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blackchessknight · 3 years

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Ever Blue And Red

By @blackchessknight for @michellejones-stacy

This was really fun to write, I hope you like it. The premise is not what I expected to write from your prompts but that’s how creativity works I guess.

This is for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark,

Summary: To be fair to Peter, he had never planned to become an Enhanced individual that protected people by being bitten by a radioactive spider and becoming Spider-Man. Really, it made perfect sense that even if he hadn’t planned it, he would turn into a siren at the splash of water by eating a weird-looking fruit he found on patrol.

If anything, it was Mr. Stark and Aunt May’s fault because they made him eat something healthy every two hours. If the rule wasn’t there, he wouldn't have touched the fruit. Ok, that was a lie, he might have tried it just because it looked weird, but maybe somebody would have stopped him from consuming it if he didn’t have the eating rule.

On the bright side, keeping this a secret from them wouldn’t be as hard as keeping Spider-Man a secret, he has experience this time.

Spoiler Alert: He doesn’t even last a week.

Read on AO3

First chapter under the cut

Tail As Blue As The Sky Enveloped In Light

Peter wants it known for posterity's sake that it wasn’t his fault.

The case could be made that it was, indeed, his fault, but no judge had made the ruling and he was sticking to that fact. Not that it does anything to persuade the jury from condemning him to being grounded for two weeks after.

It all started that fateful day on patrol, spring break only a few days away. Sure, Peter had a lot of assignments to turn in, but not anything that couldn’t be done just before it was absolutely necessary. The most annoying were the essays for English and History, but hey, even STEM schools needed their students to course them. Anyways, since Peter would be spending the break over at the Compound with Mr. Stark while Aunt May took the week with her coworkers at the Caribbean-very likely being joined by Ms. Potts at some point- the last weekend hadn’t been a Compound weekend. It’d worked great for Peter, he got to hang out with Ned before the break where the other boy would go see family, and also to spend time with May.

It's a bright April afternoon as he swings from the buildings with not much happening when Peter comes across a small playground area with a few trees and some grass parts. The little park wasn’t rundown or badly taken care of and the trees were already a bright green. A few children call him over and he swings down to greet them. He even takes a few pictures with them.

On his way out of the park he sees it. Lying on the grass under a tree is a weird-looking acorn, it's purple with an orange stripe. Peter walks over and kneels down to pick it up. The texture feels closer to a peach and just as squishy. His senses weren’t going off in danger but it wasn’t like any fruit he’d ever seen in his life.

“Karen?” Peter asks.

Karen takes a few seconds before responding. “I haven’t found a match for it, but it appears to fall under the category of fruit.”

Hhmm. Well, that just made it more intriguing. There wasn’t much that Karen couldn’t identify. If the unknown fruit lasted long enough he could even ask FRIDAY or Mr. Stark about it, maybe run a few tests on it, perhaps he just discovered a new type of fruit. That sets it, Peter’s taking it with him.

Peter sets off to where he left his backpack webbed to an alley wall. He reaches the alley and his backpack is just where he left it, which is great-it wouldn’t be good to ask for another so close to the break, it was already his second one this year. Peter changes to normal clothes and proceeds to set the weird acorn inside the backpack, he doesn’t think anything in his back will squish it. With his backpack set, he begins making his way home in no hurry.

On the way, Peter plans all the assignments he needs to do for the week. It’s still early, he can go home to eat, do some homework and go out again to patrol another hour or two before curfew. There’s that calc and chemistry homework due for tomorrow that he’ll work on today. He’ll eat whatever May left for him, hopefully, she left money for Thai. May isn’t coming home until late, they were spending extra hours at the office before the break, half leaving things prepared for their vacation and half coordinating it. His mind travels to the movie Ned and him saw that weekend and the new Lego set they built. Then it takes him to his break at the Compound where he’ll get to train with Rhodey and work on his web-shooters, he’s also gonna work with Tony on the arc reactor and their prosthesis project. By the time Peter became aware he was already in the front of his apartment building.

Inside their apartment Peter finds out May hadn’t left money for Thai, instead there was a nice healthy meal waiting for Peter to warm up and eat. He supposes he should have known better. Peter shuts the fridge door and turns to his room. When May wasn’t able to ensure Peter ate, and ate something healthy at that, they got him these nice meals prepared from a nice restaurant that Pepper had found near their apartment. They all had him about being in a routine for eating healthy, he hadn’t eaten anything they thought wasn’t good for him in weeks. He was able to have a treat once or twice on the weekends if he had followed through during the week. Peter thought it wasn’t necessary anymore, he was perfectly fine now. He’d learned since his eating disorder started, but just try and get that through to them. Apparently, they had to trust the diagnosis more, which to be fair was really accurate, but still, he thought he was already past that.

Peter sits in front of his desk and takes out his chemistry book and worksheet. Maybe he’ll get hungry after working his mind a little, he begins to work.

The alarm on his watch startles him, a big contrast to the quiet room that makes it sound louder than it is. The alarm is a constant beeping that doesn’t cease until Peter presses the shut button twice, once to know there’s an alarm and a second to acknowledge what it's for.

Mr. Stark set the alarm for him to eat something healthy every two hours. They’d also been on his back about eating often and he usually ate a fruit or a bar. Peter looks around his desk, then his room, and notices there’s nothing of his usual stash. He doesn’t want to get up to get something, usually, there are always things nearby but he probably ate them all.

Peter remembers the weird fruit in his backpack from earlier, sure he wanted to research it but his priorities changed. He still has the analysis from Karen to ask FRIDAY with. Peter opens his backpack and fishes the fruit out, it looks exactly as it had when he found it. He doesn’t know what it is, but Karen said he could call it a fruit and he was allowed to eat fruit, since he also had to eat something he saw no flaw in his logic of eating it. Besides, if Karen said that he didn’t eat anything because he was too lazy to get up he would have Happy babysitting him again. No one wanted that. To Peter, the ends justify the risks.

Peter smells the unknown fruit and it gives no distinctive smell. Before taking a bite, he searches within himself for any signs of danger but when he finds nothing he bites it. It tastes good, feels softer than an apple but not quite like a peach as he’d thought. Oh well, it's still good, really good actually. He goes back to doing homework.

Minutes after his little snack break Peter begins to feel weird, not in a Spidey Sense tingling weird, nor it feels like something is happening to his arm weird, more like the insides of his body feel funny. Peter hasn’t ever felt like this before.

At first, Peter thinks it will go away and continues with his homework, but after he finishes his chemistry workout sheet the feeling has only increased. He doesn’t feel anything wrong though, just... different. He starts feeling a little sleepy, not in the sense that his body is tired, it feels like his own body is telling him to close his eyes and rest a little. So that is exactly what Peter does, he puts away his work, goes to his bed, and rests his eyes. It will only be for a bit, he still has time to go patrol a bit after resting a few minutes.

Those few minutes turn out longer than he thought. A lot longer. By the time Peter is opening his eyes feeling rested and just… different, the sun has already set and the night has fallen. The only source of light in the room is the lights coming from the streets through the closed window of his room.

Darn it! He probably had missed his dinner time! Peter looks wildly until he finds the digital clock on his nightstand that reveals he was still just within his time frame before Karen would alert Tony, or May. He’d been asleep far longer than he'd planned.

Peter is starving like he hasn’t in months, so much so he would eat that flavorless mush of food they’d made him eat that day at the Medbay after their “intervention”. He sets for the kitchen, takes out the plate with his food, and sets it in the microwave as the instructions show in the note.

You would think that Aunt May and Mr. Stark would be lenient that he missed his meal because he was sleeping but that was actually a very important point to them. Once he’d been awoken by a blaring alarm, it had almost given him a heart attack, he had thought it was an emergency, maybe the sky had been falling. It hadn’t been anything alarming other than him missing his snack. And not even mentioning that one time in class where he’d been called to the principal’s office for forgetting his snacks at home and Mr. Morita personally getting him a protein bar. That had been a horrible day. He still couldn’t really look Mr. Morita in the eyes.

The microwave beeped and Peter went to pull out the dish. He grabs a fork and napkin on the way to the couch. Karen may tattle about his food consumption but never where he eats. To be fair, Karen only has eyes in the suit mask, the rest of her input comes from his Starkwatch and Starkphone. Peter’s little humanoid golden robot, that he built with Tony’s help, C3PO, comes forward and sets his little arms up for Peter to place his plate on. Peter turns the TV on and settles back to continue his current series on Netflix.

Peter had been starving and food had never tasted so good in his life. He basically inhales it. Something not as good as he had been told but he was hungry. C3PO leaves with the napkin, the fork and the plate to the kitchen and Peter finishes his episode as he digests his food.

When the episode ends he gets up from the couch and walks to his room. As he walks in he sees R2D2, the little robot he’d made by himself at the lab in the Compound, having what seems his own little party in his room. R2 even has some music to dance with as he moves around the room.

Peter’s idea was to change again into his suit and patrol until his curfew but he feels a tug towards the water. He already did a patrol today, it had been a calm day. Peter decides he’ll settle for the night, finish some homework, and do more time on patrol tomorrow, he’ll make up for today then. Right now he will take a shower and finish his homework for Monday, be free for the entirety of the weekend.

C3 enters the room as Peter exits it to go to the bathroom. Peter might have programmed them with some personality traits reminiscent of their movie counterparts, and it usually ends with a bit of a friendly argument between the two. The good thing is Peter will be away while they do it, the bad thing is he’ll probably still hear them while he showers.

Peter takes off his clothes and sets his hand under the spray of water to feel its temperature. Once it’s to his liking he clambers inside headfirst. The water soaks his brown curls then covers his back. Peter backs his torso so his legs get sprayed with water and the change is fast, so fast it would probably be pretty seamless for anyone else. Peter doesn’t have time to react to the sudden feel of his legs knitting together and turning scaly before he loses balance with a startled yelp. Peter reaches out to the shower wall with a hand and sticks, stopping his fall but the momentum sends his back to hit the wall and Peter slides down, landing on his butt.

He blinks several times as he stares at his legs. Or more importantly, where his legs should be. In their place is a mermaid tail, just like the movies. It's a light blue like a clear skyline in New York mornings, with shiny scales that turn white when the light hits them and see-through red shaded fins. The tail seems to start at his hips but it fades up into his stomach with smaller scales, not a clear cut. Peter can feel the tail, he can feel it as if it were his legs but they feel different.

This isn’t normal, is it? This isn’t some long overdue side effect of the spider bite, right? This shouldn’t be happening, should it? There’s no way this is normal. This has got to be in the Top 10 weirdest things to happen to him. It fights for dominance right up there with the spider bite.

Peter takes a deep breath, he feels the fins and wills one to move as if it were his foot. In front of him, the fin moves. Peter shoves himself back startled, his head hits the other wall of the shower with force and he winces. He brings a hand to rub at his head, even if it doesn’t really make the pain lessen. He makes the other fin move, makes them both move at the same time, makes them move in opposite directions.

Peter stops playing with his fins. Wow, he has fins now, he has a tail. He can move the tail too. He has full control of it. It’s rather flexible too, more flexible than he’s become with his enhancements. Okay, so, he has a tail. He has a mermaid-merman?- he has a merman tail. He has a tail that is blue, and he can move it. It is right in front of him. Peter reaches for the middle of the tail with his finger and pokes it, sure enough he feels the poke, both in the tail and with his finger. It's real.

Alright, cool. So now that the shock has worn off it’s time to figure this out. Does this mean he can breathe underwater? Is he a merman now? Does he have to live in the Ocean? Would a lake suffice? His powers stayed, he was able to stick to the wall. Does that make him a Merman-Spider? Spider-Merman? Siren-Spider? Is he no longer allowed to eat fish? Do mermaids eat fish? Does this mean mermaids are real?

You’re getting distracted, Peter. Focus.

Was he a merman forever now? How did he even become one?

Yeah, focus on that. The how.

This isn't alien tech, that's for sure. He hasn't encountered anyone with alien tech in a while. That’s one out. So then… magic? Was magic real? Were there wizards? Was there actually a school for wizards? Oh gosh, that would be so cool. Like, Wanda Maximoff had magic, right? That's what she used? Or was that something else? It could have been magic, or maybe kinetic energy manipulation, that was also a possibility; but the idea of that being magic was always an option. Wait, he's getting sidetracked again.

Right, what caused this.

Ok, well, it couldn't be the spider bite either, it'd been far too long since and it didn’t make logical sense to be a result of it. Or... it could be if this was the product of a second reactant to the DNA alterations caused by the bite. Like, sure it would be weird to get a tail as a reaction, but so had gaining the powers of a spider through the bite of a radioactive spider; maybe they wanted to gain the powers of a fish and it mutated into a tail. Peter hadn't gone swimming recently and definitely hadn't been bitten by a fish but maybe he had, or eaten the radioactive fish by accident. He shouldn't have trusted that fillet, it had tasted too good. It could also just be a coincidence from another substance, really if this was a reaction he needed to know the second reactant.

Peter sees the water fall and splash on his tail and continue down the drain as he thinks. Water! Peter snaps his head to look at the showerhead. That was the reactant, water! The moment his legs got wet he got a tail!

Ok, so it wasn't a late side effect from the bite. That was good to know. It didn't rule out a reaction from the after-effects of the bite but it did give less evidence in its favour. So far the contenders are radioactive fish, reaction to his spider DNA, and magic. Only one of which Peter actually had knowledge of.

Peter sits up and moves forward to shut the water off. The tail was cool and all but he was kind of stuck in the tub. Peter lifts the end of his tail and moves the fins with narrowed eyes. He moves the fins close to the wall and then touches it, he wills them to stick and they do. Ok, he has better mobility than he thought he would. Feeling excitement fill him, Peter uses only his tail to lift his body and it works. He balances himself on his tail. He is definitely a Spider-Siren. He can stick, has strength, he assumes it also has his superhealing.

Peter grabs a towel from the rack and sits back down in the tub, he starts drying his upper body. The scales shimmer as he moves and Peter wonders if they would look the same dry. He sets the towel around his neck. Peter lifts himself from the tub and sits on the toilet lid, splaying the tail across the bathroom floor in all its glory before he grabs the towel around his neck. Peter starts drying his tail and the feeling is weird, he feels the towel through the scales and it’s closer to feeling something through his nails.

Peter has the sudden urge that his legs come back so he could experience the difference in them. Peter is scrubbing where the body of the tail meets the fins because it feels really good when the change happens. Peter senses the change a second before it happens but he is too confused at his Spider Sense telling him about it to notice what the change is . He lifts his head, dropping the towel, and looks around. Nothing is amiss and the sensation leaves. Peter turns back to pick up the towel and continue, now to try out the feel on his fins when he stops dead on his way to pick it up. His legs are back. His legs are back as if the tail was never there.

Peter pokes his legs, and just like the tail, they’re there. He moves them to make sure he has control over them, he does. He sets his palm on his leg and is surprised to find them completely dry, not even moist.

Peter looks back towards the shower, then he looks to his recently regained legs and back at the bathtub. He turns his head to his legs then the shower. Legs, shower, legs, shower. Peter bites his lower lip.

Like yeah, it could be a fluke and he may get stuck with a tail, but it could also be like his spider powers that he has control of. The tail disappeared when he dried it, it could be that if he gets his legs wet again the tail would return, and then it would disappear when he dries himself again.

What kind of scientist would he be if he didn't test out his hypothesis? He had to try. Besides, the worst thing that can happen is he has a tail, he'll figure it out later if he can’t dry it out. He has a feeling it will work anyways.

Peter fills the bathtub around three-quarters full. This is insane and just the type of experimenting he likes, trial and error. Taking a deep breath, he positions himself above the water holding himself by his arms, legs stretched out in front of him, parallel to the water below. All he needs to do is lower his arms and he will get his legs in the tub filled with water.

Peter lets out a little nervous laugh as he looks at the water. Like ripping off a bandaid. Peter takes another breath, releases it, and lets himself fall in one motion that splashes water over the tub’s edge.

The tail returns and this time Peter knows what he’s feeling. He realizes it's his legs morphing into a tail. It takes his legs a second to become a tail and it doesn’t hurt. It’s not a feeling he can put words to, other than from now on he can call the feeling his legs morphing into his tail. A part of the tail shimmers under the translucent water and his fins stay between water and air near where he thinks his knees would be-his tail is far too long to fit in the tub- while Peter moves it a little. He lifts the end of the tail and lets it smack back into the water, making a big splash that brings a joyous laugh from him. It worked as he’d suspected, the tail appears when his lower body gets splashed with water. Peter lifts himself from the bathtub and sits on the toilet seat.

Peter grabs the towel he first used to dry himself and begins to redry his tail. The same weird feeling of drying his scales returns. Willing his legs back as he dries Peter lifts the towel and grins. Where his blue tail had been are his legs once more.

Peter grins at the water, a rush of excitement cursing through his body. He has a tail now.

Just as abruptly his grin comes it falls and his heart begins to beat loudly in his chest. Oh god, he has a tail. He can't tell Aunt May, she'll freak out and ground him. And he can't tell Mr. Stark because he'll reprimand him, then tattle to May who will freak out and then they'll ground him together.

Ok, ok, ok. He can’t tell them, no big deal. He’s Spider-Man, he’s kept that a secret, he can keep this a secret. He has to figure this out first, then maybe he’ll tell them. If this is reversible they might never find out.

Does he want to reverse this? Food for thought.

He’ll figure all that out later. Right now Peter is going to take a bath, experiment a little, and then him and Karen will have a conversation about how much of a snitch the Babysitter Protocol makes her before starting his investigation.

#the friendly neighborhood exchange #my writing #irondad #mcu #peter parker #tony stark #lab shenanigans #spiderson #facfic #spiderman #iron man

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liberty-barnes · 4 years

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Keep You Safe

Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Prompt: “I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath”

Warnings: slightly creepy Peter, but like the endearing kind of creepy, also Petey being a dork,,,as always, protective Peter Parker, Endgame related angst but only for a sec, cuddlesssss, and fluff, lots of fluff, because I’m a hoe for fluff... and Tom Holland’s biceps but that’s a story for another day

Word Count: 2167 words

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: School has officially closed which means that I’m now forced to stay home all day (which wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t locked at home with my dad and he’s getting on every single one of my nerves) and do the homework our teachers send us by email... I didn’t even know Microsoft Teams and OneNote existed until a week ago... so that’s something. I usually write stuff on paper during class cause let’s be honest, I only pay attention to what my teachers are saying when I’m forced to (don’t do this kids, listen to teachers, God I’m a such a bad example) so I’ve got about 5 stories written and I thought “Hey, since I’m too lazy to do my physics homework, why not post it all on tumblr?” So yeah, hi, this is my version of “quarantine is driving me crazy and I need an escape”. And before you ask, yes, I’ve succumbed to the toilet paper juggle thing already, it was not pretty.

Masterlist

Peter Parker was not a creep, he was simply a worried boyfriend.

There is nothing wrong with following your girlfriend after school to make sure she gets home safe before going back to the Tower. Or asking Karen to alert him whenever you leave the house so he could follow you to make sure you were safe. Or gifting you one of those morse code bracelets that monitored your vitals and location because he knew you’d never take it off and that way he could constantly know where you were and how you were feeling.

Peter Parker was not a creep.

He watched from his vantage point on top of a building as you and MJ left the mall, Slurpees in hand and carrying at least five shopping bags each, most of them being from art stores and only a couple from clothing. The sight of your bright smile made his heart burst with affection and he listened intently, still able to hear your melodic laugh over the hustle and bustle of the busy street.

He followed you at a safe distance, losing sight of the two of you as you entered the subway. Karen kept him aware of your whereabouts though, and he saw you again when you exited the subway station, now alone.

You walked a couple more blocks and entered your apartment building, but Peter only truly relaxed once he saw you entering your bedroom, having a clear view through your window.

He stayed for a few more minutes, admiring how beautiful you looked doing something as mundane as cutting tags off your newly bought clothes and throwing out the plastic wrapped around your new art supplies.

He then made his way to the Tower, where the Avengers chose to live again, for practical purposes.

“Hey everyone!” He immediately greeted his teammates after walking into the kitchen, mask off and hair slightly messy.

“Hey Pete,” The twenty-year-old witch gave him a chilled bottle of water from the fridge, already knowing that the boy would be parched.

Peter kissed her cheek and did the same to Pepper, Carol, and Morgan who were all sitting at the table playing Uno, no doubt to make the young Stark happy.

“Where is everyone?” The young spiderling asked after downing his water bottle.

“Bucky and Sam are in the gym, Bruce is messing with something in the labs, and Sharon went grocery shopping with Rhodey.” Carol set down a blue five, not even looking up from her hand. For a superhero, she sure sucked at card games.

“Oh, okay. I’m going to my room, be back to help with dinner!” He called back before walking to the elevator and pressing the button to his and May’s floor.

After everyone returned from the Blip, the Parkers lost their home and Pepper immediately offered them a floor at the Tower, not wanting her not-really-but-still-kind-of-feels-like-it son and his aunt to be living on the streets. Peter was very happy to be living with some of his favorite people in the world and very grateful for the opportunities it provided him.

He entered his room and pressed the button on his chest, the suit retracting to a simple spider pendant that hung around his neck, looking like an ordinary chain. He took it off and put it in his charging cradle before changing into a pair of grey sweatpants (your favorite though he still doesn’t understand why) and his blue Midtown sweatshirt.

He sat on his desk chair, ready to start his homework but a vibration from his phone made him postpone the task, choosing instead to open the messaging app on his custom made StarkPhone.

Princess 👑 ❤️: heyy :) Princess 👑 ❤️: can i meet you at the tower later? Princess 👑 ❤️: i want cuddles :)))

He smiled at that and immediately texted you back.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: i’ll ask Rhodey and Shar to pick you up on their way home :) Baby🕷️ ❤️: love you <3 Princess 👑 ❤️: love you more <33

He texted Sharon and after receiving confirmation that you were in the car with them, he turned his phone face down on the desk to avoid any distractions and started on his English homework, hoping to be done with it when you got here so he could cuddle in peace with his beloved girlfriend.

Twenty minutes later, he was almost done with his homework, fully engrossed in the words on the page that he had to meticulously read, highlight and analyze. He barely noticed when you entered the room, his spidey sense no longer detecting you as a threat, but took a much-needed breath of relief when he felt your hands around his shoulder, rubbing softly.

No words were needed as you kept rubbing his shoulders while he finished his homework, relishing in the soft kisses you left on the crown of his head from time to time. He finished the last sentence on his analysis and set his pen down, sighing. He closed his eyes and put his head back so it rested on your shoulder and you kissed his forehead, hands around his neck, hugging his upper body from behind.

