! happy very late valentines folks 💛💛💛
peter parker is trans and bisexual.
Please. I really need a msm server xD I’m rewatching the show now for the 3th time this year because I’m so excited for Season 3 dksmkxfm
“Um, hey, Mr. Stark?” Peter starts awkwardly, sidling up to his mentor and doing his best to keep from pulling on the man’s sleeve.
Come on, he tells himself. You have his attention. Don’t act like a dumb kid.
“Yup?” Tony looks down at Peter, his eyes still a squint from peering at the sunny horizon. “What’s up?” He leans his elbow on the ship’s wheel, looking impossibly suave.
You’re definitely a dumb kid.
“I, uh,” Peter gulps. “I feel kinda… not so good?”
Tony blinks. “Kinda?” he asks. “’Cause you look really not good.”
The assessment invites bile into Peter’s throat. “Ok, yeah, really not so good,” he agrees hurriedly. “Can I have, like, a–” A gag cuts him off, and Peter does his best to swallow it. He holds his fist to his mouth anyway, just as a precaution. The perfect white deck doesn’t need soiling with his stomach contents. He can’t remember what he’s eaten, what color it might be…
“Ok, yeah, um…” Tony quickly glances around. There’s an ice bucket with a few beers and a couple cans of coke in it balanced in the seat behind him. Tony grabs it and dumps the contents onto the floor before shoving the silver bin into Peter’s hands. “There ya go.”
“Thanks–” Peter barely has time to gasp before liquid begins to spill over his bottom lip, producing a hollow ring as it hits the bottom of the bucket.
“Sure think, kid.” Tonk pats him on the back, looking halfway between sympathetic and disgusted. “Yeah. Anytime.”