“Cuddles now?” You asked, voice soft and soothing reaching his over-worked brain.

“Yeah, baby, let’s go.”

You kissed him on the forehead once more and took off your shirt, staying in your white lace bra and pastel pink sweatpants before laying down on the king-sized bed. You made grabby hands at him and he took off his own shirt, laying down between your legs and resting his head on your breasts. Your right hand made its way to his soft brown curls while your left rested on his upper back, hugging him close to your chest. His arms tightened around your waist and a pleased sigh left his lips, his lashes fluttering and tickling your skin as the tension rolled off of him in waves with every gentle pass of your manicured nails through his scalp.

Peter loved this position. There was really nothing sexual about it, he just loved hearing your heartbeat and feeling your colder skin against his naturally overheated one. He loved protecting the city and all of its inhabitants but here, in your arms, in this bed, he wasn’t Spider-Man, the newest Avenger. He wasn’t the Starks’ unofficially adopted kid that would take over SI alongside Morgan and Harley. He wasn’t the kid who brightened up everyone’s day and felt solely responsible for their happiness and well-being.

He was just Pete. Your Pete. Your fragile, vulnerable boyfriend who just really needed a hug, and you were more than happy to provide.

“How was your day?” He asked, voice slightly muffled because of his mouth’s position, buried in the valley of your breasts.

“Pretty good. I went to the mall with MJ after class and we bought a bunch of new clothes and art supplies for our trip to DisneyWorld.”

“Why do you need new stuff just to go to DisneyWorld?”

“I need Disney themed stuff.”

“You already have Disney themed stuff.”

“But I need new ones so that every time I see them they’ll remind me of our trip to DisneyWorld.”

He chuckled at your over-the-top-ness and nuzzled his face deeper into your chest.

“‘M hungry.”

“Must be cause you didn’t eat.”

“Did too!” He snorted at that.

“A Slurpee doesn’t count as food, princess.”

A silence enveloped the room and he felt your heartbeat quicken.

“I never told you I had a Slurpee.”

Oh shit.

“Y-Yeah, you did, you said you went to the mall with MJ to do some shopping and had a Slurpee after.” He was panicking but focused on playing it off as best as he could.

Spoiler Alert: he’s a very bad liar and can’t hide anything from you.

“No, I didn’t so how do you know that?”

He stuttered and incoherent sentence your way, trying and failing TRYING VERY HARD to defend himself.

“Have you been following me?”

Shitshitshit.

“N-No?” He hated that he couldn’t lie to you, one look at him and all his secrets would come out like some kind of verbal diarrhea.

You pushed him off your lap so the both of you were sitting up, looking at him with nothing short of hurt, confusion, and betrayal swirling in your beautiful sparkling eyes.

“Have you been taking advantage of EDITH and your powers to spy on me?”

He didn’t answer, simply hung his head, closed his eyes and waited for the blow-up that was bound to happen next... but it never came, only a broken whisper followed by a heart-breaking sob reached his ears.

“Do you not trust me?”

“What?” His head snapped up and he stared into your eyes, seeing the tears threatening to leak and cursing himself because he caused that, he caused his babygirl pain.

“W-Well if you're following me it must be because y-you don’t t-trust m-me.”

Your words were punctuated by a particularly loud sob and he quickly gathered you up in his arms, nuzzling his cheek on the top of your head soothingly and threading his fingers through your hair.

“Nonononononono, baby that’s not it, I promise.” He took your face between his hands and kissed your tear-stricken cheeks, resting his forehead on yours. “It’s just that... with everything that happened with Tony and Beck and my identity being revealed, then almost going to prison, thank God for Pepper, I just... I’m constantly worried that someone’ll come after you because of me, because of what you mean to me, and that I won’t be able to protect you and I just need to know you’re safe, always because you’re the most important person in my life and I don’t know what I’d without you, so I followed you and asked Karen to update me on your vitals every hour so I know you’re safe and alive, and real, and... I just need to know you’re safe.”

He took a deep breath after finishing his jumbled up explanation, finally shining light on the fears deeply installed within him for months.

“I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath. Cause you wanna protect me but you do it by following me and invading my privacy.”

“Wha- psychopath?” You both burst into laughter, foreheads still resting against one another.

“Well, you’ve been following me around for a while. Do you have a camera in my bedroom?”

“No! Of course not! Just... in the lobby... and one facing your apartment door... and on your fire escape facing your window...”

His cheeks were flushed red and he was looking everywhere but at you, seemingly embarrassed by his predicament.

“You said you had Karen monitoring my vitals... how?”

“Oh, um... remember the bracelet I gave you for our six-month anniversary?”

You lifted your right wrist, cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘this one’.

“Yeah, so um... I actually made that. It’s got nanosensors that monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, sugar levels, emotional state and a bunch of other things along with a tracker that’s constantly activated. It’s all connected to Karen, so she can let me know whenever you’re in trouble...”

“Is that how you always know when I’m having a panic attack or when I’m on my period?” Your eyes softened up and an adoring smile graced your face when he nodded.

“You’re a dork.” You straddled him fully and properly, then kissed him on the lips softly.”But you’re my dork, and I love you. And I love that you want to keep me safe and that you’d be willing to sacrifice your dignity and do something quite illegal to make sure I stay safe.”

He smirked at you.

“You know, out of context that sounds a bit twisted.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled fondly at him.

“What can I say? From time to time, I sure do love me a bad boy.”

He smiled and kissed you on the lips, slow and passionate, filled with all his love and adoration and relief, pure and utter relief because you’re here, with him, and you know, and you don’t hate him, in fact, you love him even more.

He fell back on the bed, taking you with him as you resumed your previous position, only this time with you on top.

“So are we gonna mention that when Tony did the exact same thing to you you threw a fit and had Ned hack into the suit?”

“Shut up.”

That night, when Peter got back home after dropping you off, EDITH alerted him to movement on your fire escape. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s as he pulled up the live footage but it all turned into a breathless chuckle when he saw the surveillance video.

You had put your whiteboard in such a way that it would be seen by the camera and scribbled a ‘Goodnight baby <3′ on it.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: goodnight princess <3

And this is what I do during my English and french classes... English because I don’t need to (perks of being trilingual) and french because the teacher spends the lesson talking about stuff I already know so I really don’t care.

With that said, please stay in school and listen to your teachers... do as I say, not as I do.

Anyway, I hope you liked this little one-shot. Please don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog if you feel like it!

Love you all, Libby <3

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vintervittrannerd · 4 years

Text

True as Sarcasm

By @vintervittrannerd for @whotheheckitheheck

Rating: General

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: The first time he said it, it was pure sass. But over time, the word started to feel more and more true, until Peter realizes that’s what Tony has become to him. A dad.

This is for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange, you can read it on Ao3 here :)

The first time he said it, it was pure sass.

He had been back as Spider-man for a few weeks, after the month-long grounding he had gotten after May found out about him swinging around Queens stopping crime after school.

The grounding had been a compromise. May had been absolutely furious with everyone when she first found out (Peter still winced at the memory of her shouting at Tony for what seemed like hours) and had forbidden Peter from going out as Spider-man ever again. Peter had been certain that that had been the end. Once May made up her mind, she very rarely changed it, and she had been angry enough that not even Peter’s otherwise quite successful puppy eyes had worked. But to his astonishment, Tony had, after letting May finishing her shouting, somehow convinced her to let Peter continue his vigilantism.

There had to be rules of course. Peter wasn’t entirely happy with all of them, but May and Tony had been in agreement and there was no way Peter could change their minds once they had teamed up against him. The rules included strict curfews for patrolling (10pm on school nights and midnight on weekends), school and homework had to come first, he had to make time for his friends and family, and his sleeping schedule had to still be appropriate for a teenager (though Peter suspected he had quite different views on appropriate bedtimes for a 15 year old than the adults had). He also had to get some actual training, which resulted in an agreement that he should spend every other weekend at the Avengers compound and train with any of the remaining Avengers (which meant either Tony or Rhodey, or occasionally Vision if he was there). He also had to continue his patrol reports, but now directly to Tony, and was under no circumstances allowed to tone down or hide an injury of any kind. Not that he could hide it anyway, because Karen kept a log and reported directly to FRIDAY, and if she deemed any injury severe it would alert Tony the minute it happened. Peter was not very happy about this particular rule, but found it best not to try and hack Karen again. At least not so soon. He figured he would give it a few months at least, and then he and Ned could see if they couldn’t change Karen’s coding without Friday (or Tony) noticing.

And then there was the grounding. Peter had hoped that the, in his opinion, absurd number of rules would be enough of a punishment, but May did not agree.

“The rules are just to let you be Spider-man at all. The grounding is for lying to my face for months.”

Peter couldn’t really argue with that, and besides he did feel bad for lying to her, so he accepted his punishment with minimal complaint.

And when he was finally allowed back out as Spider-man, things had been so different from how they’d been before the Vulture incident that Peter didn’t quite know how he should behave. Mr. Stark had taken a much bigger part in his life, way beyond what he actually had to according to his deal with May. Not only did he listen to all of Peter’s patrol reports, but he seemed to take a genuine interest in Peter's life, chatting with him about school and friends and Legos. He’d also started to invite Peter to the compound more often, not just for his training sessions, but to work in the lab with him and one time just for a movie night (Tony had claimed that he just needed a third person so a majority could vote against Rhodey's movie suggestions, but after a few minutes of mock betrayal when Peter sided with Rhodey, he had just decided that voting was a bad idea anyway and they should just take turns choosing what to watch on movie nights). And Peter found that he grew more and more comfortable around Mr. Stark, his nervousness and insecurity slipping away and being replaced by a familiarity that he hadn’t expected but definitely welcomed.

Which was how, a few weeks after he’d been allowed out as Spider-man again, Peter found himself in the compound kitchen after a training session with Rhodey while Tony cut up bread rolls and fussed over Peter like a mother hen.

“Have you eaten yet? It’s important to eat after you’ve trained, especially with your metabolism. We don’t want you passing out on us now, do we? Also, water,” Tony tosses a water bottle at Peter and then continues to rummage around in the fridge, pulling out a package of roast beef “you need plenty of water after working out, so drink up.”

Peter can’t help himself, the situation of THE Tony Stark preparing a sandwich for him and pestering him about drinking water is so surreal that the sass just slips out.

“Yes dad.”

Rhodey snorts behind him and Tony turns to glare at the both of them.

“Very funny. But I have a deal with your scary Aunt and she will have my head if I break it. And I happen to be rather fond of my head.”

“Your deal includes making sandwiches?”

“My deal includes keeping you alive” Tony says with a stern look at Peter, who has a very hard time keeping himself from laughing. “Now shut up and eat your food.”

Peter rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. He is starving after all.

***

It becomes a thing after that.

In fairness, Peter only sarcastically calls him dad when Tony is really helicopter parenting. In other words, all the time.

And really, who can blame Peter? Tony is, after all, the worst case of helicopter parent that Peter’s ever seen. Seriously, Peter has had four parents during his fifteen years on this planet and none of them has been quite as overprotective as his mentor is.

Peter doesn’t really mind it though. It’s kinda nice to have someone else that looks out for him, besides May. It’s mostly just a fun thing to mock Tony with, especially since he insists that he’s not a helicopter parent and is just being a “responsible adult” (at that, Rhodey had laughed so hard that he nearly fell of the chair he was sitting on and Tony had thrown a half-made sandwich at him).

He doesn’t know when or how it happened. But somewhere during the months of lab days and movie nights and texting each other stupid jokes, the “dad” had stopped being sarcastic and started being…something more. Peter wasn’t really sure what it was, only that Tony fricking Stark, Iron-man, genius, billionaire, philanthropist and arguably the best Avenger, had stopped feeling like just a mentor and started to feel something that was much closer to a real dad. It terrified Peter, but at the same time it made him feel safe and calm. Like he had someone he could lean on. Someone who would never leave him to face the world alone.

And that was precisely the reason he was terrified. Because Peter knew all too well that father figures did leave, even if it was unwillingly. His first father, Richard Parker, had left, died in a plane crash when Peter was four and he still missed him terribly sometimes. His other father, Uncle Ben, had also left, bleeding to death in an alley while Peter held him. And the grief he had for Ben was something he couldn’t even put words on, because it was mixed with guilt. Guilt, because he was the reason Ben had been in that alley in the first place. Guilt, because even with his powers, Peter couldn’t save his life. And guilt, because even though Ben had been his father in every sense of the word and he had loved him so much, Peter had never told him. He’d never called Ben Dad, or told him that he saw him as a father. In his mind, Peter knew Ben must have known anyway, just as Peter knew Ben had seen him as a son even if he never said so. But in his heart, there’s still a stab of guilt. He should’ve told Ben. He should’ve told him how much he meant to Peter.

Peter Parker knows that father figures leave, unexpectedly and painfully, and he knows the guilt that can follow. He knows he can’t always prevent the leaving, but he can prevent the guilt of never telling. And so, he starts to make a plan.

***

Peter has never been this nervous in his entire life. He almost asks Happy to turn the car around and take him back to the apartment at least twelve times on his way to the compound, and when the elevator doors open up to reveal the corridor that leads to the lab, he almost asks FRIDAY to take him back up again.

But he doesn’t. He steps out of the elevator with the small gift bag clutched in one hand and takes a deep breath. He reminds himself that he’s a superhero and that he’s supposed to be brave and that really, this shouldn’t even be something to be afraid of in the first place. Really, it’s just a small present. It’s just Tony. It just happens to be Father’s Day.

Tony looks up from his workbench when Peter enters the lab and blinks several times at him. He looks disheveled and tired and Peter suspects that he has spent at least the past 24 hours in the lab.

“Peter? Is something wrong? Wait, shit, did I miss that this was a compound weekend?”

He looks stressed and guilty enough that Peter rushes to reassure him.

“Oh, no, everything’s fine! Just… Rhodey said you weren’t busy today” (actually Rhodey’s exact words had been “It’ll do him good to be dragged out of his lab for a while, he could use the break”) “and so I asked Happy to drive me here cause… uhm, I just… I wanted to… I-I mean I just thought…” Why can’t he form a full sentence? His brain refuses to be of any help at all, so Peter gives up on trying and just holds out the gift bag to Tony “Here.”

Tony accepts the bag with an odd look on his face. “What’s this?” When Peter just blushes and doesn’t answer, Tony carefully pulls the gift out of the bag.

It’s a mug, the kind of mug that you could get in any gift shop, red with the words “World’s Greatest Dad” written on it. Only Peter had made it a bit more personal and had drawn a small golden Ironman helmet to the side and added the word Iron, so the mug now says “World’s Greatest IronDad”. Tony’s eyes go wide when he sees it. He stares at it, blinks slowly and continues staring as if he can’t quite believe it’s real.

Peter wonders if it is too much. If it is too little. If Tony will just assume it is a joke gift. If, maybe, it would be better if he thinks it’s a joke gift.

Tony is still staring at the mug.

Peter thinks maybe he hates it. Maybe he’ll look at Peter and tell him to take his mug and all its implications and get out of his lab. Maybe he’ll distance himself from Peter again. Maybe…

Tony sniffs and turns away, blinking furiously and swiping a hand at his eyes.

Now it’s Peter’s turn to stare.

“Mr. Stark…are you…are you crying?”

“No” Tony sniffs again, and his voice sounds suspiciously shaky. “It’s just that the air in here is very dry and it makes my eyes water. It’s a perfectly normal thing.”

“The air humidity is at a very normal level,” FRIDAY comments. “It should not affect your eyes in any way, boss.”

Tony glares at the ceiling and mutters something that sounds like “snitch”. Peter can’t stop himself from snorting and Tony turns his glare at him instead. However, the glare quickly melts into a look so soft and full of love that not even Peter's overanxious brain can doubt it. And finally, he dares to say the words he came here to say, the simple yet terrifying words he’d turned over and over in his head, wondering if he had any right to say them. The look in Tony's eyes wipes away all of Peter’s worries. So, he says it, and he means every single word.

“Happy Father’s Day, dad.”

#vintervittran writes #friendly neighbourhood exchange #i have no idea what this is to be honest #its just 2k words of fluff #like so much fluff #(and a tiny bit of angst just cause i couldn't help myself)#but really its mostly fluff #tony acting as peters father figure #peter calls tony dad #and its sarcastic #until its not #fathers days gifts #tony is a helicopter parent #irondad #fanfiction #peter parker #tony stark

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

Note

Family day playing hooky hc

(this turned into another fic. Apparently I don't make the rules anymore)

Read on AO3

It's the beginning of a long summer. Both kids are home - well, not really, since Amy has signed them up for several activities all around the city. Today is arts & crafts time at the children's library wing, Jake notes as he checks their shared calendar before the morning meeting. But they are home, insofar as Mac's school is closed for the summer holidays, and so's Maya's kindergarten. They drop them off at their daily activity in the morning, and the rest of the time they're at his mom's, who's been happily overfeeding them and entertaining them as the proud grandma she is. Or they drop them off at Gramma Peralta’s first, and she drives them to whatever place they were signed up at. It's a pretty good routine, and he's proud of Amy having found so many things for them to do that seem right up their alley, judging from their excited stories during dinner and the ever growing collection of handmade gifts on their living room shelves.

But they're home for the summer, and Jake and Amy have to sit at the sweltering precinct, slogging through paperwork and a dull week of almost no new cases. It's really not fair, Jake thinks. He remembers his summer days with Gina, when Nana would hand them both a couple of dollars and tell them not to be home until sunset at least. They can’t do that, obviously - Mac and Maya are still too young, and Brooklyn has definitely not gotten any safer since his early teens, when it was already questionably sketchy for him and Gina to stalk around the neighbourhoods and buy cheap ice cream and soda at random bodegas. He also remembers those few rare days when his mom would get a day off that did not need to be spent on catching up on housework, or when his dad would finally show up for more than one day and they could plan a little trip (which would actually take place at least 50% of the time). He remembers the aquarium and the zoo and the natural history museum and Central Park and Coney Island.

And they could absolutely do that, he realises, so the decision is pretty much made before he’s even set his bag down at his desk. But he’s patient enough to wait through the morning meeting - blessedly short, because nothing new has come up anyway, and they’re all told to finish up the paperwork and start on re-organising the evidence room. Jake supposes it’s a generally good thing that crime seems to slow down in the summer heat a little, but that’s not really why he’s so happy right now hearing the captain tell them to ‘find something to do anywhere’. He certainly knows what he wants to do already.

Amy’s morning meeting must’ve been just as short, because she’s already at her desk when he jumps down the last steps of the stairwell to her floor. Her uniformed officers mostly give him a quick nod or smile as he passes - it’s not a rare thing to see Detective Peralta come by to visit his wife outside of break times.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.” He smiles at her, and she rolls her eyes with fondness. The title is still pretty new, and he loves to remind her of it any chance he gets.

“Hey babe. We’re not due for lunch for another 4 hours, you know that, right?”

“Yeah there’s no way I’m waiting that long.” He’s still smiling wide, and when she looks up from whatever paper she’s been filling out, she instantly recognises that mischievous glint in his eye.

“What are you planning?”

“Let’s bail the kids out of the library and go somewhere fun. Coney Island? It’s all open since last saturday I think.”

“We have to work, Jake.” Amy levels him with one of those ‘please be a grown-up’ looks, but she knows they seldom get results.

“Do we, Ames? Do we really? Because Holt has us organising the evidence room. I have literally zero open cases on my desk. And how far ahead are you with all your paperwork and organisation?”

She looks sheepishly at the very small stack of papers on her desk.

“About two weeks, I’d say.”

“And you’re saying we can’t take one day off? Just one day of family time? Getting cotton candy and taking Mac on an actual roller coaster now that he’s tall enough and winning a new teddy for Maya because you’re an ace at the fake shooting range?” He wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis, and Amy stifles a snicker. It’s too bad her husband knows exactly how to win her over for most of his childish endeavours.

“I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to take some personal time right now. We’d still have to convince Holt-”

“On it.” Jake slaps her desk in excitement as he gets up, ready to race upstairs and sweet-talk Holt into giving them the day off (or rather, annoy him into it). Only Amy Santiago would request permission from her boss to play hooky, of course, but there’s no way he’s not going to indulge her.

It’s not even fifteen minutes later that he’s back downstairs, his bag already on his shoulder, almost pulling her out of her chair.

“Got the go-ahead, so let’s go!”

“Give me five minutes at least to brief Gary, and change out of my uniform before I leave.”

He sighs and thrums his fingers across his thigh, but obediently watches her talk to her ‘own Amy’, eagerly taking notes about the few things they actually have to remember to do. He refrains from pushing her forwards by the shoulders as she heads to the locker room, deciding to pack up her purse instead (he knows the layout perfectly by now - the calendar and pen goes next to the baby wipes, and the glasses case has to be by the little box of healthy, kid-friendly snacks). But the moment she returns in one of her signature flowery blouses, he grabs her hand and drags her out of the precinct so fast she can barely protest.

-+-

The drive to the library is equally as quick. Amy only manages to slow him down once they step into the actual building, reminding him of the library rules of being quiet and calm.

“Lieutenant Santiago!” The librarian behind the desk greets her - she’s well-known around these parts, obviously. “Back so early? Isn’t your mother-in-law picking up the kids later?”

He should probably call her to tell her about the change of plans, Jake thinks as Amy explains and asks if it’s possible to get Mac and Maya packed up and ready to leave already.

It’s absolutely possible, of course, and Maya proudly shows them the pipe cleaner and yarn figurine she’d just finished making as the kids librarian leads them out to the main floor. Mac, a few feet behind her, seems wary as he hugs them hello.

“Did something happen?” He asks into the hug, quietly, and Jake remembers with a twinge in his heart that the last time someone picked him up unexpectedly early from football practice, it was aunt Rosa, taking him and Maya to the precinct until Amy brought Jake back from hospital after getting knifed by a perp.

“No, buddy, this is a good surprise.” He hugs him back extra tight, ruffling his hair for good measure, and silently cursing his line of work being so shit sometimes.

Mac smiles back at him, luckily, but there is still a bit of hesitation in his eyes, and Jake’s excitement about his own idea of playing hooky falters for the first time. Maybe they should’ve just let the kids enjoy their crafts and grandma-time, and planned a proper day out for the weekend-

“Grandpa Holt gave us today off.” Amy explains as she steps up to the two of them with Maya by her side, and that title still sounds a little weird even years later. “So we thought we could all go out for a fun day at Coney Island!”

The squeal Maya lets out certainly changes Mac’s smile for the better, even as it is quickly shushed down (they’re still in the library after all!), and they’re soon dragged outside to the car by their kids the same way Jake had dragged Amy out of the precinct.

“C’n we get hotdogs?” Maya asks as she clicks her seatbelt closed and Amy smiles at her through the rearview mirror.

“We sure can!”

“Can we go on all the rides?” Mac joins in, and Jake is glad to see there’s absolutely no hesitation on his face anymore.

“All the ones you’re old enough for, sure.”

The questions and cheers and excited chatter keep up during the whole drive, even as Amy calls Karen and barely gets a word in, between the happy interruptions shouted from the backseat, and it takes a lot more to actually keep them together as they step on the boardwalk, Maya already running left to some game parlour while Mac races on ahead to the first ride he sees.

-+-

The rest of the day does not slow down in their whirlwind. Mac decides after three roller coasters that maybe he’s had enough (and Jake is glad they didn’t go through the food stalls before it), but he spins Maya around in the teacups ride like only an older brother could. The ice cream after is well deserved, seeing how sweaty and exhausted they are already, and gives them more than enough energy to hit literally every game they can see. Jake can watch Amy calculating the vast amount of money they’re spending in tokens, but she’s also the first one in line once they reach the toy-shooting range, winning Maya a unicorn plushie and Mac a knock-off superb-man figurine (his wife is a goddamn sharpshooter and he’d be lying if that wasn’t a turn-on). The third shot earns him a wacky pair of sunglasses that make both Amy and Maya giggle in that way he loves the most, and he refuses to take them off for any of the silly pictures they take in front of cutouts, wall art and weird statues.

He’s pushed them up into his hair by the time they get hotdogs (3 for him, 2 for Mac, one each for Amy and Maya), because the sun is already starting to set and he can barely see. Maya begins to shiver as they stroll down the quieter parts of the boardwalk, so he buys her one of those kitschy animal-hoodies all the stalls are touting (they know their clientele too well), and of course Mac immediately needs one too, so now there’s a tiny tiger and a slightly larger dragon running in front of them with cotton candy sticking all over their hands and faces.

Amy slides her arm around his waist as they slow their steps a little to let the kids go ahead, and he lays his across her shoulder as she leans into him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had more fun playing hooky.” She mumbles, and Jake laughs for a second.

“Amy Santiago, are you telling me you’ve played hooky before? I am shocked. Here I thought I’d married an upstanding girl.”

He gets a soft punch to his side for that before she leans back and whispers.

“Actually, you’ve made me play hooky before, remember? But we didn’t exactly go to an ‘amusement park’…”

“And yet you’re saying this has been more fun. I see where I stand.” He pouts before grinning again, and leans down for a soft kiss. (He definitely remembers the last time they played hooky now.)

“Sorry, babe.” Amy smiles as she looks at Mac and Maya again, currently busy chasing each other and dueling with the sticks left over from their cotton candy. “But this has been such a great day.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna make for one hell of a memory, I hope.” He follows her eyes forward, thinking about that short moment with Mac at the library earlier today. Amy hadn’t heard it, he’s sure, but the look on her face as she pulls him to look at her with a hand on his cheek tells him she knows his thoughts well enough.

“Hey. No sad thinking allowed on such a fun day, okay? We had a great time today and we’re gonna have so many more great days in the future.” She’s still smiling, swiping her thumb across his bottom lip, where he’s sure some cotton candy is still left clinging. “We could take them to the zoo next week.”

“Santiago!” He gasps again. “Are you insinuating-”

“On the weekend.” She leans up to kiss away the last bit of sugar on his mouth. “Like the upstanding girl you married would do, obviously.”

He laughs into the kiss even as he pulls her closer, and it’s only Mac and Maya, running back to them with news of another stand they’ve discovered selling funnel cakes, that makes them break apart again.

-+-

Later, after Jake’s carried a sleepy Maya up to their apartment, and she and Mac have barely had enough energy left in them to brush their teeth and wash their faces free from all the grime and sugar that’s covering it, he falls down on the couch as Amy checks on them one more time to see both fast asleep before the lights are even out.

“Do you feel as tired as the kids?” She says in her deep, sing-song voice that sends goosebumps up his spine, just as much as her hand raking through his hair does as she stands behind the couch.

“Well, it’s been a pretty long day. But I do have more sugar in my system to keep me running, I guess.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but then she leans down to nip on his ear and ‘nonchalance’ is the last thing he’s thinking of.

“Then how about we save time between now and bed by showering together?” She whispers, and he lets his head drop back to actually look at her.

“We have never saved time in the shower together, babe.”

She only smiles at him while humming an M-hm before heading for the bathroom, and he definitely doesn’t waste any time following her.

#b99 #brooklyn 99 #peraltiago #amy santiago #jake peralta #mac peralta #maya peralta #fic #my writing

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drreidfics · 3 years

Text

Dr. Reid and the Broken Girl pt1.

DR. REID AND THE BROKEN GIRL (Working Title)

Characters : SpencerReid x FemReader

Warnings : Abuse, Hints of Self Harm.

CAUTION // TW // THIS BOOK DEALS WITH MATURE CONTENT SUCH AS PROFESSOR AND STUDENT RELATIONSHIP, SEXUAL ASSULT, SELF HARM, MENTAL ILLNESS AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE. IT ALSO INCLUDES A LOT OF RATED-R MATERIAL. IF THIS IS TRIGGERING OR MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE THEN PLEASE DON’T READ.

Here I am again, on the floor, begging him to stop. There he is again, laughing at my pleas and forcing himself inside of me. Almost every night he climbs into my bed, then in the morning, he pretends everything is normal. When anyone is around, he acts charming. He is able to trick everyone into thinking everything is fine. Well, it's not.

My phone buzzed to life at the side of me. The alarm was going off but I had been up for hours, staring at the flecks of dust dancing around the air. The sunlight streamed in through my thin, white drapes. It was beautiful out. It was the middle of May and bound to be hot out in Arizona. I could feel the warmth on my skin already. I needed to shower and get all this sticky sweat off my skin. It wasn't even mine. I felt disgusting. His touch lingered everywhere on me. The bruises he gave me stained my skin more than the self inflicted cuts.

'Morning Ms. y/l/n. Last night was lovely. See you at lunch?'. It was a text from Mr Reid. He was my psychology professor. Older than me, at thirty, he had long dark hair and deep brown eyes. His hair curled slightly at the end. He was tall and slim. Smart and nerdy, having two degrees and a doctorate, he left his job at the FBI for something less mentally draining. He had worked there since he was twenty-two. I was twenty-one making our age gap quite small. Look at me, trying to convince myself that it even mattered. He was a lovely guy. Friendly, and handsome. He wouldn't fall in love with a student, and if he did, that student would never be me. He was too smart for that.

"Morning Dr. Reid. Thank-you for taking me. It was a fun eve! Yes, see you at lunch. We can have a chat about the stuff we saw yesterday =)". I read the message over and over again before hitting send. I was nervous as I usually always say stupid things. My low self esteem affected me very much. I was twenty-one, already with one degree and going back to do another. I was still living at Sharon's and I haven't had a boyfriend. He texted me back instantly.

"Can't wait! Need a lift to school? =)" I smiled down at my battered iPhone 6. I couldn't afford a brand new phone. I was lucky in that I only had to work a few hours a week at the local book store and that it was something I enjoyed doing. Sharon was good to me. She helped me pay for and make my way through college. I don't know what or where I would be without her. On the other hand, she brought the human spawn of the devil into my life.

"No thnx, Luna is picking me up =)" I sent but then instantly regretted it. I love my best friend but I would have preferred a ride with Dr. Reid. Our conversations were always interesting and insightful. We could talk about a wide range of subjects for hours and it would only feel like minutes passed.

"Ok, see u soon Y/N"

I smiled, almost forgetting my problems before catching glimpse of myself in the mirror. My fragile, battered body stared back. I sighed. He could never find a girl like me attractive. Not that it mattered anyway. Silly little girl crush.

After debating whether it was best to just find the nearest bridge in town and throw my self off or get ready for school (I am very mentally unwell), I decided on the latter. Luna had already texted me to inform me that she was about to set off. Knowing Luna, which I have had the pleasure of knowing for fifteen years (no sarcasm in there), ten minutes would be ten years.

I staggered down the dreaded stairs, almost losing my footing a few times, feeling light headed. I entered the brightly lit kitchen. It was so bright that I could feel an aching behind my eyes. The decor was simplistic, all white with gold features. Classic business mom who is never home asthetic going on.

Sharon sat at the island, face absorbed in her laptop. She was in her late forties with short, mousey hair. I believe she would be referred to as a 'Karen'. She looked nothing like Dom. She was short, like me, and fairly slim. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders. Quarterback star player with the strength to show for it. He could snap us both in half. Dominic is Sharon's only child. Yes, that is correct. She is not my mum. I lost her.

Sharon looked up at me, flashing me a warm smile, still bashing the keys to her MacBook. She took a sip of her black coffee, nibbling on some cold toast. "You look like shit" she stated; matter of factly, her face blank. '"Thanks?'" I answered with a raised eyebrow. I walked over to the coffee machine and put in a pod, sticking my travel cup underneath. 77Kcals of goodness. All the fuel I will need this morning. "Sweetheart, don't act like that. You know I'm just saying. You need to sleep more" '"I know" I sighed. It was true... "But that makes two of us" I retorted cheekily with a grin. "Oh sweetheart, don't I know it" she raised her cup as if toasting the comment before gulping the last bit of coffee.

Sharon was my guardian, though not anymore as I was an adult and of drinking age. She still cared for me though as if I were her own. My mom died when I was seven and my dad had a breakdown. He couldn't cope. One day I came home from school and he was gone. He didn't say a word to anyone. He packed up his stuff and left me. I hated him for a while. The anger within me burned to my core. After a while I felt sympathy. He didn't get the help that he needed. If he did then we both wouldn't be in this mess. We'd be happy - together. I doubt he would know how to contact me now.

Aunt Sharon took me in. She wasn't really my aunt, she was my mom's best friend. She was the only connection to my mother that I had left besides her wedding ring. She loved her dearly and I believe she loves me dearly too. It's not her fault she can't protect me. She works herself to death trying to help me live my dreams. Dom wasn't the child that she had always wanted. He is doing nothing with his life. That is something I will alway's respect of her, single mom raising her child and somebody else's.

I loved her, though she did have the tendency to dish out tough love which often was way - way too harsh. And she was always away leaving me with him. I knew that if I'd only just tell her what he was capable of... What he would do to me when she left... She'd have murdered him herself with her bare hands. But it would kill her. I couldn't do that to her. He was the only thing she had who was blood. Me, I had no-one.

"shit! Is that the time? I'm going to be late. I gotta go, honey. Say bye to Dom for me." she pleaded as she stuffed the last slice of toast in her mouth and gathered her briefcase and her keys. " ...And make sure you have something to eat. You're wasting away!" "Have a good day at work Shaz" I shouted after her. I doubt that she heard me. She was out the door in seconds, jangling her keys and fighting between speaking with me and the ringtone on her work mobile. I heard her professional, scripted 'Hello, Sharon Cormack speaking' as the door slammed behind her.

I made my way through the spotless kitchen Gina, Sharon's housekeeper, always did a good job. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the integrated refrigerator. I also grabbed my iced latte from the coffee machine. It was almost half eight. My first classes start at nine and Luna still wasn't anywhere in sight. I scrambled through my purse for my phone, ready to give her a piece of my mind. That girl would be late to her own funeral.

"You're up early" a voice from behind me sneered. It took all my might to not to curl up in a ball, trembling.

"I... I have school"

No reply. I felt him creeping up behind me, felt his breath against my neck.

"I can think of something much better to do with the day baby" he whispered as he planted acid kisses on my neck. It burned. I squeezed my eyes shut, putting my hands up defensively. He pushed my back into the counter. A sharp pain ran though me.

"Please stop. I have to go" I whispered as his hand snaked its way up my neck, fist knotting tightly in my hair.

'"Why do you think a whore like you has the right to tell me what to do, hm?"

'- Hello? Katy?' Luna's smooth voice called out in sing song.

Oh, thank god for her and her timing. He released me from his grasp and increased the distance between us. His eyes were clouded. I could tell he was pissed. I brushed passed him, running towards Luna, who was standing by the open door. I ran straight into her arms hugging her tightly.

"I thought you'd never show." I whispered. She rested her chin on my shoulder, stroking my hair. I could tell that she was staring daggers at Dom and I could tell he didn't care. Like I said, the same routine. Every morning.

By the time lunch rolled around I had had enough. had gotten into a lot of trouble with Ms. Hallows over an overdue assignment and I had spilt water all down the front of my jeans. It looked like I had pissed myself. My saving grace is that they were dark jeans and so it wasn't too noticable. That didn't stop Georgie from laughing and calling me pissy pants for half the day.

Georgie was the kind of girl that you would avoid in high school. Everybody wanted to be her but everyone hated her so bad. She had golden brunette locks, a slim face and a petite nose. Her friends Nova and Ari were just as bad. Everyone used to tell you that when you left high school things would be different. I am sorry to inform you that they don't. Bullies stay bullies forever.

I forced my way through the groups of students, crowded together in the corridors. The last thing I wanted was to be late for my chat with Mr. Reid

"Y/N" I heard Luna calling after me. I could tell that she was chasing me through the crowd of students. "Y/N. Look, Y/N stop." I rolled my eyes.

"What?" I snapped. I could see the hurt in her eyes. She leaned on the wall, panting. I sighed. "I'm sorry. What's wrong?" I asked. I felt bad for snapping at her. All she wanted was answers, like anyone would have after walking in on what she did. But I don't give answers. I shut down. I don't tell anyone anything. She tried talking once we got in the car. I ignored her and I ran once we'd arrived at school. She didn't even need to speak. I could just tell what she wanted to talk about from the look on her face. I sighed again.

"Luna, I can't talk about this right now." I saw the hurt in her eyes. If I kept pushing her away then eventually she wouldn't fight to stay. 'Good', a small voice whispered in my head. Maybe that would be for the best. She deserves better. Everyone does. I could just end my life today and nobody would care. I used to fight hard against the suicidal ideations that entered my mind but now I didn't see the point.

"I have my meeting and I can't be late. Taco Bell after classes?" I asked. To my relief, she smiled and nodded, that beautiful smile that I loved so much. She was so easy to please. I smiled and walked away towards room 1980. Dr. Reid's office.

"I love you!" she shouted after me smiling.

"I love you more!"

"Lesbians" Georgie mocked. She was stood near the bathrooms. I rolled my eyes.

"Grow up"

Luna was gay but we weren't together. We had been intimate a few times but nothing had come of it. But so what if it had? We both agreed it felt weird as we had known each other as friends for so long. We didn't want to ruin anything. Luna and I had been friends ever since she opened up my juice box for me in kindergarten and then hit the girl who had stolen my straw. We had been inseparable ever since. She's been with me through thick and thin. I'd hate to think where I'd have been if she hadn't been there when my mom had died. We are and will alway's be the best of friends. In another life I could see us growing old together, adopting puppies and children but sometimes, it doesn't work out. And if you love someone, you have to let them go.

I opened the door to 1980 and as soon as I did my heart fluttered in my chest. There he was, as beautiful as ever. He looked up from the book he was reading, glasses perched on his nose and smiled, he seemed glad to see me.

"Sweetie!" he said, a smile spreading across his gorgeous lips. He's the only person who calls me that.

"Dr. Reid" I smiled back. My smile was huge and I probably looked so dorky but I don't care. My day just got brighter. I pulled up a chair next to him and kicked my feet up onto his lap. He rested his hand on my calf.

"So what did you think to the book?"

#drreid #spencer x reader #spencerreid #spencer reid #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid story #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #mature #fic #reader x spencer reid #wattpad #wattpad fanfic #teacher x student #college professor smut #professor x student #professor x reader #teacher x reader

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dise7se · 3 years

Text

gone, gone (thank you)

by @spideysforce (8.1k) for @tonystarkdadmode ( @irondad-fic-exchange )

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Betty Brant, Quentin Beck, Tony Stark, Matt Murdock, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Karen Page

Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Quentin Beck & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Summary:

Peter has paranoia looming behind him, always watching him, never lingering too close but never leaving him alone. In each dark corner of any alleyway he’s in, paranoia follows him. The green gases and mists seeping out of his city’s storm drains, twirling mystically around his feet, those are all Mysterio. His anxiety-addled brain has convinced him each warp of sulfur dioxide twirling through the air, green subway lights illuminating each particle is Quentin Beck, taunting him in his home."I've got a show waiting for you in Manhattan."

— prompts: presumed dead, hypothermia, and hurt/comfort

read on ao3 (leave comments and kudos)

“There is no way Parker is Spider-Man!” Flash said, voice distant down the hall of the snow-lodge cabin, game pieces clacking against the board.

“And why can’t he be?” Betty asks, voice muffled over a piece of licorice.

“We’ve already been over this,” Ned sighs, the room quieting except for the crackle of the fireplace in front of them where they gathered on the living room floor surrounding the coffee table.

“Bullshit.”

“The dickwad is right here, you know,” MJ says, setting her mouth straight to hide her laugh. She fails. “Ned, let’s hear him out. Can Flash really connect Peter Parker to Spider-Man? JJJ couldn’t.”

They can, not that the Daily Bugle should have aired out his business for all of his home city to prey on, for Mysterio to get into his head, and target every last of his loved ones. It had only been a few months since the older man had faked his death on television, had the Daily Bugle ruin his reputation more than they’ve already tried, and Tony Stark worked tirelessly with Pepper Potts to backtrack on this PR nightmare that carefully painted a brushstroke target on each of his loved ones.

These last few months, his previous mentor has been out of commission, along with other Avengers. He can’t complain, though, he has a feeling he’s making new allies in his home-burough while being a vigilante. Possibly a new mentor, but that’s him projecting. There is no Mysterio if he buries himself in school and work, if he’s exerting himself.

He walks over and joins the rest of them in the living room of the cabin from the hallway where he set down his suitcase and organized it before aunt May came back.

“You hear back from MIT?” MJ asks, scooting closer to him once he sits down on the floor beside her and the coffee table.

“Not yet,” he says, all the attention shifting to him. “I think we’ll all hear back by next week.”

“Well, we may have applied, but it doesn’t mean all of us will get in..” Flash announces, earning an elbow to the ribs by an exasperated Betty.

This is their new dynamic now, really, maybe it was their subconscious way of coping with their previous summer vacation, they began gravitating towards each other.

Peter watched the confusion flicker across Flash’s face, mumbling an apology and a sarcastic, “it’s true..”

He’s been doing that more often, and even though he’s made it clear that he hates it when Peter looks at him with that, ‘psychoanalytical’ face, he’s trying to figure him out. Flash is an electrical current, a neon light buzzing, flickering and it seems like there’s a fuse ready to burst into flecks at any time. He doesn’t mind when Flash is annoyed with him, he knows sophomore and junior year bailing on Academic Decathlon was his fault, but there’s a weight off his shoulders since his identity was revealed to the entire world, he’s in a legal case with a local Queens lawyer to soften the blow currently, and he can handle these little outbursts.

If Flash goes around the school revealing his identity, well, he doesn’t have much leverage.

He puts everything he has into tormenting Peter, but that’s how he is. That’s how their classmates see him, he likes being the center of attention.

The second time he noticed it happen, it was after their Europe trip. He was hugging May, holding her close, Betty, Ned and MJ scattered, and he caught sight of Flash. May turned their 1940s Revolvo on and they sat with the cold air blowing on their faces, May’s face flickering between him and Flash and his butler.

He never dared to bring it up. Ned and MJ never allowed him to, no matter how subtly he planned to. It wasn’t fair of his family, it wasn’t fair for him to go through alone. He never fooled Petter with his facade, but the sinking feeling in his stomach felt worse. He couldn’t ignore it any longer, no matter how many obligations he has to worry about.

Ben taught him when any situation arises for him to be the bigger person, he needs to be the bigger person and assume responsibility. He knew he needed to help find Flash a safe space if he couldn’t by himself. Or, fuck, even just support him whenever he needed to.

In his own fucked up way, Flash had his back as well.

He shoved a skateboard into his arms one afternoon after leaving a Decathlon meeting, murmuring he needed a skating partner today. To not take it personally, they wouldn’t hold hands or anything, but to make fun of someone else if they fall off the board or eat shit.

He had a feeling, and he thinks he’s right. That morning, Peter came in late, nearly dragged in by May because of a late night run-in with Silver Stable. With the scrapes and bruises from being dragged through Manhattan, he might as well have been dragged by a skateboard and not his web shooters.

So, they skateboarded.

And he did eat shit.

Ned, MJ, and Flash scold Betty for accidentally shoving the Monopoly board too far to the left, Ned yelling at Flash to stop cheating and taking his money. May comes in at the perfect time, yelling over the teenagers that she bought everyone’s sandwiches from the sub shop.

“May, you bring my camera in?” Peter asks through a full mouth of lettuce, bread, tomato, cheddar, and deli-meats, earning a light playful smack upside the head.

He doesn’t miss Flash’s furrowing brows, his body immediately freezing from across the kitchen island. She mutters, “Yes, Peter, next time I’ll make you walk a quarter mile in the snow for it.”

He snorts, earning a small, ‘smeck,’ on the forehead and watches May pass out the rest of his friends’ food and chips and drinks. He forgot what this was like, back in Europe with Ned when they felt independent on their own and like they could take on the world from a small, cramped space with all their friends.

“Hey, Peter, did you get an email back from that lawyer?” Ned asks, chewing loudly from his chips and turning back to him. His other half, the other part of his brain, oh, where would he be without Ned? “Remember, you said you’d get one.”

“Mm!” Peter exclaims with a full mouth, taking his phone out from his jean pocket. He doesn’t give the group any details, ever, just the public information the brand new firm allows to go to the press. They’ve strategic in their methods, and May was the most doubtful at first, but the two lawyers and impressive secretary were not as amateur as their clientele suggested.

He turns his phone screen to let May watch his email app load, slurping loudly on his drink while May sighs. “You know, I won’t miss that when you go off to school next year. I think you do it on purpose.”

“Hm, a schemer never tells.”

An email with the subject Please read by tonight, 12/11 which makes his stomach lurch. May hesitates, grabbing onto his hand holding the phone and her hand shakes slightly before she presses on the lock button. This could mean anything. His paranoia, the slight buzz constantly whirring behind him at all times from his senses could be triggered by anything and everything, could be confirmed by this email.

May squeezes his shoulder, ready to talk to the rest of the group once she notices his jaw lock-up in anxiety. “We did get an email. Come on, after you guys eat, we’ll do ice skating as promised.”

MJ continues with their conversation about MIT earlier, which leads to an argument over whether or not there truly is a class on street fighting mechanics, or do they call it that to glorify physics.

He knew forgetting about the email until he could be alone to read it with me would not help him at all. He excuses himself, picking his phone up and ignores the worrying glances from his friends.

Before he can think to text Tony, his caller ID flashes across the screen. “Hello?”

“ Hey, Peter ,” he begins, “I only have a few minutes to talk, Morgan’s taking a bath and is currently making bubble potions that may or may not be spilling over the bathtub. Wanted to check in on you..”

“Don’t let Morgan flood the bathroom again, Tony,” he says lightheartedly, knowing why he’s calling. “Listen, were you cc’ed into the lawyer’s email? I haven’t read it yet and—”

“Whoa, slow down kid,” he says, and Peter walks up the wooden stairs of the lodge, watching the living room between the wooden panels. He really needs to give Tony shit for inviting them to a cabin the size of his apartment complex floor. “ That actually is why I’m calling. They said Nelson has reason to believe Mr. Beck may be conspiring inside of the prison, but he can’t know for sure. This is not a reason to become anxious, okay?”

“What do you mean he’s conspiring?! ” Peter yelps, yanking the nearest door open in the long hallway and closing himself in with an unnecessary slam. “What reason does this lawyer have?”

He thinks his friends can hear him from downstairs, he knows May can.

“ Calm down ,” he chastises over the phone, his voice rough and quiet. Peter curses himself for making the man drop his own familial responsibilities for him, but his guilt complex the size of Manhattan won’t let him go through this by himself. Like he needs to. “ Don’t get worked up. I wanted to call and let you know I have someone looking into this even further, along with Murdock and Nelson. It’s probably just a threat out of boredom, probably got a smack on the wrist for staying out past curfew and he wants to take it out on everyone. ”

Peter sighs, sinking down onto the ceramic tile floor of the bathroom. It’s large, has fluffy white towels on a rack to his left, a large walk-in shower, and is bare of bath-mats but signs point to supplies under the sink. This is good, he thinks, he can ground himself.

The tile is cool on his hand, it’s freezing him through his jeans, one of the laces on his snow boots came undone, and he can hear Morgan screeching in the background over her magical bath potions that she’s going to make a mermaid out of.

“ You still with me? ” Tony’s voice comes through the other end of the phone, and he swears he can hear more crackling than usual. It might just be the snow drifting outside messing with the nearby towers and powerlines.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m right here.” His voice comes out even smaller than intended.

“Can I call you back? I need to call May now, and— Morgan, you can’t use scissors on the bubbles! ”

A sense of familiarity washes over Peter, and he succumbs to the feeling of safeness associated with Tony and Morgan. He’d been too close to death already. He was dead. And after navigating life without Tony for a while, he piled each responsibility like building blocks, a delicate glass structure he could shatter at any given moment, and Mysterio took a hammer to the glass. Thanos buried his glass structure, leaving part of him under with it.

“Yeah, Tony. Talk to you later. Miss you, too.”

The rest of the night goes on, and May prepares them all hot chocolate before she heads off upstairs to take a hot shower. The uneasiness never settled inside of him, a nemesis unwilling to leave him alone.

His heart thrums wildly in his chest, his hands shake and feel numb, and he wonders why .

Is it his body’s reaction to having to spend a few nights away from the city during their holiday trip, unable to patrol? Is it lingering stress from senior year, that he and May haven’t properly celebrated all of Hanukkah yet?

He must be incapable of relaxing, turning back to the couch where he’s curled up with 4 of his friends watching Home Alone 2.

“Hey, is anyone else’s toes feeling numb?” he turns to the group, watching them blearily blink at the TV from exhaustion.

“Your toes are numb ?” Flash asks from beside him on the floor, leaning against the couch with his head tilted to the side. He has no idea how that could be comfortable at all.

“Yeah, numb.”

He needed to keep talking to someone, hearing his friends talk, too. It might just be anxiety, or his PTSD symptoms bothering him. After Europe, the school forced everyone on the trip to attend at least one counseling session, and Murdock and Nelson had suggested the same when they took on the case early-autumn.

He wanted to take the advice, especially since it meant so much to May.

The cabin’s living room TV is quietly playing a documentary about the dangers of climate change and the remarkable effects the current generation will face when Peter’s jolted awake, his heart thudding in his chest and his alertness draws him from his sleep. He must’ve fallen asleep when he was in between MJ and Betty a couple of hours ago, he’s covered in a blanket and feels a pillow that wasn’t there before, supporting his neck- May’s doing- and it’s now when he realizes MJ isn’t beside him anymore, there’s too big of a gap on the couch.

He stills, not wanting to call out her name if she’s just using the bathroom or went back to her guestroom. Peter reaches his head over to check the time on the TV clock, and it’s nearing 2:30AM. The anxious feeling of danger looming in the distance, of now being watched returns and he needs to run some sort of perimeter check, maybe they have security--

“Peter!” he hears a distant shout from outside, a girl’s shout— and he immediately blanches. MJ .

His heart rate picks up, and he kicks the blanket off of him and stands. The snow is falling heavily outside, still, never seeming to let up and blocks out the nearby street lamps and backyard lamps. “MJ?!”

He turns to check if his whispering disturbed the others yet, but he decides he’ll go investigate first. He’s Spider-Man, he can head outside to check for her.

He turns to grab his oversized winter coat and his snow boots when he notices the backyard sliding door’s open— where he must’ve heard the scream from.

“Guys!” Peter shouts into the quiet living room, interrupting the warm peace from the TV playing and whatever phase of their sleep cycle there in. “Wake up! I think MJ”s outside!”

Peter runs out into the cold, a gust of wind hitting him immediately and causes his whole body to shiver while he shrugs his coat on for 25 centimeters of snow. It reaches his mid-calves and it seeps into his pants, each frozen entity stinging him and dragging him down into the ground while he runs— he doesn’t know where he’s running to, but his throat goes raw from screaming for MJ.

Frustrated none of his friends woke up in the wake of his own panic, his senses are screaming at him, danger, danger, danger , he’s too cold, his heart feels frozen. The low hum of his senses dial all the way to his limit. He screams and falls into a pile of snow on the ground, hiding himself from the danger that doesn’t seem to be there. Yet.

“MJ, where are you?” he screams, his mouth betraying him with the sound of wrecked sobs, desperacy ready to escape him, his eyes are wide and terrified. He gets back up, swaying on his own feet and he’s inhaling too many snowflakes, they’re everywhere.

He needs to find MJ, right now. She could be out here completely alone, but his senses won’t tell him where --

Before he can reach her piercing scream, the lamp post next to him flickers on, illuminated in green. His heart stops, and he feels the bile rising up inside of him.

No, no, no, no— not him, he’s supposed to be dead- wait, no, he’s supposed to be in prison—

Peter watches in pure anguish as the snow picks up, dangerous icicles falling from the lamp post and sky pierce his skin and he steps forward behind the shadows of the moonlight and snow, towering over him in his old suit he thought was destroyed. Was evidence, locked away to never be touched again.

Except it flickers away, into a cloud of smoke.

Maybe he’s hallucinating because he’s sick? He’s tired?

He has only gotten eight hours of sleep in the last three days, but what drove him so mad he came out here to the snow , the blizzard that seems to never let up-- the one that Mr. Stark mentioned-- is sending a small snowstorm to the boroughs of New York. Must be due to Global Warming.

The hum of a drone is loud, careening and he ducks his head before it strikes him, it nearly catches him and his breath won’t come out past the burning and aching in his throat.

Honestly, Peter assumed he’d be dead by now, no one telling him a word to protect him. Or, would it protect him even further to tell the truth that he is hidden away, rotting in a cell, truly plotting against him like Foggy Nelson said not to worry too much about.

“If you wanna save your city, you’re gonna need to come with me,” the familiar voice announces into the middle of the night, pushing him past his threshold of sanity and sends a wracking shiver down his spine and arms.

“I’m not really here, no, where would the fun in that be?” he replies smugly, probably watching from around the corner while Peter frantically runs back to the snow cabin to secure his family. “I need you to find me.”

He can only think about MJ, if this is an illusion she must be safe. What if he’s truly lying, crawling out of a grave somewhere in Manhattan where he was buried. Forgotten about. Rotting. For the last few months, he’s been here. Around every corner, lingering, falling behind every alleyway light to stay hidden. Quentin Beck has been the one watching him, it probably isn’t paranoid tendencies.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, get back inside NOW!” May shouts from behind him, his neck twisting to catch sight of her. His hands shake while he fishes somewhere in his pockets for his phone, hoping it didn’t get buried in the snow where he fell.

He feels heavy, like there’s two tons weighing over him and pulling him down into the ground even further, the slush eating away at his boots.

“May! Get away!” Peter shouts, his voice too raspy to be understood. “Find MJ inside!”

“Aw, Peter. Don’t worry about them, they’ll be safe right here, in the warm cabin under their warm blankets. Let’s hope the fireplace doesn’t catch anything around it, though,” Beck chuckles. “I think that’d be even enough for you getting me killed.”

“Killed? ” he exasperatedly asks, navigating his way back to the cabin and freezing in the dark. “You’re still alive. All of those people you killed in Europe are not .”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Beck says sharply, appearing right behind him. He can see him better this time, his hair is slightly grown out but gelled to the side. He’s wearing a black coat over this old shitty suit, completely concealed by his jacket. He clings to his helmet at his right side, Peter watches the inside fill up with snow.

Every miniscule detail, he can’t believe it. He can’t be here in front of him.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this. You know, I couldn’t wait any longer. You don’t deserve the title of Spider-Man, your big family. It was a big mistake letting them continue to believe Peter Parker is Spider-Man.”

“Because I will protect them. You can’t underestimate me, I got away from you last time. And now?” Peter steps towards Beck, going farther away from the snow cabin. “You can take me. Don’t you dare touch them.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Beck’s voice is layered in eagerness, like a child. “I’ll show you what I want and what I’m doing.

“And if you don’t? Millions are going to pay for what you did. You know, that Jester King, Tony Stark, he really played me when he played dead for months. He did. He takes my holographic system, I take it back from him through you. You try to get me murdered, now I take away what you love most.

“What I want?” he says, finger tapping on his chin in amusement. “That’s bringing you down along with everyone you love. Excuse me, I mean, after I bring down everyone you love.”

Beck signals a drone over to him, smiling pointedly and gleefully as he waves a projection over, projecting New York City in a small screen in between them. There’s barely any snow covering the city like the forecasts predicted, and he swallows hard for what’s about to happen.

If he was capable of all the infrastructure damage to Europe, each disaster caused by G-ddamn drones, he’s capable of bringing down a few boroughs in New York City.

He stares at Beck, refusing to look down at the projection in front of him. At this point, his clothes clings to him and if he isn’t hypothermic, he thinks he will be soon. This isn’t part of his illusion tech, no. This time it’s real.

“Come on, Pete!” Beck yells cheerfully, nudging his shoulder roughly to turn back to the drone. “Where’s the fun in it if you don’t get to see what’s gonna happen, huh?”

He calculates his options, watching from his peripheral the snow attack the city. Shouts are emitted from the drone. “At least it’s not like Europe! I have no problem using more of my illusion tech here, but I’ve got a show waiting for you in Manhattan.”

Peter stares hard at the screen, anger and malice replacing every other feeling he’s felt up to now. He thinks back to his illusions and what he knows , he’s been sitting on top of every secret about him, hoarding them, using them to manipulate them before and knowing his secrets work against him.

“Here, I’ll take you there through one of my drones. So you’ll know what it’ll feel like to be on 85th when I destroy it.”

Peter’s hidden in plain view under a fire escape, it’s 2AM in the city, but he can hear all the people that are outside. Dogs being walked late at night, late-night epiphanies happening on fire escapes in the light snow, taxi-drivers in the middle of their shifts, the nearby hospital emergency room full of trauma cases from car accidents from the slippery snow. It’s the quietest he’s heard in New York, and he’s looking around and making sure nobody’s lurking around any corners. He needs to give Beck what he wants, and get out of here to get to the real New York.

“Beck, NO!” he hears Ned scream from above him, and he runs from under the coverage of the fire escape and into the middle of the grimey alleyway to see Ned tethering on the edge of the 30 meter building. “You can’t do this, it’s not fair!”

Beck appears behind Ned, and he panics in search of his web shooter attachments and comes up short. He’s still in his soaked clothes from the snow cabin. “Peter! You’ve gotta help m—”

Peter screams Ned’s name, crawling up the building as far as he can before he can leap out to catch Ned. He misses, and Ned collapses to the ground.

An illusion, this isn’t real, none of this is real. It’s not real. Not real.

He gasps and tumbles onto the ground, landing back at the snow cabin.

“Let’s play another one, you haven’t seen the best part!”

He’s standing on a highrise building, in his Spider-Man suit, and he knows it’s still an illusion. The snow is falling even heavier than it did at the snow cabin, but it’s covering pedestrians walking around late at night or very early in the morning. Random people still out eating, teenagers skipping curfew, people leaving their office jobs far too late deemed acceptable

The snow covers the cars , and he can hear emergency coverage playing on radios and TV’s while the city falls into a panic over Beck’s illusions. The snow is it’s true amount, but he’s redirecting it everywhere through the stupid drones. He’s playing an illusion on his city.

He hears a child scream out for Spider-Man’s help, his daddy’s stuck under a car and he won’t stop bleeding. He’s trapped on this high-rise beam, paralyzed by something. Why can’t he just leap down, shoot his webs, he can see all the coverage he has to get to. Now.

He gasps when he feels two hands on his back, shoving him forward in anger. He sees Flash, balancing with him on this yellow beam full of venom as he says, “This is all your fucking fault!’

He listens, watching with his jaw dropped because he’s too stupid to do anything else. He doesn’t have anywhere to run, he brings his hands to his ears and shuts his eyes tight, he’s guessing what Beck’s putting illusion-Flash up to. This seems too simple, but he doesn’t want to play his chances. He wishes his city could see him right now, he’s their beacon, they aren’t collectively helpless.

“I’m done, Beck!” Peter shouts over the whistling wind and heavy snow. “I’m not running. You don’t have to do this.”

Darkness falls around him, it covers him and the snow, and Beck’s gone. His body’s equilibrium is off from being out in this avalanche, the snow now nearly up to his waist is pure agonizing wetness. There’s no more Manhattan skylines, or a cityscape at all, no more traumatized Flash, only the cabin with the porch light on.

Peter turns on his heels, running through the thick snow, holding onto himself, and starts racing in the snow. He keeps his eyes wide open despite the snow seeping into his eyes, he’s gone, the paranoia died down, the feeling of being watched simmered away like a light burning out. His legs feel like two tons of steel are weighing them down, and launches himself inside the door to find May, Ned, Flash, and to see if MJ is here.

He can almost sense where things are, he scoops a pile of snow off of his face and litters it to the ground, shrugging his jacket off which might be his worst decision of the night, his eyes feel blindfolded by the sleet.

“May!” Peter yells, holding back a sob sitting in the back of his throat, his voice quivering. “P-please. Please tell me you’re okay.”

He picks his lead feet up, waiting for an answer. He can sense bodies nearby, so they're here in the perimeter, but his senses have gone haywire after his encounter with the drone and Beck. Whatever frequency and illusions he uses, he feels less keyed now and less like he’s going to wake up from this nightmare.

He feels real.

“Baby?” he hears May whisper at the top of the stairs, now noticing the upstairs light flickered on and illuminating the living room and the stairs. He’s sisyphus climbing the stairs, his own body betraying him, and this is his punishment. Too weak to move right now, too weak to go hug May. To go tell his friends everything’s gonna be okay.

“It- it was him, May. I saw him,” Peter whispers, elation and adrenaline still coursing through his body. “He’s alive, I mean you already knew that but-- May, he was here. I have to go.”

“Peter,” May says carefully, lifting her arm that was protectively holding Ned back. He’s crying in a steady stream watching them at the top of the stairs from the bottom, he’s his own impossible boulder. He can’t reach them. He can’t get to the top.

She’s careful in her tone. “Why did you go outside? What did you see?”

“May, you have to believe me. I need to go to Manhattan— I have to send Mr. Stark a message and you-- you guys need protection,” he rambles breathlessly, half of his words ununciated, “I can’t let you guys die.”

“Okay, Peter,” May confirms, and he’s never seen her look so sad. She’s covered in moonlight, she’s backlit by the upstairs light, but he can’t see her eyes clearly like he usually can. And, oh fuck, he thought this was real— “Name five things you can see right now. Just five.”

“I— May, no, I need your car keys. I need my suit,” he says, watching his friends faces fall and hears their heartbeats pick up. “And MJ, she’s okay? She was screaming, and--”

May sighs, resigning, and takes a few steps down the stairs to meet his eyes. “Baby, are you having an episode?”

“May, no!—“

“I can help. We can all help. Nobody’s judging you, I know you didn’t find the best coping mechanisms, but—“

“Call Tony. Please. For me.”

“Okay,” May says, running a hand through his soaked curls and he feels her shaking movements, and he gently catches her hand.

“I’m so sorry, I brought this here.” He glances up at his friends, watching their own storms on their own faces, the aching, the fear caused by him. Ned’s quietly crying now, keeping his face as stoic as he can.

“Go, Peter. I’ll set security up around the perimeter,” Ned whispers bravely, swallowing back tears. “Just.. Can you tell us what you saw outside?”

Peter’s mind instantly flashes back to Ned’s body on the pavement in the illusion, and swallows the bile back down but allows more tears to fall. “I— He made an illusion about MJ. About all of you. Everyone was inside except for her. He’s in New York. Just like Foggy said.”

He turns outside to face outside, and it’s nearly morning now. The sun hides far on the low horizon, not daring to rise yet but is still covered by snowfall.

May finally relented, grabbing her cellphone to get in touch with Mr. Stark and Nelson and Murdock. It was Claire who answered first, insisting she talk to Peter. Her worries over the phone brought a wave of nausea over him, she described New York right now. There’s hail and snow slides and blizzards which should be impossible in their terrain. Peter tore his clothes off and put his suit on, feeling idiotic for wearing a jacket over his spider suit. Ned sets up his own perimeter check, signaling and coding spider-drones to confirm the validity of Beck’s own drones and keep an eye out for unwanted visitors.

He web swings 100,000 meters back to the city, internally thanking May for convincing Mr. Stark to only send them into upstate New York, not too far out into the mountains and terrain.

For once, the Parker Luck might be working on his side once he thwips off of the Statue of Liberty and soars through air with his webs and wings, back out towards the nearest island’s edge. He promises himself to come out here more often, especially in the snow. Whatever New York borough Beck is in, he isn’t nearby Ellis island, and his senses continue to buzz.

New York’s loveable grizzled seen-too-much detective is back in his home city, and he web-swings across vast swaths of water into his city through the heavy snow.

Beck lied to him. He had trusted him. He destroyed his image, causing him to flee from his real life for months . He told him he was a disappointment, and his goodness was a weakness. He watches teenagers play in Washington Square Park, tourists crawling to the nearest safe spots, and ice skaters somehow skating this late at night/early in the morning.

He swings off of the nearest building, listening out for an intel on Beck and he races through Manhattan. It’s an obstacle course for Beck, but not for Peter.

He hears a nearby construction site and a low groaning, something not good. If he reaches these construction sites with free equipment lying around for him to use, he needs to stop him in time before doing anything too drastic. He’s hoping his setup is randomized drones, secured away from the population like in the terminal he last fought him in.

But he knows this is highly unlikely.

Spider-Man finds Beck easily, scanning the construction site for any heat signatures, easily finding him and the drones. How he wanted to be found, near the heart of Manhattan.

“I must be honest, I am so glad to see you again, Petey,” Beck says, voice distorted and warped while he slowly walks further into the construction site, mapping each drop to the floor below or opening above, and each window covered in tarp. “My abilities, my talent, they can’t be stolen from me again.”

Peter turns, scanning via his suit for any signs of Beck, but his ocular scans come back distorted and something lands in front of him, his senses screaming at him at the last possible second and he stumbles into the ground.

Beck’s voice disappears further into the building, and he tries to follow it. He veers left, in a crouch and stumbles into storage bins. “I’ve been waiting for this moment. Admittedly, not for too long, but long enough.”

Peter’s warped back into the city, green gases swirling in the air and black fog consuming the city. No matter how hard it is to stay grounded, he stumbles into the nearest buildings, cars, and people.

“It’s not real,” he whispers to himself, not quite believing it.

“It’s going to be a shame when many people here will have to die, with Spider-Man buried in the snow,” his voice rings to his right, then above him. He sees Beck walking in the shadows of the plot, he follows as closely behind as he can.

Beck disappears above him, and he launches webs onto the nearest pillar, beaming up to the next floor. He leads himself through a new haze of fog, it spans wide and far and out into the real city where real residents live. He runs down a narrow hall, turning a corner into a wider area and sees Beck leading himself outside. He’s a few stories up, and can see Beck standing one story up from the ground.

“Stark wanted to use me. He did use me. Now, your precious lawyers want to destroy my life,” Beck sounds echoey, and it’s freaking him out, because how far away is everybody? Does he need to contact anyone else, like the PD?

“And where were you, Peter?” Beck asks, voice rising and thunderous, “ Living lavishly, spoiled, wealthily like a trust fund kid.”

Spider-Man jumps another floor down, sending another array of webs around the pillars of the building. He placed webbing on all three floors, following Beck’s path back down into the city where the lights will go dark.

“You knew what you were in for, kid, yet you fled,” Beck says bitterly, and he watches the green mist form back around him in his signature suit and helmet. “You couldn’t save yourself, you’re a cancer spreading in this city.”

“You will be exiled for what you did to me, and there will be no return back this time. You will have nobody to save you from your own track record.”

He internally yells, finding another structure to throw his webs. He needs a netting for when the infrastructure falls, undoing Mysterio’s work.

It’s dark, snow flurries escape from outside the plot, and Peter stills once he sees a pile of dead bodies in front of him. He can’t see his city like this, he refuses to get to this aftermath. He turns and runs to a quick stop in front of Beck on the walkway outside.

“I will bring this entire city down, do NOT underestimate me!” Mysterio shouts into the sky, the snow falling heavier into the city illuminated by the glow of the pink sunrise. “Just watch me do it.”

“I won’t let you!” Spider-Man yells, attacking the first drone Mysterio sets in front of him. He casts his webs onto it, launching it into Mysterio. He hears yelps from below, hoping everyone takes the hint and leaves, no matter their commute.

“I said I WILL destroy your city,” Mysterio outcries, sending a thunderous wave of force into the ground, shaking the perimeter and the building’s core.

“ Uh-oh, ” he panics, flipping off the ground and avoiding the skittering and electrical impulses he sends waves of. He’s electrocuted, and he scrambles back far, watching big chunks of cement fall off of each floor's foundation, and he gasps as he tries to catch each piece before it lands onto the street below.

They’re on top of the high rise now, the top of U.N. headquarters, right at the edge. He gasps, watching the plot they were just in a few moments ago crumble to the ground. The screams from the street below ache his bones, and he’s too far away, no—

He’s right inside, but he can’t fucking see where he is, if he walks forward he’ll fall off the building, he’s sure of it. There aren’t any grips for his webs, and he shakes along with the front. There’s more cold wind, sending chills throughout his body. He sees May holding onto the edge of the building, he recognizes her rings. Her fingers desperately cling for life, her blood curdling screams rush into his ears. Everything below them is so small, and he steps closer to the edge of the building where the snow drifts down below them.

This isn’t real.

Beck is playing him, again, and he’s somehow winning right now. He sucks a breath in through his nose, shuts his eyes, and remembers the fate of New York is in his hands. It’s out of Tony’s, out of the PD’s, out of everyone else’s hands but his. It’s his uphill battle, and he hopes the boulder doesn’t fall over the edge.

With his eyes squeezed shut, he aims his arms nefariously to catch each boulder, hears each gust of wind and each terrifying pull of gravity giving the boulder more energy, and he strikes each boulder to stop from collapsing the building.

Mysterio’s making him vulnerable again, and the curtain’s close in front of him. He sprints into the dark before anything can appear, thwipping his webs out into the Manhattan buildings now that the construction site is taken care of.

He listens out for Beck, listening to the buzzing carrying him away in real life, making the city more vulnerable the further he goes.

May is counting on him. She was certain he was having a paranoid episode, and it probably contributed to what he saw, but they’re counting on him. The real Mysterio is right here, heart drumming wildly from his adrenaline. He has no room for error again/

He ignores an incoming phone call from Matt in his mask, catching up to Mysterio transporting to below the Chrysler building. He thrusts his entire body into the velocity of his webs, falling dangerously slow to the ground and ascends straight into the heavy snow.

Spider-Man catches up to Beck on a new rooftop, taking a giant leap off of the Chrysler building to the supporting one below. He glides, landing on the rooftop. He’ll never be tired of the feeling of falling, the snow emulating the act even more and he moves faster.

He runs into him from above, tackling Mysterio to the ground.

Mysterio’s upgraded tech clatters across the ground, and the storm does not clear at all. None of the hail stops, the buildings shake in anticipation for a disastrous fall. Peter sees stars when he swings his arm back, landing a punch on him and immediately getting striked in the head by a drone.

Beck grabs Peter by the neck, using his size on him to slam his head back into the brick wall of the building. He kicks himself off the wall, tackling him and hits him. He strikes, producing red, blue, and purple contusions that the snow can’t cover now. He attempts to yank his helmet off to strike more skin, avoiding drone strikes surrounding him.

“She’s ready!” Mysterio shouts, shoving Spider-Man off and he’s too frozen to strike any of the drones now in formation, in an arrow.

Like a deck of cards shuffling, he watches a new scene in front of him, where his webbing failed and crushed a few dozen meters of buildings crushed under rubble, dust and snow swirling in the sky while the city bursts into haunting tears.

Spider-Man quickly recovers, shaking under his webbing that attaches to the drones, flying at full force. He tries to web them all up, but they relentlessly demolish and set flame to each high-rise nearby. He watches the city crumble, the tarmac of the streets withering under destruction, and he watches helpless people fall into these abysses along with cars and tons of snow, and he tugs on his webs.

“S..See, I was ri—ght, I will kill everyone you love— we will be back.”

He stops one drone, but halts to a stop when the drones crash into another building. He hooks Beck’s suit into a drone, finally having the upperhand and more leverage on the older man. He uses his free hand to grab the helmet, slamming his face into the drone repeatedly, watching the glass break and shatter, cutting him up.

Peter continues to land blows to the face, red blooming and turning to blues and purples around his face. His nose is bloodied, his mouth is ripped apart, and glass shards cut him further. He hopes his head slumps forward, watching an avalanche in the distance makes it way towards fucking Manhattan. His own chest flickers in pain, and he looks down to see the suit torn in half at his chest to reveal a pool of blood thickening. He checks to see if Beck is unconscious, they can hardly hold onto the crashing drones in flight.

He presses the controls, any, hoping to override his coding and deactivate them. This is all too familiar, he must be behind him, waiting. He’s hauled through the sky, grazed against each apartment complex and school and office buildings. He’s woozy, spinning in the air at a high velocity and they begin to crash head-on into FEAST, and his heart lurches.

He sees black.

He’s buried deep in the snow, searching for a pocket of air to breathe through and begin digging from. He can’t feel his hands, but he blindly flops around, trying his hardest to hold his screaming back and failing. His suit is soaked through, offline, and the seams tore and burned his skin with pure frozen snow.

He gasped, not remembering if Matt called back or not, did he ever answer the call? Was the call an illusion? He hears more blood curdling screams surrounding him, and this is real. Not an illusion. Real, real, or.. Fake?

He screams into the dark, the irony of the white-reflecing snow drenching him in blackness. Pounding fear in his body, his veins giving up on him, his cells killing him. Frozen. Only fear courses through each neuron and each cell.

Not knowing if Beck destroyed his city, his family—

He needs out, maybe this is an illusion. Is he back to a few months ago, not believing anything is real? He didn’t see Beck, but he heard him, he should be dead from those drones.

He stares into the finally relenting sky, wondering if he escaped his sisyphus destiny. His vision falls into another illusion, everything’s black, but no this is real, he’s real. He succumbs to exhaustion instead.

His body feels too heavy, he slumps down weakly and lies on his left side.

“I just said, found him outside of FEAST--”

“And what the hell were you doing there?--”

“Does it matter? I called him, he ignored me, and we knew the consequences when we agreed to take on this case--”

“Matt, it’s alright. Foggy, take a breath. You both handled it well.”

He’s in a car. The low hum soothes his aching body and it smells like clorox and blood in here.

“He lost a lot of blood on the scene, he’s hypothermic, for hell’s sake! Do not antagonize me right now.--”

“—We’re not!—“

“He’s a kid. He doesn’t deserve this. Matt, this is extraordinarily worse than when I found you half dead on your couch, already writing your eulogy because I didn’t think I could save you. You were doing it all alone, and I—“

He hears cloth moving around, probably a hand rubbing their back.

“We have it handled.”

“What do you mean handled?! You mean a just as self-sacrificial vigilante clad in red that’s a total maniac? Possible psychopath mercenary? With pool in their name?!”

“Foggy, calm down before your artery bursts.”

Pans clattering and humans talking around him awoke him, and he could’ve sworn he was just at Nelson and Murdock’s law firm in search of a first-aid kit. The talking is what he becomes most aware of when he returns slowly to consciousness, able to feel his limbs.

“Hmfh,” he hums, burying himself further into the warmer clothing he’s wearing and the familiar Hello Kitty blanket a 6 year old he knows owns. The pillows feel like homes, though.

“Welcome back, walking dead,” Tony greets, waving someone over from beside him. He’s walking in from around the corner where the kitchen is, a familiar smell of his favorite chocolate babka simmering through the air. Tony sits down beside him, feeling the couch cushion sink down. He runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his shoulder and sighing. Peter props himself up on one elbow, his smile returning when he sees May run into the room and tackle him into the couch cushions with a hug.

“I’m so sorry for not believing you, honey,” May tears up, pulling back to take a closer look at him. He’s hyper aware of his surroundings, his memories slowly fade back in. He sees the confusion run across her face, and she makes no move to bring it up. “You did so good.”

The next few days result in the same ways. He’s bedbound for now, receiving updates by his own lawyers that the city isn’t suing him for damages this time and that local vigilantes and authorities are cleaning up the city. He was an open book to his family and friends, splayed out for all of them to pick, poke, and prod at.

Even with the best intentions, they were overbearing.

He spent most of his newfound freetime continuing his part-time jobs. His photography job at the Daily Bugle is allowing him, graciously, to write articles in the meantime he’s out of photo-commission. He picked up writing articles for Nelson and Murdock, who were still a mess.

He and May both had many emotions over this, what this meant for his recovery, and how he won’t put his recovery on the back-burner.

They all avoid talking about him. Where he is, what happened. News articles never seem to reach him.

Closer to Christmas during the time his friends celebrated, he can’t help but feel isolated and the paranoia coils through him once again. He needs to begin recovery slowly, because he can’t handle being separated from Tony, Pepper, and Morgan currently, and especially May when she leaves for work or to pick up groceries.

Despite receiving a scholarship to MIT, all of his trauma probably counts out any chance of college anytime soon. He doubts he can go back to being a normal person, preparing every possible scenario for when he returns, and he feels like begging on his knees for help. He and May pass more time saving up for tuition money, just in case.

He’s safe now. He’s home. He waits for the other shoe to drop. For the boulder to fall off the top of the cliff.

#irondad fic exchange #irondad fic exchange 2020 #peter parker #spiderman #quentic beck #mysterio #fics #my fics #fic recs #marvel #mcu #hurt/comfort #found family #team red #if u squint #spider-man far from home #irondad #irondad and spiderson

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peterbishop · 4 years

Text

there’s no better love

“He’s such a Santiago,” Jake had remarked, watching Leo sit in the baby carrier strapped to his wife’s chest as her pen flitted across a piece of paper.

Amy looked down at her son; his eyelids began to droop. “Sleeping while doing paperwork? I think he’s all yours.”

(or, jake and amy and glimpses into parenthood)

read on ao3

His world grows seven pounds heavier.

Yet, he has never felt lighter.

He looks down at the bundle of his arms and is met with blinking brown eyes, wide, so wide and like Amy's. Jake thinks he might drown, fall into the swirl of emotion that laps at his heart and floods his veins; he almost wouldn’t mind. It’s consuming, how he loves his son in a way that he did not know he could, uncurling in his chest with pleasant warmth.

Five tiny fingers curl around his thumb, and it’s as if they have already come to an agreement: I will never let you go. He brings his lips to his son’s dewy forehead, feels the brush of soft hair brush against his nose, and takes a steady breath. Outside of the room, the world hustles and bustles, the crash of life lived and life began. But in here, they are untouchable, held within their own universe, an orbit that has realigned within the past few hours; two planets become three.

Next to him, his wife gently sleeps. Her hair sprawls across white pillows, and she looks to be smiling, a content curve to her lips. He thinks, she has never looked more beautiful.

“You have the best mom in the world,” Jake whispers, half-wondering aloud. “And I’ll try to be the best dad, but your mom, bud? She’s already perfect.”

He watches Leo sleepily look up, eyelids threatening to slide shut, but the newborn tries to look at Jake. Jake knows the feeling: he’s not sure if he will ever be able to stop staring at his son, learn and remember the pinkness to his cheeks and golden hue to his eyes and the sweet, roundness of his face. He thinks he would never sleep again if it meant looking at his son, figuring out which feature belongs to Jake and which belongs to Amy. Perhaps, Leo’s hair will curl; perhaps, he’ll have his mother’s smile.

“We’ve wanted you for so long,” Jake continues to whisper. “And we couldn’t be happier that you’re here.”

Leo starts to doze off, lulled by his father’s gentle timbre. Jake continues to hold him just as tightly, amazed that he already feels so secure to his son, like a second home. “I can’t wait to teach you about Die Hard and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Only when you’re older though, because your mom will get mad at me if I show them to you when you’re still so little. And I like keeping her happy.”

He says, “And someday, we will go to the precinct. That’s where all your aunts and uncles are. They’re so excited to meet you. You’re already so loved, Leo.”

He hears Amy begin to softly stir. Jake turns to look at her, a quiet smile on his face and a content newborn in his arms, already so natural and at ease. Like it’s meant to be, like it was always supposed to be this way.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs.

He says, “Just talking to my son.”

ii.

The first day that Amy’s maternity leave ends, Jake gets the day off.

And Amy doesn’t mind it—no, in fact she welcomes it, still not truly ready to leave their little one at home with a sitter, even if it is her parents or Karen. She selfishly wants to keep Leo to herself, marvel at how quickly he seems to grow within just days and weeks. They’ve developed a tight-knit schedule, Leo and her, of when he wants to nap or feed or listen to Amy pour over casework that Jake sneaks home to her.

“He’s such a Santiago,” Jake had remarked, watching Leo sit in the baby carrier strapped to his wife’s chest as her pen flitted across a piece of paper.

Amy looked down at her son; his eyelids began to droop. “Sleeping while doing paperwork? I think he’s all yours.”

That morning, she feels tempted to leave Jake a laminated copy of her schedule, but Jake seems to read her mind: “We’re fine, babe. I’ll feed him at nine, put him down for a nap at one, read him a book at three—“

“Make sure you warm the bottle to—“

“98.6 degrees, I know.” His hand covers hers, giving it a light squeeze. “I’ll call you if I need anything. Which I won’t. Because I’m an amazing detective slash genius slash dad.”

Amy smiles at that, reveling in the confidence that Jake now carries when it comes to being a parent. At one point he was concerned, thought the Peralta genes destined him to fatherhood failure. Now, he glows, relishes the moments he gets with his son, and continues to be better and better.

He brushes a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Have a good day at work, honey. The squad missed having you around.”

And she does enjoy the day, falling back into the rhythm of being a sergeant and overseeing her beat cops. Perhaps, Charles fawns over her a bit too much, and Terry can’t stop asking about baby pictures, and even Rosa quietly asks how her godson is doing, but it feels good to put on the uniform again. It’s strange, she considers over lunch, how a mere few years ago, her life aligned solely with her work. Now, her two greatest loves reside in a Brooklyn apartment just a few blocks away.

She can’t help but glance over at the clock every few minutes, yearning for it to be six p.m. so she can gather her stuff and head home. 3:15, then 4:45, then 5:50. She jumps up at 5:55, quickly heading upstairs to grab her coffee mug she left to dry earlier (Jake kindly woke up before her just so he could make her a first day back to work breakfast).

Amy bumps into Holt, his expression unreadable. He says, “Heading out early, Santiago?”

She glances at her phone. 5:56 p.m. It’s so uncharacteristic of her, but she rambles, “It’s Jake’s first time being left alone with Leo, and I want to make sure everything is fine, and of course, they are. Jake is a perfectly competent father, and I trust him implicitly—we have a very modern marriage, Captain, and it’s not like I view Jake as a babysitter, he’s Leo’s dad and—“

Holt smiles. “You miss them.”

Amy slowly nods. “Yes… yes, I do.”

He gives her a look that’s almost fatherly, warm and proud. “Go home, Sergeant. I will see you tomorrow.”

She barely gets out a goodbye before spinning on her heels and heading for the elevator.

And when she gets home, unlocking their front door and kicking off her heels, Amy comes face to face with what she soon decides is her favorite sight: Jake dozed off on the couch with Leo tightly gathered in his father’s arms, tucking his small face into the dip of Jake’s chest. It amazes her how they seem to… fit. How being a father has always been a natural extension of Jake himself.

He likes to be goofy, laugh and make jokes. Place bets and tease his friends and always go for the last punchline.

But then, there’s also this, something serious and protective.

Amy feels it herself: his hand on the small of her back, calling her my wife with his sharp tongue, standing just close enough. She knows it’s futile to say she doesn’t need it; he does it anyway, a sixth sense per se. And when it comes to Leo, he holds on tighter, whispering soft reassurances and speaking of his son. My son, my son, my son.

She loves him for it. With every breath, she loves him.

It’s temping to take a picture of this serene moment, but she tries to remember it instead: Jake in his grey plaid shirt, Leo in his onesie with bear ears that Amy indulgently bought. It is easiness and deep affection, and Amy can’t help but press a kiss to Jake’s forehead. He smiles before he opens his eyes.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Have a good day?”

“Mhmm.” Her thumb sweeps over Leo’s back. “But it’s even better now.”

“I did it,” he softly grins, nodding towards their son. “I was a good dad.”

“You always are,” she assures.

His eyes are warm, like sunlight on oak, when he looks at her, comforting and the feeling of coming home. “I love you,” he says simply.

“I know,” she smiles back.

To know and to love—how different can they really be?

iii.

They wake up to crying.

Jake mumbles, “It’s your turn.”

Amy elbows him in the side. “No, it’s your turn.”

“I got him last time.”

“I think I remember who got him last time—and it wasn’t me.”

“He’s going to want you to rock him.”

“He’s going to want you to sing to him.”

Jake’s eyes reluctantly open. He flops over to his other side and looks at Amy. “If you get up with me, I’ll massage your feet tomorrow evening.”

“Deal.”

They unceremoniously throw off their covers and pad over to the nursery. In the dark of the night, their alarm clocks softly glow with green numbers: 3:34 a.m. Jake lets out a groan; it doesn’t get any easier.

But when they walk into Leo’s room and look at him lying in his crib with his mused hair and ruddy cheeks, life has never felt clearer. Everything they do now, it goes back to him, their son. It still sometimes hits Jake all over again that they have a son: perfect and whole and the product of their undying love.

“Hey, baby,” Amy says softly, lifting Leo into her arms, “what’s going on?”

Leo’s eyes glaze with tears.

“Don’t you want to sleep, little man?” Jake holds Amy from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and cupping the back of Leo’s head. “Or do you want daddy to sing a song?”

Amy side-eyes him. “You better not start rapping or that will rile him up.”

“Pssh, what. Rap? Rap? I wasn’t thinking of singing the 90′s classic Baby Got Back at all.”

“Of course not.” She fondly laughs. “You dad’s pretty silly, isn’t he?”

Leo lets out another whimper. Amy says, “It’s why I love him. He makes me laugh.”

Now, Jake’s grinning, adoring warmth settling across his chest. “Your mom’s just being nice, because she definitely wasn’t laughing at my amazing prank yesterday.”

She whisper-yells, looking up at her husband. “You can’t write stuff like that on sticky notes! It’s not my fault it fell out of my binder and Charles found it.”

“But the look on Charles’ face was priceless!”

“He almost had a heart attack, Jake.”

“I think we made his day.”

“He shouldn’t know we do… that.”

“He’s told me way worse things.”

“That’s because he’s Charles!”

They suddenly notice an absence of whimpering and look back down at their son, who has since fallen asleep, softly breathing and his hands curling into tiny fists.

“Did we just bicker our child to sleep?” Amy asks.

Jake laughs into her shoulder. “I think so.”

“Just wait till our friends hear about this.”

“Gina will say, ‘I’ve been falling asleep to your bickering for the past nine years.’”

Amy smiles. “She will.” Then, gazing down at their sleeping son, “I know I should put him down, but I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“We’re so lucky, Jake.”

“We are.”

“All those months of trying—“

He finishes her sentence: “They were worth it.” He knows her so well; he always has.

Amy lightly presses her lips to Leo’s forehead. “Goodnight, Leo. We love you more than you’ll ever know.”

She gently places him down in his crib. Jake brushes his fingers against Leo’s shock of dark curls, trying to remember every second of this seemingly mundane moment; but it’s never mundane, it’s everything. Amy looks down at Leo, as if she wants to remember it all too. Jake wraps his arms around her waist and leans his chest against her back, pressing his lips into her hair.

And in the early morning hours, they forget to be tired; instead, they watch, they love.

#my writing #jake x amy #b99 #jake and amy are gonna be the cutest parents guys

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storybookwolf · 3 years

Text

Your Mom Doesn’t Knock?

[A fic for day 5 of @jancyweek2020. The theme is ‘one difference’ - and I’ve written about Karen finding Jonathan in Nancy’s room back in 1x06!]

Karen Wheeler pinned the final wave of her brown hair into place and stood back from the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically. Smoothing a barely visible crease in her shirtdress, she nodded to herself. Perfect.

She knew some people thought she was vain, but she just saw it as being sensible. Why wouldn’t she want to look as good as she could? At her age, especially after three kids, she was lucky to still have her figure and a relatively unlined face. Lucky too to have the money to buy nice clothes and visit the salon every week, courtesy of Ted. (And she knew maintaining a certain look was an important part of keeping him, even if he didn’t show much interest in her these days.)

Yesterday had been rough. Funerals always were, but a child’s funeral – her son’s best friend – that was too much. She’d worked so hard to build a safe, happy, prosperous life, but seeing Joyce’s dazed and broken face had made her realise how quickly things could be taken away from you. All you could do right now was enjoy what you had, and try to hold your children a little closer.

Maybe she’d see if Nancy wanted to help her make breakfast. They could do blueberry pancakes, her favourite. They used to cook together all the time, her little girl standing at her elbow and solemnly watching as she measured out the ingredients. Her Aunt Janine had even made them matching aprons the Christmas Nancy was eleven, with their names embroidered on them. The two of them had drifted apart over the past year, but this seemed like a good moment to try to get back to a simpler time.

Her older daughter had been out last night – a movie with Ally, or maybe it was Stacey. She’d heard her come in just after Karen had gone to bed, so it wasn’t too early to wake her. She didn’t bother knocking, and was already opening the door as she asked, ‘Nancy, sweetheart, are you up?’

Nancy was up. She was sitting on her bed, books scattered around her. And next to her, asleep in her bed was – a boy.

Karen stared, agape. Nancy was momentarily frozen, like a deer in the headlights. Then she carefully jumped up off the bed and walked towards her mother, glancing back at the boy, whoever he was. (Presumably this was the mysterious Steve Harrington, but his face was buried in a pillow.)

‘Nancy, what…’

Her daughter shushed her (actually shushed her!), and led her by the arm out into the hallway.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Karen asked in a loud whisper. The last thing she needed was for Ted to hear this conversation.

‘It’s not what you think!’ her daughter replied, her blue eyes looking at her mother pleadingly. ‘Jonathan and I were just—talking, about Will and Barb, and everything that’s been happening, and…and neither of us wanted to be alone.’

Wait, that was Jonathan Byers in there? She’d seen the two of them spending time together at Will’s funeral, and thought it was sweet of her daughter to reach out to the boy, but this was definitely not sweet.

‘Oh really?’ said Karen. ‘What am I supposed to think? A couple of days ago I found out you’d spent the night with some boy I’ve never even met, and now I find a different boy in your bed. It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore, Nancy.’

Nancy looked genuinely hurt by that, and Karen felt a stab of guilt. But honestly, what was her daughter thinking? If she didn’t want to be alone, her whole family was right there. But apparently Nancy would rather confide in a boy she hardly knew than her own mother.

‘It’s not like that,’ Nancy said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Jonathan and I are just—We’re friends. We were just talking. Oh my god, Mom, we were at his brother’s funeral yesterday. Do you really think we’d be…doing anything after that?’ Karen tried to read her daughters expression, but found it hard to parse. She looked exhausted, for one thing, and full of anxiety. Barb’s disappearance was taking a toll. It was plausible, she realised, that Nancy and Jonathan had just connected in their shared grief.

But she didn’t quite believe her daughter’s statement. The way she’d glanced back at Jonathan as she’d pushed her mother out of the room wasn’t just about trying to avoid a scene. She’d been genuinely concerned; she’d wanted to let him sleep. And Jonathan was a sweet boy, he took good care of Will and seemed very responsible. He was someone she’d have been happy for Nancy to go on a date with. But the kind of boy she was happy to find in her daughter’s bed was no boy ever.

Karen took a deep breath. She didn’t want to drive her daughter away even further, but she didn’t want to be a pushover either. ‘Nancy, I’m not interested in excuses or explanations. But I never, ever want you to have a boy sleep over in this house again, do you understand?’

Nancy nodded.

‘Right now I really need you to get Jonathan out of this house before your father realises he’s here.’

‘It’s okay, he can climb out my window.’

That answer came way too easily. Was this not the first time Nancy had snuck a boy in or out of the house? Karen didn’t want to think about it, but there were a lot of things she was suddenly having to face up to.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You’ve got twenty minutes. And then I expect to see you at breakfast, alone.’ With that, she turned and headed downstairs to cook breakfast on her own, wondering where her little girl had gone, and if she’d ever get her back.

Nancy didn’t appear at the breakfast table. When Karen went upstairs to check on her, Jonathan was gone – and so was Nancy.

#jancy week 2020 #jancy fics #jancy

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fluffy-lee · 4 years

Text

Best Friend

Part 4 of the series "Keeping Her"

This is a TICKLE series. If you're not into that, you don't have to read.

PLATONIC Avengers x reader.

Warnings: mentions of anxiety.

Summary:

The Avengers are going on a mission, so Tony leaves Y/n to spend the weekend with her best friend, who discovers a certain secret of hers.

“You’re leaving? Again?” You asked, tears welling up in your eyes.

Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Natasha just broke the news to you as you sat on the bar stool of the kitchen counter. They were all in the process of cleaning up after dinner, when Steve called you in so they could tell you they were leaving for another mission.

“Please don’t cry! Please, please, please, don’t cry.” Bucky urged, rushing around the bar to hug you. He can’t stand to see you upset.

You hated when they didn’t take you on missions and you were left at the compound without your dad, Tony, Steve, Nat, or any of the Avengers. Sometimes the missions lasted over a week. You knew you were safe thanks to Happy or Pepper, or whoever else you were home with, but it wasn’t the same. You struggled with separation anxiety and attachment issues, among other difficulties that you developed from HYDRA. Your therapist had been helping you through it all and you actually enjoyed therapy, but whenever they left for a mission, it was upsetting.

“Y/n, it’s only for two nights. We will be home on Sunday.” Steve reassured you.

“I still hate it, Steve. Please, let me go with you guys, please!” You begged, giving him your famous “puppy dog eyes.”

“I know, y/n/n, but this one’s just way too dangerous.” Steve said.

“Yeah, it’s non negotiable. You and I have talked about missions and why they’re important for us to go on and you to stay home.” Tony scolded.

“So you’re saying one of you can’t stay home with me?” You asked, whipping out “the eyes” again.

“You want someone to stay with you?” Tony asked, before being cut off by Bucky.

“I’m sorry, but we need everyone for this mission.” Bucky apologized, holding you to his side.

“Well, maybe not everyone,” Tony thought to himself, as an idea popped into his head. He left the kitchen in pursuit of someone in particular.

As Tony quietly left the kitchen, your tears started to flow.

“Y/n, why do you get so upset when we leave?” Nat asked.

“When you guys go on these dangerous missions… all I can think about the whole time is one of you not coming home.”

…

“Pete! Hey, are you leaving?” Tony said, catching up to Peter who was heading toward the elevator.

“Oh, yeah! I was going to say goodbye, but I figured it wasn’t a good time, since I could hear Y/n crying about the mission.. Which I’m upset too, by the way, Mr. Stark! I’m upset because I am not invited! You guys need me and sir, I am so ready for-” Peter began rambling when Tony cut him off.

“No means no! I already said “not this time”. Gosh, kid, you make me sound like my father.”

Peter looked at the ground. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I just want to help you.”

Tony smiled at the kid, putting his arm around his shoulder and squeezing him to his side.

“I know, I know. I actually do need your help, Pete, with Y/n.”

“Y/n? Of course.” Peter said.

Peter was willing to help you with anything. He was your best friend, but you knew you weren’t his best friend. You knew that he still cared for you, though. He would always play games with you, take you places around NYC, send you funny texts, and help you with anything you needed. He was your only friend your age, even though it sometimes felt like he was much more than just three months older than you.

“She really has a hard time when we leave, and I thought maybe it would be good for her to get her mind off of us being gone, and have someone to..stay with?”

“She can come stay with me, Mr. Stark.” Peter smiled. “Oh, but I do have to ask Aunt May, first.” Peter held up his phone to his ear.

“Y/n will love that, Pete.” Tony was so relieved that you didn’t have to mope around the compound all weekend and you could actually go be somewhat of a normal kid with Peter.

Peter called Aunt May who was more than happy to have you stay with them. Peter was happy too. He went to the kitchen with Tony to tell you the news.

…

“Y/n, you can calm down now. We’re shipping you off with Peter for the weekend.” Tony announced.

You looked up from where your head was in your hands, surprised. “You mean…”

“You can come stay with May and I!”

You didn’t say anything. You just ran and hugged Peter so tight.

…

The next morning. 5:00 A.M.

Steve quietly entered your room to say goodbye. He looked down at you to see you were snuggling the pink blanket he got you on the way home from Russia. He remembered snuggling your frail and injured body and how he thought you weren’t going to make it home. He hated leaving you for too long.

“Y/n/n. We’re about to leave.” he whispered, shaking you awake.

You looked up at him groggily and smiled. “Carry me?”

Steve chuckled and scooped you up, walking out of your room.

“Aren’t you a little too old to be carried?”

“Yeah,” You said, your head laying on his shoulder, practically still asleep.

Steve smiled fondly. “No. You’re not.”

…

Steve set you down when he got to the room where Natasha, Tony, Bruce, Wanda, Vision, Thor, Sam, and Bucky stood, ready to leave.

“I’ll see you Sunday, Y/n.” Bucky said hugging you and kissing your cheek.

You said your goodbyes and the Avengers boarded the jet. You laid on the couch and watched Steve lift the aircraft into the dark, rainy sky. By the time the lights disappeared, you had fallen back asleep.

…

You woke a few hours later to the empty room and a heavy feeling in your heart. You didn’t even know where they were going. You had a whole day to waste before you went to Peter’s that evening. You did school work, packed your bag for two nights at Peter’s, read a book, and trained in the training room by yourself. You were bored out of your mind, but the day finally passed and Happy told you it was time to go. He drove you from Upstate to Queens, and dropped you off at Peter’s apartment. You had been to his apartment once before with Tony, but you had never stayed over.

You knocked on the door, which Peter’s beautiful Aunt May opened.

“Well hey, y/n! Come in! It’s so great to see you again!” May hugged you as you walked into the apartment.

“Thank you so much for having me,” you said quietly, blushing.

“Oh of course! It’s great,” She said sweetly. “Peter is still out, you know patrolling or whatever he calls it. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

May told you to set your bag down in Peter’s room. You walked through the apartment. It was super cozy and warm, and smelled good from May’s candles she lit around the apartment. You entered Peter’s room. He still had the same bunk bed and desk. He had a TV in the corner to play video games on, a bean bag, and a really big, soft rug on the hardwood floor. Peter had made it a cool place for him and Ned to hangout in.

You dropped your bag next to his bed and looked out the window to see if you could see him, but there was no sign of him. You sat on his bed and waited for a few minutes before you heard the window sliding open and the red and blue figure climbed in.

“Y/n! Hey! You won’t believe what just happened! I snuck into this fancy nightclub and took out a bunch of bad guys!! They had guns and I dodged every. single. bullet! Man, they’re gonna be in jail for like ever-”

Peter rambled away about his latest adventures while you just smiled really big, listening to every word he had to say. That was one of Peter’s favorite things about you: you were genuinely interested in what he, or other people you care about, had to say.

“OH AND this one dude- OH SSHHHHOOT!” Peter yelled, suddenly cut off by a loud crack of thunder and you both jumped. The storm had just rolled in for the night.

“Aww dang haha that startled both of us!” Peter exclaimed as you both burst out laughing.

“Peter.”

“Y/n.”

“MayIwearthemask?” You mumbled, fast and quiet. Your eyes were wide as you waited for his answer.

“Huh?” He asked, as he couldn’t understand what you had said.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with a sheepish smile. “May I... wear the mask?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure!” He said, whipping it off as his curls fell, messily.

“This.. this is so cool,” you awed, looking down at the red mask in your hands, feeling the unique texture on your fingertips.

“Sorry if it’s a little sweaty.” Peter added as he went to his closet to change into some pjs.

You slipped the mask over your face and it lit up around you. You gasped at how cool everything looked and the blue notifications that popped up. It look similar to Tony’s helmets, but kind of cooler. Looking around the room felt like looking through glasses of the wrong prescription.

“Hello Karen, this is Y/n. Peter said that I can have you, so transfer all authority of this suit to Y/n, please and thank you.” You smirked. Of course you were just playing around, because you were jealous of how cool his suit was.

“Uhh… excuse me?” Peter scoffed, as he walked out of his closet.

“Y/n. Trusted friend of Peter’s.” Karen responded.

Your eyes widened and you fell over laughing as Peter began speaking to Karen.

“No Karen! No! She’s just messing around. I have not given her permission. She can’t have you!”

“Access denied.” The A.I. stated.

You pulled the mask up to your forehead to see Peter towering above you where you sat on the rug. He had a threatening look on his face. You smiled slightly.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter chuckled and went to take the mask off your head but you pulled it down.

“Y/n, give me my mask!”

“It’s my mask now!”

You were pushing Peter’s buttons in hopes of some playful retaliation, but what he did next, you were not expecting to happen so quickly. You thought you were going to have to try much harder to get Peter to do this.

He gave your tummy a poke and you squeaked in surprise.

“Oh? What’s this?” Peter grinned as he gave you a few more pokes.

You turned cherry red as you scooted back and threw the mask at Peter.

“Here you go.” You mumbled

Peter hadn’t discovered that you were ticklish up until this point. You always wanted him to, but now that it was actually happening you were a flustered mess and didn’t know how to act. Peter sensed your embarrassment and was definitely ready to have some fun. He tossed his mask to the side and leaned over you.

“Are you ticklish, y/n/n?” He teased, crossing his arms.

You shook your head “no” but couldn’t help the smile that cracked on your lips.

“I think you’re lying,” Peter said, dropping to his knees in front of you, obviously ready to attack.

You began giggling and pushing at his chest in anticipation. Peter’s face lit up and he began wiggling his fingers above you. You pushed at him again, but he grabbed your wrists and forced you to lay down as he pinned your arms above your head with one hand and hovered the other above your tummy. This alone made you turn a shade redder and you didn’t know when he was going to actually tickle you. Then, his hands made contact with your tummy and you were thrown into hysterics.

“My goodness! You ARE ticklish!” Peter fake gasped as you just laughed and squirmed under him.

His other hand released your wrists and he began squeezing your sides. Peter found your ticklishness quite endearing. He hadn’t thought much about tickling you before, but he really was enjoying your cute laughter and hilarious reactions to every different spot he tickled.

“Man, y/n, you’re the most ticklish person I’ve ever seen! This is so sweet!” He gushed as his hands scribbled back to your belly and he dug in to the very middle. This made your laughter go very high pitched and then fall silent. You couldn’t stand how much it tickled but you were loving it.

“The very middle of your tummy. Noted.” He said, as if he was adding it to some mental list. He was really surprised by the extent at which you were ticklish, but he secretly knew that due to his enhanced senses he was actually worse than you, but he’d never let you get him as much as he was getting you right now. He already receives enough of this from Tony.

Peter ceased his tickles on your sides and tummy to let you breathe. “Are you okay y/n?”

“Yeaahhhaha!” You laughed, catching your breath. You looked up at him and he was smiling his sweet smile at you, crinkles next to his eyes.

“I just wanted to ask you..” he trailed off while you looked at him confused. He then began speedily tickling your ribs.

“Does this tickle?”

Yes it freaking did, but you were laughing too much to answer. You instinctively pushed at his hands but it was no use against Peter’s strength.

“Aww c’mon y/n/n I just wanna know if it tickles!”

“YES!” You forced out through your laughter.

“Good!” He boomed and shoved his fingers in your underarms, causing you to thrash around and squeal like crazy. Peter wheezed at your reaction and stopped.

“I was nahahat expecting thahahat sound!” He laughed.

You couldn’t find any words, again from being so flustered.

Peter growled playfully and began tickling under your arms again, throwing you back into the same squirmy, giggly state.

“Kitchy kitchy kitchy!” He teased as he scritched under your arms. You just melted into deep belly laughs.

“This is so cute, I’m just gonna have to tickle you all the time now!” Peter announced, making butterflies rush to your stomach.

Peter stopped tickling under your arms and moved down to your thighs.

“Wow you’re just ticklish everywhere, aren’t you?” Peter said moving from squeezing your thighs to scribbling on your knees, causing you to kick out, which you regretted when he caught your foot. He racked his nails up and down the bottom of it. You stopped squirming and just laid there laughing, with tears in your eyes. This indicated to Peter that you couldn’t take it anymore and he quit.

He grabbed his TV remote off the stand and laid on his side next to you, propping himself up on his elbow.

“So, you wanna watch a movie or somethin’?” Peter asked casually, watching you recover from your tickling.

“Yeahaha,” you answered, sitting up with your hair falling messily over your face.

“Okay. ...You’re okay?” He asked again. He was afraid he may have taken it too far, but the more he thought about it, he noticed how you never did anything to stop him, and the huge grin and bright blush on your face.

“I’m okay, you tickle monster,” you clarified, pushing at his shoulder.

The rest of the night was spent watching movies, eating delicious thai food (your first time trying it), and laughing until you cried, but not just from tickles. You always made Peter laugh really hard and he adored you as his little buddy.

You were halfway through a movie as you were laying on the bottom bunk of Peter’s bed, (since you were afraid you’d fall off the top on). You could barely keep your eyes open.

“Thank you for letting me stay with you, Peter. I know I may not be your best friend, but you are mine.” You said.

Peter’s heart sank. “What? You’re my best friend too! I have Ned, but I also have you.” He snuggled you to his side and saw you smile to yourself, before you drifted off to sleep.

He meant what he said.

#avengers x reader tickle #avengers tickle fic #avengers tickle #tickle #tickle fic #platonic tickles #peter parker x reader tickle #peter parker tickle #marvel tickle fic #marvel tickle #mcu tickle fic #mcu tickle

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snarkythewoecrow · 4 years

Text

Little White Lies

by: Snarkymuch

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: T

Warnings: Blood and injury

Summary: Peter gets injured and tries to treat it himself, hiding it from Tony, but he can't keep it hidden forever.

Read on AO3

“Almost got it,” Peter breathed, his fingers slick with blood as he dug the tweezers into the wound in his side, fishing for the bullet that hadn’t gone clean through.

Tony didn’t know. Karen had insisted that he call Tony or go to a hospital, and it wasn’t that he lied to her, but he might have misled her. Peter convinced her that he would go straight home—implying he would tell his aunt. Which he sort of did. He did go home. She just wasn’t there. Karen didn’t need to know that, though.

With his suit puddled on the floor, he stood in a pair of boxers, blood soaking the waistband of the right side. To say it hurt would be an understatement. The wound burned, nerves raw and exposed. The tip of the tweezers scraped the edge of metal, and Peter gritted his teeth, plunging them in a little deeper. The pain sucked any breath he had left out of him. Spots danced in his vision as he felt around for the bullet. Finally, the tweezers grabbed it, and he was able to pull it free.

Panting, he looked down at his side. Blood painted his skin, but the bleeding was already slowing. With a shaky hand, he dropped the bullet on the counter and tossed the tweezers in the sink. He grabbed some gauze and pressed it to his side. The bullet looked intact, so he hoped there weren’t any pieces left behind.

It wasn’t that he wanted to hide his injury from Tony, but he had no intention of telling him either. He just knew that the man would blow it out of proportion. Anytime Peter got hurt, he’d panic and helicopter around him for weeks after. Peter just needed a break, and he knew Tony was busy with work. The last thing he needed was Peter distracting him.

May wasn’t due home until morning, she was working a double at the hospital, and he didn’t have school as it was vacation week. With any luck, he’d be able to heal up in the next day or so. Lifting the gauze, he rechecked the wound and saw it had stopped bleeding, but it probably needed a few stitches. He pinched the skin around the hole, watching it come together. Yeah, probably at least one or two.

The blood on his fingers had dried, leaving them tacky. He turned, kicking his suit out of the way, and washed his hands. The water was stained pink as it spiraled down the drain. With his hands clean, he dug through his emergency kit for a needle and thread. It was a bag he’d put together himself. Nothing professional. Just supplies he’d collected where he could. The needle and thread had come from May’s sewing kit.

It took him a few tries to thread the needle, and then he sucked in a breath, bracing himself for the pain. The first poke of the needle was always the worst. He dragged the thread through one side and then the other, tying off the first stitch. He was halfway there—one more to go.

He started the next stitch but had to pause as the pain overcame him. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through his mouth. Once his hands stopped shaking, he stuck the needle in and made the last stitch. Snipping the thread, he leaned back against the counter and collected himself. He just needed a shower, and then he could lay down.

After cleaning up his mess, he went to his room and got a change of clothes and then took a shower. He stuffed his suit in a bag and hid it in his bedroom. He’d need to try to clean it up and fix the hole before Tony saw it.

Laying down pulled on the stitches, but he was able to curl up on his left side and keep the tension off them. With any luck, he’d be able to snip them out in the next day or two.

When Peter awoke the following day, his side was burning. Carefully, he touched the wound through his shirt and cringed. It was tender, and he could feel the heat radiating off the area. He rolled onto his back and lifted his shirt, appraising the wound. It was angry looking, the skin around it puffy and red, and it looked like yellow pus was seeping from between the stitches.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, hissing as he touched it lightly again. The stitches were digging into his flesh because of the swelling. He dropped his head back onto the pillow with a sigh. This wasn’t good, not good at all.

He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and checked the time. It was just after eight. May was home, but he didn’t know if he dared to explain what had happened and how he’d stitched himself up. No, he couldn’t tell her. She’d kill him, then bring him back to kill him again.

His phone chirped, and he glanced down to see a message from Tony. Happy will pick you up in twenty. Be ready.

His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why Tony would be sending Happy, then he remembered it was Friday, and he was due to go to the compound for training. Tony wanted to work with him on some basics of hand to hand. He’d said that it was important not to rely solely on his spidey sense to bail him out of trouble.

There was no way he was going to be able to hide this from Tony, not if they were training. He didn’t know what he was going to do to get out of it. He wracked his brain for a lie.

Grabbing his phone, he typed out a reply. Can we reschedule? I’m feeling kinda tired. Might be coming down with something.

It was a weak excuse, but he wanted to stay close to the truth. He was feeling tired, which was probably directly related to the infected wound on his side.

A second later, Tony replied. Since when do you get sick?

Peter chewed his lip, staring at his phone like he could force this conversation to end. Since now?

Nice try, kid. Happy will be there in a minute. Talk soon.

Peter dropped his phone beside him and groaned. What was he going to do?

Every few minutes, Peter would catch Happy eyeing him in the mirror, making Peter shift under his gaze. His side burned, but he kept his hands away from it, keeping them in his lap instead. Licking his lips, he swallowed, feeling a little nauseous. Happy’s eye caught him again, and Peter tried to smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace. A line appeared between the man’s brows.

“There’s something wrong with you.” Happy’s voice was flat. “You’re twitchy and pale and look about ready to hurl all over the backseat. What gives, kid?”

A bump jostled his side, and he bit back a yelp. “I’m not—I’m fine, Happy, really.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “Aim for the floor if you’re gonna puke. Better yet, yell and I’ll pull over.”

“I’ll be fine. Just didn’t get enough sleep or something.”

“It’s cute you think me or Tony would believe that. Sit tight, kid, we’ll be there in a few, then you can explain to Tony why you look ready to pass out.” Peter saw him pick up his phone just as the partition slid into place.

He slumped back into his seat, a hand going to his side. He was so screwed.

Instead of dropping him off out front, Happy pulled the car around into the garage. Tony was waiting by the elevator, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses resting on his nose.

Getting out of the car was easier said than done. It pulled on his inflamed side, making him clumsy and slow. Something that he doubted Tony missed. A slight shiver passed through him as he approached his mentor, goosebumps chasing each other up his arms. His skin was damp with a fine sheen of sweat, and he wondered if it was hot or if he had a fever started.

His stomach twisted as he faced Tony’s scrutinizing glare. The man’s head tilted to the side, and then he pulled his glasses off, dangling them between his fingers as he narrowed his eyes. Tony turned to Happy, who was at Peter’s side.

“Thanks for the heads up, Hap. I think I can take it from here.”

Happy nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”

Happy patted Peter on the shoulder and then went back to the car. Peter turned his attention back to Tony, who was still eyeing him. Peter shifted his weight to his left foot. It pulled his side just the tiniest bit, and his mouth twitched. Tony’s eyes narrowed a little more.

“Anything you want to share with the class, Peter?”

Peter knew he should just confess and get it over with, but he didn’t want Tony to be mad, and Peter knew that he had every right to be. He felt guilty for not telling him right away and tricking his AI into going along with him, but he was already in so deep. He didn’t know how to end the lie now that it was started. His hand twitched toward the bullet wound, but he stopped himself from reaching for it.

“No—I mean, nothing important.”

Tony pursed his lips. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Tony nodded. “Yep, you say it’s nothing. I’ll believe you. Let’s hit the gym—since nothing’s wrong to stop you.”

“Right, yeah—the gym. Yeah, let’s hit the gym.” Peter swallowed, his side burning. Another shiver passed through him, making his shoulders quake. Tony raised a brow but didn’t say anything. Peter followed him to the gym, regretting his decision to get out of bed.

When he got to the gym, Tony grabbed the tape and started wrapping his knuckles, while Peter’s brow beaded with sweat. Tony waved him onto the mats, and Peter approached him, body rigid with pain. The room was starting to wobble, and Peter didn’t know how much longer he could keep the act up.

“Get your hands up, bend your knees,” Tony said as he bounced on his toes. “We’re gonna work on defense, unless there’s something I should know?”

Peter frowned, flexing his fingers. He shook his head. “Everything’s fine.”

Tony hummed. “Okay, I’m not holding back. Get ready.”

He didn’t even have a chance to think, Tony was coming at him, and Peter’s spidey sense wasn’t going off because he didn’t see Tony as a danger. He dodged, stepping out of the way, twisting to the side as he did. It took all his strength not to cry out as the stitches pulled hard. He panted, not from exertion, but from pain.

Tony bounced back, his fists held in front of him. “Do we really have to do this, Peter?”

“Do what?”

“You know what.” Tony dropped his hands, waving one at him. “I could check with Karen, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

Peter’s heart beat a little faster, and the guilt felt like it could swallow him whole. “It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh, and I might believe that if it weren’t for your colorful history of hiding injuries. So spill, kid, what’s going on? I honestly thought you’d fess up before we got to sparring. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tony started unwrapping his hands as Peter chewed his lip. The man tossed the wadded up wrappings off to the side and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Peter expectantly. Peter met his gaze, holding it for a second before he sighed, dropping his shoulders and looking down at Tony’s feet.

“It’s—it’s not that big of a deal, but you’re gonna be mad.”

“I doubt I’ll be unless you tried to play operation on yourself, in which case, I’ll be a little pissed. You should know better than that.”

Peter’s mouth twisted, and he kept his gaze down. “Oh, so, um, you’ll probably mad then.”

“Peter.” Tony’s voice was firm, demanding his attention. Peter looked up. “Kid, what happened?”

He shrugged. “So, I might have been a little shot.”

“A little shot?” Tony repeated. “I’m not sure how you can be a little shot, but qualifiers aside, are you okay? When did this happen?”

“Yesterday, um, and I’m—no, I’m not okay. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I tried to fix it. I didn’t want to worry you, but I think I messed up. I got the bullet out, but—” Peter pressed his lips together, lifting a shaky hand to grab his shirt and pull it up, exposing his side. He closed his eyes, so he didn’t have to see Tony’s reaction, but he still heard him suck in a breath.

“Jesus, kid, I don’t need to be that kind of doctor to know that’s infected.” He opened his eyes to see Tony crouched in front of him, hand hovering over the wound. It looked so much worse than before. The redness had spread from the injury. “We need to get you to medbay and have a doctor check you over.”

Peter frowned. “You’re not mad?”

Tony sighed, shaking his head. “I’m tired—tired of you thinking you need to hide things from me, I don’t get it, kid, but I’m not mad. At least not that mad. We’ll see what the doctor says first.”

Peter nodded. “Sorry.”

“I know, Pete. Come on, let’s get you looked at.”

“Did you hear the doctor? You’re extremely lucky. A real needle and thread, Peter?” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He dropped his hand, turning back to Peter. “Promise me you won’t pull something like this again.”

Peter shifted against the pillows that were propping him up. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Did it occur to you that you have internal organs?”

“I said I was sorry.”

Tony put his hands on his hips. “You’re lucky we caught this before you became septic. How long were you planning on hiding this? You could have died!”

“I thought you weren’t that mad.”

“I changed my mind after I heard you had a perforated bowel and stitched it up yourself like you were in Home Ec class.”

Peter looked down at his hands. “Are you gonna tell May?”

Tony sucked in a breath. “I’ll keep this between us if you promise never to pull such a stupid stunt again. Christ, Peter, how did you get this past your AI?”

Peter shrugged. “I asked her nicely—told her I would tell May.”

Tony shook his head. “I’ll be looking into her coding. In the meantime, you’re on bed rest for the next day or two, so get comfy. I’ll call May and tell her you’re staying.”

“I’m really sorry.” And he was. He felt terrible for lying. It was eating him up.

Tony softened. “Yeah, I know, kiddo, I know. I’m going to call May and get your room ready.”

Tony went into the hall, and Peter sank back into the pillows. His side didn’t hurt anymore. The doctor had operated and cleaned it out. An IV dripped antibiotics into his system to fight the infection. He felt stupid for hiding it from Tony. In the end, he still found out, and it only caused Peter even more pain.

As he started to drift off to sleep, he heard footsteps approaching, and blinked tiredly. Tony was beside the bed.

“May says she loves you, and I got your room ready.” Tony ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, brushing his bangs out of his face. Peter blinked at him, making a small smile come to Tony’s face. “Don’t think those Bambi eyes are going to keep you from getting another lecture. I have at least two more planned.”

Peter groaned, closing his eyes, turning his head into Tony’s hand. He could handle another lecture, as long as he got some sleep first.

#fanfictions #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #hurt/comfort #hiding an injury #blood #snark writes

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ephemeralstark · 4 years

Text

Keep On Fighting In the Meantime

Summary: One decision is all it takes for someone's life to be thrown upside down, and sometimes it's not even a decision they've made.

Or, a drunk driver runs a red light and hits a car containing Peter and Happy. The physical and emotional injuries aren't going to go away easily, but thankfully Mr. Stark is always there for his family.

8.5K | Rated T and up | complete

Read HERE on AO3 or click the read more to view here on tumblr

“Peter are you sure you don’t wanna come?” Ned asked as he shoved a pile of papers into his locker, Peter supressed a flinch as he heard some of them tear from the rough force.

“Nah, Mr. Stark said he had some upgrades for Karen and I want to see if I can get her to understand Gen Z humour,” Peter said, “she keeps trying to call for help whenever I make jokes. Apparently, it’s ‘concerning’.”

“I mean it probably is to the uninitiated.” Ned agreed as he tried to jam his locker shut, the papers sticking out around the edges of the door.

“Y’know, MJ is gonna kill you when she sees the state of those.” Peter told him.

“Yeah, but I told her I don’t have room in my locker to store decathlon prep, this will just prove my point.” Ned said with a shrug.

“Dude.” Peter said, shaking his head at his best friend. “You’re a dead man walking. Like genuinely. You must have a death wish.”

“Maybe if she kills me, I won’t have to go to that 8am practice on Saturday.” Ned said after a moment of quiet deliberation as he looked at his locker.

“Bold of you to assume even death could get you out of practice.” Peter snorted, before glancing at him phone that buzzed with a message. “I gotta go, I don’t want to keep Happy waiting. Have fun going over all the wrong answers with the team.”

“It’s meant to be a team dinner.” Ned said quietly, a distinct whine in his voice. “It’s meant to be fun and relaxing.”

“Sure, and MJ stepped down as the leader.” Peter muttered; his words laced with sarcasm.

Peter laughed at Ned’s despair and made his way out of the back door of the school. He had an agreement with Mr. Stark that he would allow himself to be picked up by Happy so long as he used the most discreet car and parked around the back of the school.

While it would have been nice to rub it in Flash’s face that he really was an intern with Stark Industries, he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the extra attention that would come with people believing his story. His classmates would pretend to be his friend only to get close to Mr. Stark and reap the benefits, the media would jump on the story of the high school intern, and some people – in the depths of the internet - would even begin to theorise that Peter Parker was in fact Spider-Man.

So, yes, Peter decided to give up on trying to convince his classmates that he wasn’t a liar.

The familiar Audi was parked by the yellow curb and Peter could see an irate looking Happy checking his watch in the driver’s seat. He mentally snorted, apparently discreet meant an Audi that was illegally parked. Mr. Stark really didn’t have a clue.

“You’re late.” Happy said as Peter opened the back door and threw his backpack in, sliding in after it.

“Actually, I’m not.” Peter said.

“I was here bang on 5:30.” Happy said. “Practice ended at 5:30 and now it’s 5:40. You’re ten minutes late.”

“You’re insane,” Peter declared happily, “and time is a construct. It doesn’t exist, we made it up as humans to suit our needs.”

“You’re not going to exist if you continue speaking nonsense,” Happy said as he pulled away, the child locks automatically clicking on, “time is a real thing, trust me I’ve had enough arguments with Tony about that, and if you’re late again I’m gonna leave you.”

“Mr. Stark would make you come back and get me if you left.” Peter said, calling Happy’s bluff.

“Don’t I know it.” Happy complained. “He’s going soft thanks to you.”

He didn’t say that like it was a bad thing, in fact, Peter thought he almost sounded happy about that fact, but that was impossible. This was Happy they were talking about. Happy was never happy. He was always the grumpy, stoic figure in the driver’s seat who would make snide remarks and complain about the rudeness of youths these days.

If Peter didn’t care so much for his life, he would have called him a grumpy grandpa.

“Did Mr. Stark tell you what upgrades he’s planned for Karen?” Peter asked.

“84 seconds.” Happy said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You managed to stay quiet for an entire 84 seconds, it’s your personal best.” Happy said. “Do you want to try for 100 seconds?”

“Happy, I-” Peter stammered, “was that? Did you just make a joke?”

“No.” Happy said. “I’m serious.”

“Oh, well in that case I should probably tell you that I lost interest in the ‘who can stay quiet the longest’ game when I was five.” Peter continued.

“So, your poor Aunt has been suffering for the last ten years?” Happy asked. “Poor woman deserves a medal.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Peter mumbled. That was a point he wouldn’t argue on.

“Hey, Happy?”

“Kid really?” Happy asked. “What could you possible have to ask now?”

“Well, I was thinking ma-”

Peter didn’t get to finish his question.

His Spidey-Sense rang out loud and clear, it screamed ‘danger’ in his mind, and it was ready for the danger to come before Peter had even realised something was wrong – his hands were automatically in the air, waiting for a blow to land.

Peter’s Spidey-Sense had always been a bit of a guessing game, when he was in a dangerous situation it was useful, when he was fighting an armed assailant he knew that it going off would mean that he was at risk of being stabbed or shot and he could move in time. If he was walking in a dark alley, it could mean that there was someone behind him, so he could turn around in time and they’d lose the element of surprise.

But sitting in the back seat of a car? There was no one following, no one with a knife, and Peter knew Happy had a gun but one quick glance at him showed his hands in the typical ten and two position on the steering wheel. Not that Happy would ever shoot him on purpose, not unless Peter was really, really annoying.

Peter saw the danger too late, his Spidey-Sense had warned him but it was pointless because as he looked out the window and saw the truck coming towards them, he realised there was nothing he could do.

The truck hit with a bone-trembling crash, Peter heard Happy take a sharp breath before cursing loudly and slamming his foot on the breaks. He wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t do anything, they’d already been hit.

Metal gave way, crumbling under the force of the truck and shards of glass rained down on Peter as the windows shattered.

Peter watched numbly as his backpack was tossed around on the backseat as the car was forced to the side because of the impact that had been delivered.

He was pretty sure he was screaming, but he couldn’t focus on anything that was happening, there was too much noise and light and fear and pain.

Peter didn’t even realise he had been knocked out until he woke up, blinking slowly to remove something from his eyes. He was struggling to focus properly, everything seemed to be hazy and the lights were trailing like a glow stick being waved through the air by a child on a dark night.

He guessed that he hadn’t been out for very long as he was still in the car, strapped in to his seat, he could hear people outside walking around – emergency services must not have arrived yet, because they seemed cautious and unsure about how to proceed.

“Should we pull them out?”

“I don’t think you’re meant to move people with head injuries.”

“How do we know they have a head injury?”

“How do we know they don’t?”

“That kid looks in rough shape, he’s bleeding a lot.”

“I think he’s awake.”

Peter groaned, he assumed that he was the kid that they were talking about, was he bleeding? Where? Oh. He looked down and saw a large, twisted piece of metal protruding from his chest, that was where. As soon as Peter saw the metal, he felt the pain, it was burning and all consuming, he wanted to grit his teeth and be strong, but he couldn’t.

At the end of the day he was a kid, a kid with jagged metal sticking into his body and he couldn’t hold in the screams of pain.

He wanted to go home. He wanted his Aunt.

“Ah, Ha- Hap-py?” He asked between grunts and gasps of pain.

No answer.

“Happy, ow, ah, p-p-please, answer me.” Peter pleaded.

He tried his best to focus, to listen for Happy’s heartbeat but his own was pounding too fast to hear anything else past it. There was too much happening, too many people outside, the car was still creaking and groaning, there were sirens in the distance and Peter’s senses were unreliable when he was feeling so frantic and distracted.

He was just like any other person in that moment, he had no enhanced senses to offer him reassurances, he would just have to hope that Happy was alright until someone gave him a reason to believe otherwise.

“Clear the way, let us through.”

Peter tried to relax a little as he heard the paramedics arrive, they would help Happy, they’d make sure he was alive, they had to, they had to.

“Kid?” Peter hadn’t realised that the car was on its side until he looked up and saw a paramedic peering through the side window which was now on top facing the overcast skies. “We’re going to get you out, alright, just hold tight.”

“N-n-no,” Peter stammered, “not me. H-Happy.”

“Happy?” the paramedic asked in confusion, obviously wondering whether Peter had hit his head during the accident, to be fair, maybe he had. A lot had happened and at some point, he’d lost consciousness.

“D-driver.” Peter tried to elaborate, oh god why couldn’t they just get it? Every word was hurting.

“Alright, Happy is the driver,” the paramedic said, “don’t worry, we have another team here helping him.”

Peter looked to the front to see that they were telling the truth, there was a paramedic leaning through the broken windscreen to check on Happy, how had he missed them? Were his senses really failing him so drastically?

“See, we’re helping him too, now we’re probably going to need to get the fire service to cut you out, but don’t worry they’re already here so it won’t take long, in the mean time I’m going to come down there and see what I can do to help you.”

Peter nodded, letting his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment as he breathed through a spasm of pain caused by the movement of the car.

“What’s your name?” The paramedic asked.

“Peter.” He whispered, he was so tired, talking felt like too much energy.

“Alright Peter, now I’m coming down alright?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer. He was so tired.

The exhaustion was heavy, and it seemed to weigh him down, maybe a nap would be the best thing for him, he would only close his eyes for a minute. It would be fine… just a minute. Someone was talking to him, but Peter was too busy falling asleep to care.

“Pete? Peter, come on Kiddo,” a familiar voice was determined to rouse Peter from his peaceful slumber, but he was just as determined to stay in the blissful land of sleep, “Peter, come on, wake up. Please.”

Whoever that was, they sure were persistent, it was mildly irritating.

“He frowned,” another voice chipped in, also familiar but Peter still couldn’t place who they were, “did you see that, he definitely frowned!”

“Peter? Can you hear us?”

“He’s moving his lips!”

“Open your eyes, Peter.”

Ugh! Peter complied, hoping that his irritation at being woken up was clear to see. Oh, it was May and Mr. Stark who had been talking, both of them standing over him and staring at him with expectant looks.

What were they waiting for?

“There he is,” May said softly, “you were beginning to worry us, sweetie.”

“Yeah, May over here was panicking like you wouldn’t believe.” Mr. Stark said, with a faint red hue across his cheeks, Peter was sure he could only see that thanks to his Spidey-Senses.

“Mhm,” May hummed, casting an unimpressed look at Mr. Stark, “I was the one panicking.”

“In my defence-”

“You have no defence,” May interrupted.

“I know, but a car accident?” Mr. Stark asked, Peter had the feeling that hadn’t been the first time he’d asked that question.

“A car accident?” Peter asked, trying to filter through hazy memories.

He couldn’t remember it properly, he could remember chatting to Ned and getting into the back of the Audi – Happy had been his usual grumpy self, but after that, everything was hazy and difficult to comprehend.

Happy.

“Wait,” Peter mumbled, interrupting whatever it had been that Mr. Stark was going to say, “is Happy alright?”

“Uh,” May faltered, looking to Mr. Stark for help. Peter’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, since when did May look to him for advice, what was going on?

“Happy was pretty badly hurt,” Mr. Stark said honestly, “he’s in surgery at the moment.”

“Surgery?” Peter asked.

“He’s strong.” Mr. Stark said, trying to reassure him but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in a while. They both did.

“How long ago was the accident?” Peter asked.

“A few days, you’ve been in and out of it since then, but you haven’t been able to retain much,” May told him, as she ran a hand through his curls, “the doctors say it’s just because of a bad concussion, and it won’t be permanent.”

“So you’ve told me all of this before?” Peter asked, feeling unnerved.

“Just bits and pieces, this is the longest you’ve managed to keep your eyes open so far.” Mr. Stark said.

“That sounds exhausting,” Peter mumbled, screwing up his nose only to find that there was something shoved up it.

“Don’t pull at that.” May said, gently guiding his hand away, “it’s just something to give you a little extra oxygen and a tube to give you nutrition.”

“Why do I need oxygen?” Peter asked. “I was in a car crash.”

“You were pretty beat up from the accident,” May said calmly, too calmly, she was obviously trying her best not to cause him any worry, “there was a piece of- uh, a piece of metal that stabbed you.”

“Ok,” Peter said, hoping that he appeared calm enough for her to continue, how had he reacted to this in the past? Had he been told about it before? How much of this was actually news to him?

“It pierced your lung and caused it to collapse,” May said, “they called it, uh, a pneumothorax.”

“Oh.” Peter said.

So… he’d had a collapsed lung, that wasn’t too bad, right? He’d heard about them before, sure, they were dangerous, but he was in the hospital and being cared for, surely that meant he was safe.

“You’re taking this better than last time?” Mr. Stark said, looking pleased with that fact.

“How did I take it last time?” Peter wondered.

“Ugh, there was some panicking, from you and me,” May admitted, “you were convinced that you were suffocating.”

“But,” Peter paused, feeling unsure of himself, “I’m not, right?”

“No, but you did lose a lot of blood, so you’ve had a few transfusions and you should be weaned off the oxygen soon.” May told him.

“It’s weird.” Peter mumbled.

“What is, sweetie?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Peter didn’t hear her reply, the sweet call of sleep was too much to resist, he fell into a peaceful slumber with the sound of May and Mr. Stark talking soothingly somewhere in the distance.

The next time Peter woke up, he was in darkness. His heart instantly jumped into action as he panicked and forgot where he was, the beeping from the monitor caused a dark mass to move from beside him.

“Hey, calm down, Underoos, it’s just me.” Mr. Stark. “You’re safe, you’re alright, it’s all ok.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter gasped, using the dim lights from some of the machines to focus on Mr. Stark’s face.

“Don’t apologise,” Mr. Stark said, quick to reassure him, “you’re in the hospital.”

“I know.” Peter said. “I remembered this time.”

“Oh, thank god.” Mr. Stark said, falling back against the chair in relief, Peter heard the small exhale of air from the force of hitting the backrest.

“I was just speaking to you and May?” Peter murmured, confused.

“You were, but you’re on some pretty hefty painkillers, Kiddo, you fell asleep for a few hours after that.” Mr. Stark told him.

“I don’t like feeling so tired.”

“It won’t be forever,” Mr. Stark said reassuringly, “in fact, your healing factor is doing amazing things for you right now. You’ll be home before you know it.”

That was right, Peter was Spider-Man, he had a healing factor that had probably saved his life. Happy, though, he didn’t.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter waited for the quiet hum to continue, “how is Happy doing?”

“He’s stable, he’s in the Intensive Care Unit, but they’re optimistic that he’ll be able to step down in the next day or two.” Mr. Stark said.

“Oh,” that was good, not that he was poorly enough to need the ICU, but that he was improving at least, “and May? Where is she?”

“She nipped home about an hour ago to grab a shower and some food, I promised to stay with you until she gets back.”

“Thank you.”

The next time Peter woke up, it was light, and the annoying tubing that was blowing dry air up his nostrils was gone. As was Mr. Stark. May had taken his place, curled up on an uncomfortable looking chair, with a book in one hand and a travel cup of coffee in the other – Peter could smell the faint hint of bitterness in the air, she was drinking coffee. That wasn’t like her, May said that coffee normally made her feel jittery.

“May?”

“Oh, sweetie, you’re awake,” she said, tossing her book aside and unfurling her legs so she could rush over to his side.

“This isn’t the hospital?” Peter was sure of that; he couldn’t smell the antiseptic in the air or hear the beeping of thousands of machines anymore.

“No, you’re stable enough that Tony managed to wrangle a transfer to the Med-Bay, although why they had to wait for you to be this stable is beyond me.” May muttered. “You have S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best doctors organising your care, they were looking after you in the hospital too because of your abilities, you could have been moved earlier.”

“I don’t need their best,” Peter mumbled, “I’m doing fine.”

May didn’t confirm or deny his statement, maybe she didn’t want to jinx anything or worry him, “do you want to try eating something?”

“Do they have jello?” Peter asked.

“Do they- of course they have jello, you do realise that this is Tony’s compound, right?” May asked with a teasing smile.

“Fair point,” Peter mumbled, blushing as May helped him sit up in the bed. Was he really so weak that he needed assistance to sit?

Ow.

“Too much?” May asked.

“No, it’s fine,” Peter lied, but he didn’t want her to overreact and lie him back down, he was hungry, “how long has it been since I’ve eaten?”

“A while, but they put that tube in your nose to make sure that you could still get some nutrients, because it just so happens that your metabolism means that you need quite a high intake.” May said. “Imagine my surprise at only hearing about this now.”

Oops.

“I, uh-”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to lecture you while you’re recovering.” May said, waving away his attempts to cover his ass. “Now, sit still, don’t do anything stupid, I’ll be back in a moment with your jello.”

“I never do anything st- well, not intentionally.”

“This is a bad idea,” Mr. Stark muttered as he pushed the wheelchair, “like, a really, really bad idea.”

“Shh, if you speak too loudly someone will catch us.” Peter said, scolding his mentor.

It had been two weeks since the accident, two weeks since one of the most difficult experiences of Peter’s life. It was, however, one of the best days Peter had had since the event. He’d been struggling a lot with pain and lethargy, every medical professional had told him that it was perfectly normal, and that he was lucky to have survived, but Peter was growing restless.

He supposed that it made sense to be taking a while to recover when he shouldn’t have made it out alive, but he was Spider-Man, it shouldn’t be taking so long.

He’d wanted to be discharged from the compound, May and Mr. Stark had wanted him to stay in bed, they’d compromised by waiting until May left for work and Mr. Stark smuggled Peter into a wheelchair and promised to take him to visit Happy.

“Maybe someone should catch us.” Mr. Stark muttered.

“I swear, if you’re planning to sabotage us…” Peter let the threat hang in the air.

“You’ll what?” Mr. Stark asked. “Throw your jello at me? Tell on me? Kid, you won’t do anything, and you don’t need to, I’m not sabotaging anything.”

“How is…” Peter paused. “How is Happy?”

“He’s doing well, considering everything,” Mr. Stark said quietly, “he’ll be glad to see you.”

Will he? Peter wondered, it’s my fault he got hurt, I was the one he was picking up from school.

Peter had been told the details of the crash; he knew that it was no fault of Happy’s. A drunk driver had run a red light. It had been that simple and yet, that complicated.

So, logically, there was no blame to be placed on Peter, but then, it was Peter’s fault Happy was in the car; he knew that Mr. Stark would argue with him if he voiced that belief, so he kept quiet, he wasn’t ready for any reassurances, nor did he deserve them.

“Alright, we’re just in here.” Mr. Stark said, as he pushed Peter into a dimly lit room.

Happy had suffered a bleed on the brain thanks to the accident, apparently, he was still getting severe migraines and they were triggered by harsh lights and loud noises.

“He’s sleeping,” Peter whispered, “should we come back later?”

“No.” Mr. Stark hadn’t been the one to answer that.

“Happy?” Peter asked quietly.

“Long time no see, Kid, you’re late.” Happy mumbled, Peter vaguely registered Mr. Stark stepping out to give them a moment.

“Late?” Peter asked, unable to stop the smile from appearing as he grabbed the wheels and pushed himself closer.

“Yeah, I was expecting your annoying face to appear days ago, I never thought I’d get more than 84 seconds of peace.”

“You missed me.” Peter realised.

“Now, don’t go putting words in my mouth,” Happy said, “I most definitely did not say that.”

“You did, you missed me,” Peter repeated, “that’s ok, I missed you too… I was, uh, really worried about you.”

“I was worried about you too, Kiddo, you alright? You don’t look yourself.” Happy said.

“I’m good, much better now than I was.” Peter said.

“Hmm.”

“Happy?” Peter asked, resisting the urge to lean forward and shake the man, “Happy? Uh, Mr. Stark!”

“What? Oh,” Mr. Stark had burst into the room when Peter had called, only to pause and look understandingly at him, “he’s just tired, Pete, he can’t stay awake for very long at the moment. Don’t worry, he’s just sleeping.”

“Oh,” Peter said simply, as he stared at Happy’s prone figure, “will he ever be back to normal?”

“Time will tell,” Mr. Stark said honestly, “the doctors seem optimistic, but they’re sure to let us know it’s a cautious optimism.”

“Can I go back to my room?” Peter asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Yeah, of course you can, Underoos.” Mr. Stark said gently, turning the chair to push Peter out the room.

Peter closed his eyes, he could still see Happy lying there, looking so still in the bed, so pale… so-

No.

He was alright, he had sassed Peter, he wouldn’t have done that if he was as bad as he looked. Peter hadn’t realised how much he missed that attitude, how much he missed bickering playfully with Happy.

He missed the older man, the guy who had become such a daily staple in his life. Had he taken his presence for granted? Was that why this had happened? As some sick cosmic way to tell Peter he needed to appreciate those in his life more? Peter didn’t know, maybe there was no reason for any of it to happen, maybe sometimes shitty things just occurred.

Peter knew he should be focusing his questions on the drunk driver – the guy who had managed to walk away with a few lacerations and a broken arm, the man who was at fault had suffered the least. Was Peter a bad person for wishing that guy had been hurt more? Not so much that he had died, but just enough so that he would understand what he’d done to Peter and Happy. Maybe he was, maybe he was too vindictive to be Spider-Man.

“There’s a lot of thinking going on in that head of yours.” Mr. Stark said as he pushed Peter, “care to share?”

Peter shrugged, changing the subject, “this isn’t the way to my room, where are we going?”

“I figured you could see the common area before going back to bed, I stocked that fridge with jello too,” Mr. Stark murmured.

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t really want to run into the Avengers, not today.” Peter said, feeling guilty for not being excited about Mr. Stark’s kind gesture.

“You won’t, they’re all out on a mission.” Mr. Stark reassured him. “The only person you might bump into is Rhodey, and even then, that’s a slim possibility, he’s meant to be in the gym doing his physiotherapy.”

“Alright then,” Peter said quietly. That wasn’t so bad – he liked Mr. Rhodes, he’d met him a few times and he’d always met Mr. Stark’s chaotic energy with his own deceivingly calm one, they were funny to see together, “as long as there’s lime jello.”

“You’re a really weird kid.” Mr. Stark said.

“So you keep saying.”

“Who even likes lime jello?”

“I do,” Peter said with a pout.

Mr. Stark wheeled him into the common area, it was large and empty – just as promised.

“So,” Mr. Stark said, clicking the breaks on so he could go rootle about in the fridge, “what’s on your mind?”

Peter shrugged, staring at the tabletop until a green pot of jello slid in front of him, followed by a shiny metal spoon.

“Eat up, there’s plenty more where that one came from,” Mr. Stark said, “I’m telling you no one likes lime jello.”

“Well, I do,” Peter mumbled, peeling away the foil lid and crumpling it in a fist, “it’s the best flavour and it’s even better that no one else likes it because then I get it all to myself.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.” Mr, Stark said, taking a seat opposite Peter with his own pot of red Jello – so Mr. Stark was a strawberry guy, that figured.

“What are you trying to do?” Peter asked, narrowing his eyes at his mentor.

“What do you remember from the car accident?” Mr. Stark asked.

“Nothing.” Peter lied.

“Hmm, nope, I’m not buying that,” Mr. Stark said, “you’ve been having nightmares, you keep zoning out, you’re refusing to talk about anything to do with it… you remember.”

“Did May put you up to this?” Peter asked as he slurped jello off the spoon, trying to distract himself from what Mr. Stark was asking about.

Smoke… he could smell smoke all around him, and the sticky odour of engine oil mixing in with something metallic and…oh. Blood. Someone was bleeding, was it him? or Happy? Was Happy even alive? Was Peter?

“-concerned, like me, Underoos,” Peter blinked and tried to focus on Mr. Stark’s words rather than the memories of that afternoon, “we want to help you, we want to do whatever it takes to make you feel better.”

“Mr. Stark, I had a collapsed lung, numerous broken bones, contusions, lacerations, a concussion that caused me to lose days from my memories, and I needed multiple blood transfusions.” Peter said. “I get you guys want to make me feel better, but I almost died, there’s a good chance I would have without my Spider-Man abilities.”

“So, you feel like you shouldn’t be alive?” Mr. Stark asked.

“No…well, kinda, not like I wish I’d died or anything,” Peter was quick to reassure him, “just, if I was meant to die, didn’t I cheat?”

“Cheat?”

“Yeah, like I should be in just as bad shape as Happy is, but because of my abilities I’m sitting in the common area eating jello with you while Happy can barely stay awake for a five minute conversation. It feels unfair, he should be the one sitting here with you.”

“You want to swap places?” Mr. Stark asked, but Peter could tell he didn’t expect an answer. “Kiddo, you can’t think like that.”

“Why not? Don’t you want the same thing?” Peter wondered.

“Of course not!” Mr. Stark’s voice was loud and verging on shouting, it hurt Peter’s still tender brain. “I don’t want either of you to be in Happy’s position, and just because you can heal, doesn’t mean that you aren’t affected by the crash.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry for shouting, kid, but you’re not, you’re wishing you could swap with Happy.” Mr. Stark said. “You’re wishing for further injuries because you feel some sort of misguided guilt over what happened.”

“It’s not misguided!” Peter snapped, dropping his spoon on the desk with a clatter.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Stark asked gently, too gently, Peter broke.

“Happy should have never been there, I shouldn’t have been ten minutes late, I could have walked or got a bus or a taxi or swung over, I could hav-”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Mr. Stark interrupted. “Slow down, take a deep breath.”

Peter copied Mr. Stark’s exaggerated deep breaths, mimicking the man like he used to as a kid – back when Ben would applaud him for wearing one of his old suit jackets that hung down to Peter’s ankles and tripped him up as he paced back and forth in front of the TV quoting Tony Stark’s clean energy speeches.

“Peter…kiddo…you can’t tell me you think this was your fault?”

“Why not?” Peter asked numbly. “It was.”

“No, it wasn’t, it was George Hendersen’s fault. No one else’s.”

Huh, George Hendersen. It was such a normal name, the kind that a father, brother, son would have. Peter wondered how many people were left confused and pained over his actions? How many members of his family were trying to deal with the knowledge that he had gotten behind the wheel of his car, drunk?

“Why did he do it?” Peter asked, tears falling without his permission.

“Oh, kid,” Mr. Stark said, abandoning his red jello in favour of kneeling beside Peter’s wheelchair, “look at me-” he paused, waiting for Peter to comply, “I don’t know. I wish I did, I really do. I wish I could give you an answer that would make all the pain and fear make sense, but I don’t have anything to tell you.”

“I hate him.” Peter said, the words pouring out without any bite thanks to the sobs that escaped with them. “Is that wrong of me?”

“No,” Mr. Stark said, “hate is a real strong emotion, and my therapist would probably say it’s dangerous to hold onto hate, but personally I hate him too.”

“I wish he hadn’t done it.”

“Me too, kiddo, me too.” Mr. Stark said quietly, before holding his arms open, “come here.”

Peter fell into them easily, breathing in the familiar scent of cologne and grease, Mr. Stark wouldn’t let George Hendersen hurt him or Happy again.

“What do you mean he got community service?”

Peter’s head jumped off the pillow with a protesting throb at the shriek that seemed to pierce through his walls and door.

“May, calm down,” Mr. Stark’s voice was quieter, he was trying not to wake Peter, not that it mattered now, “you know I’m going to get Pepper and my best team of lawyers on the case.”

“How the fuck could this happen?” May asked, only a fraction quieter.

“He’s rich, white, and has connections.”

“He nearly killed two innocent people!”

Peter carefully slipped his legs out of bed, toeing on his slippers and inching towards the door.

“He will pay, even if it kills me, I’ll make sure that he pays for what he did to Pete and Hap.”

Peter opened the door, alerting May and Mr. Stark to the fact that he was awake. They cast glances at each other meaningfully before their expressions smoothed out, they were planning to keep it from him.

Did they think that he couldn’t handle this? That he would break down at the thought of his almost murderer walking about normally? His only punishment being that he was losing his free time to help clean the streets of New York or something. Would they even suggest rehab?

“Hey, morning Peter, I thought I’d drop by on my way to work,” May said with her familiar, easy smile.

“Look at you, up on your own!” Mr. Stark said looking proud. “How do you feel?”

“My leg aches a little, where the break was, but otherwise I’m alright,” Peter mumbled, looking between the two of them, come on, come clean and tell me.

“Well, sit yourself down, I’m making breakfast and you can take your painkillers.” Mr. Stark said.

“You’re making breakfast? You?” Peter asked as he hesitantly took a seat at the table.

“Hey!” Mr. Stark protested, flicking some pancake batter Peter’s way. It landed on his nose. “I’ll have you know I’m a great cook. Back when the Avengers were an actual team, me, Cap and Bruce would make huge meals. We could have fed an army; trust me Cap would have known.”

“Do you miss those days?” Peter asked, taking a sip of the glass of milk that was placed in front of him; Mr. Stark didn’t let him drink coffee. Apparently, he had his hands full enough without a caffeinated Spider-Kid sticking to his ceiling, Peter hadn’t mentioned that he had never been on the ceiling in the Compound…at least not that Mr. Stark had seen.

“Sometimes,” Mr. Stark replied with a shrug, “but I prefer these days more.”

May smiled, seemingly understanding whatever Mr. Stark had meant by that.

“You’re weird.” Peter declared, wiping the milk moustache away with the back of pyjama top’s sleeve.

“Peter!” May scolded in exasperation. “There’s a stack of napkins right there.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.”

Peter bluffed his way through breakfast and made his excuses to leave and shower as soon as he thought he would get away with it – too soon and they may have realised that he had been listening to their conversation.

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Peter asked quietly.

“Yes, Peter?”

“Uh, if I asked you to look someone up, would you tell on me?” Peter asked, feeling like a little kid trying to convince an older sibling not to tattle to mom.

“It depends on who you want me to look up and what information you would like to know about them.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

“Oh, ok, so theoretically if I asked you to look up someone called George Hendersen, would you tell MR. Stark about that?” Peter asked.

“Yes, George Kieran Hendersen is on the list of people you are not allowed access to, and should you request it I will be forced to send an alert to Mr. Stark’s cell.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him.

“You haven’t though, right?” Peter asked quickly. “I wasn’t asking you to actually do it, I said ‘theoretically’.”

“Correct, the alert has not yet been sent.”

“Great, uh, thanks F.R.I.”

“No problem.”

Peter groaned and shoved his face in his pillow, of course Mr. Stark would put safeguard in place, this was the man who had created the baby monitor and training wheels protocols.

He knew Peter, but… he didn’t know Peter’s friends.

Peter pulled out his phone, typing out a quick text to his best friend:

‘Hey Ned, I need you to do me a favour and look up a George Kieran Hendersen pls’

Send.

Ned was probably at school, but that didn’t stop him from replying in a matter of seconds. Sorry dude, Mr. Stark already said I couldn’t.

Well, fuck…

Peter could have screamed into his pillow.

Blood. There was blood everywhere, it was surrounding Peter, preparing to drown him and he couldn’t breathe. He was covered in the thick dark red liquid. It filled every gap and stained everything around him.

He was in the car, the Audi, but it didn’t look like it normally did. The silver paintwork was coated in the sickening red liquid, and the metal frame was twisted and jagged; it looked sharp and ready to bite Peter.

“Happy, we need to stop, this is wrong.” Peter said, from his place in the back seat.

Happy couldn’t hear him.

The glass shattered.

“Happy, we need to stop, something bad is going to happen.” Peter continued.

He still couldn’t hear Peter, he needed to get closer, Peter pushed the button to release his seatbelt but it nothing happened. He jammed his finger against it repeatedly, trying his hardest to free himself from the strangling hold it had on him.

“Happy, please, stop the car, he’s going to hit us.” Peter begged. “Please! Stop! Stop the car! Stop the c-”

“-eter! Peter! Come on kiddo, that’s it, come on,” Mr. Stark’s voice pulled him from the blood filled, twisted car.

“Misser Star’?” Peter slurred in confusion, before the panic brought him back to consciousness faster. “Blood, I’m covered in blood, and I can’t move.”

“There’s no blood kiddo.”

“No blood?” Peter mumbled out the question in confusion, how was that possible? He could feel it, it was everywhere. He was covered in it.

“No blood.” Mr. Stark confirmed. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you turn the lights up please?”

Peter blinked against the harsh light but allowed Mr. Stark to pull him up into a sitting position, still leaning heavily against the older man.

“Look, kiddo, no blood.” Mr. Stark confirmed.

He was right. “But it was so real?” Peter marvelled, running a hand over his t-shirt, trying to find traces of the red liquid that he had been so convinced was there.

“Nightmares will do that to you, kiddo.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare.” Peter mumbled.

“No?” Mr. Stark asked, “what would you call it then?”

“I uh, I don’t know,” Peter mumbled. “I’m fine though, I’m completely fine.”

“Come on,” Mr. Stark said, standing up and holding out a hand to pull Peter up off the bed.

“Where are we going?” Peter asked.

“Well, me and Happy were having hot cocoa and I figure you’d benefit from joining us.” Mr. Stark said.

“You guys are having hot cocoa?” Peter asked in confusion.

“He’s still getting migraines and I’m meant to be caffeine free after 6pm.” Mr. Stark said with a shrug.

Happy had been improving, slowly but surely, it had been a month since the accident and Peter was physically all better, but he refused to leave the compound until he knew that Happy was better. Thankfully, Mr. Stark had been able to use his influence to organise online classes for Peter to complete the year and May had understood.

Peter was lucky.

Happy was lucky.

So why wasn’t it good enough? Why was he still faced with the nightmares and the memories? Why did he flinch when a car honked its horn? Why did he wish he had taken Happy’s place? Why did he wish Hendersen could feel the same pain they had felt?

“It’s a bit late for you to be up.” Happy commented as Peter sat opposite him, Peter followed his gaze to the clock – 01:21 – huh, maybe it was a little late.

“One hot cocoa coming right up, peppermint free for the spider.” Mr. Stark announced as he rummaged in the fridge for milk.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Peter lied to Happy.

“Yes, you could,” Happy corrected, “you just couldn’t forget.”

“Can you?” Peter asked.

Maybe 1am was the time to be honest, maybe when the safety of daylight was gone, the night-time allowed them to be vulnerable with each other.

“No.” Happy said gruffly. “Honestly, I can’t forget any of it, and I’ll never stop feeling sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Peter asked, frowning to himself.

“For not stopping in time.” Happy said.

“The light was green; you were right to go.” Peter said, staring at Mr. Stark’s back as he did so, he couldn’t meet Happy’s gaze. He couldn’t look him in the eye while knowing that he was the reason that the accident had happened.

“I saw the truck coming.” Happy said. “I just couldn’t do anything in time, I couldn’t stop quick enough or swerve out of the way. I could have killed you kid, because I couldn’t do anything other than panic.”

“Happy…” Peter paused, trying to work through everything that he’d just heard. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard you say, and you told me you hate froyo.”

“Yeah, me and Hap have been trying to work through his misguided guilt over the accident.” Mr. stark said, placing a mug in front of Peter.

“It’s not misguided.”

“You’re right, it’s completely unwarranted.” Mr. Stark said.

Wait. What?

“Happy, no,” Peter interrupted, “you don’t need to feel guilty, none of this was your fault. It was mine. I should have been on time after Decathlon practice, I should have been ten minutes earlier and then we wouldn’t have been at that intersection at the same time as Hendersen, I should have gotten to the tower some other way. You are Mr. Stark’s head of security; you shouldn’t be chasing me around the city or chauffeuring me back and forth between here and Queens.”

“Kid, Happy is the only one I would trust with you.” Mr. Stark said. “Both of you need to get off your self-sacrificial high horses and accept that the only person who should be taking any blame for this is the guy who decided to drive whilst drunk.”

“Tony told me you were trying to look him up.” Happy said quietly.

Peter’s gaze shot to Mr. Stark who was purposefully looking at the countertop, he knew? Why hadn’t he said anything?

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. you’re a traitor.” Peter mumbled.

“I did not tell Mr. Stark about your theoretical enquiry.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him.

“You didn’t?”

“No, she didn’t, it was Ned.” Mr. Stark said.

“Ned?” Peter asked, betrayed by his own best friend.

“Yeah, he’s worried about you, you’ve been dodging his calls, ignoring his texts and then you randomly messaged him asking him to trace the person who hit you and Happy.” Mr. Stark said. “I think he’s pretty right to be worried.”

“I’m fine.” Peter said.

“No, you’re not.” Mr. Stark interrupted.

“I am.”

“You’re not,” Happy said, “and I know, because I’m not either.”

“You- you’re not?” Peter asked.

“Not at all, Kiddo.”

Two long, difficult months had passed since the accident. Peter was doing fine, he really was, despite what Happy and Mr. Stark said. He was going out as Spider-Man for a couple of hours each evening, he was meeting his friends once or twice a week and he was planning to ask MJ on a date.

He was fine.

Sure, he was still having nightmares, he refused to get in a car, and he would freak out at the sight of blood – which in retrospect made being Spider-Man slightly more difficult, but he was doing fine.

He didn’t really understand why he was still having so many ‘problems’.

He was alive.

He should be grateful for that; he knew that Happy was. Happy was even driving around the Compound, he wasn’t quite at the point where he could drive the streets of New York, but he was certainly doing well within private grounds.

May had brought up the subject of him moving back into the apartment a few times, and Peter wanted to, he really did, but every time he ventured into the city there were cars everywhere. They were loud, their tyres would screech, and horns would blare. Even though Peter wasn’t in them, he was scared.

He knew he was worrying everyone.

He was worrying himself.

“Peter, this isn’t your normal patrol area.” Karen said, interrupting Peter’s thoughts.

“I know, K, I just have something to do here,” Peter mumbled, as he scaled a building, eyes fixed on the balcony that he remembered from his computer screen, “it won’t take long.”

“Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your detour?”

“What? No! why would I want that?” Peter asked, irritation staining his tone. Why was everyone so ready to snitch on him?

“Just in case back up was required.” Karen said. “But your wishes have been noted.”

“Thanks, I promise, we’ll be back to our normal patrols soon.”

By normal – peter did not mean normal at all – he meant a short patrol in a low traffic area of town. He wasn’t ready to handle car accidents and hijackings just yet. Soon, but not right now.

The door to the balcony was slightly open, obviously the man inside hadn’t expected anyone to climb up to the seventh floor, after all, why would he?

“No, no, no, Jennifer, stop, think about this.” A man pleaded, he sounded so normal.

“I can’t do this anymore George,” Jennifer said, “I just can’t, you don’t even have any remorse.”

“I have plenty of remorse!” George shouted. Peter flinched. “I’m not allowed to drive anymore, my job laid me off, you and the kids have been so distant lately and that fucker, Stark, is still coming for me.”

“They’re all consequences.” Jennifer said. “That’s not remorse for your actions.”

“What more do you want?”

“I want you to look fucking sorry, that kid you hit? Stark’s intern? He’s the same age as your daughter.”

“I know that!”

“Why don’t you care?”

“He’s fine, he’s got Stark’s money, he won’t even care at this point.”

“This is about money?”

“No, it’s about you being a fucking judgemental bitch when you’ve made mistakes.” George shouted.

“Yeah, my biggest one was marrying you!”

SLAM

Huh, maybe Hendersen wasn’t as happy as Peter had thought, but still, he wasn’t as guilty as he’d hoped. He didn’t even seem to care that he was drunk driving, he only cared that he had been caught.

“Hey, Karen?” Peter whispered.

“I’m here.”

“Can you tell Mr. Stark that I’ll be home early tonight?” Peter asked.

“Sure thing.”

Peter had meant to confront Hendersen, to shout at him and tell him how much his actions had hurt Peter and his family, but now it seemed pointless. If Hendersen’s wife wasn’t getting through to him, why would he care what Peter had to say? Why would he care that Peter was still traumatised and scared? He wouldn’t.

Peter had heard the cocky edge to his voice, he knew that nothing he said would break through. It was pointless.

But peter wanted to be better.

Thwip

He wanted to be the old Peter, the one who had carelessly thrown his backpack in the car and jumped in behind it. The one who knew accidents happened but never thought that any would happen to him.

Nobody ever does, Peter thought bitterly, as he ran out of trees to swing from and resorted to trudging the last few miles to the Compound.

“Hey, Pete,” a metallic voice said from beside him causing him to jump nearly a mile out of his skin, why hadn’t he heard him approach? Was he that off his game?

“Mr. Stark.”

“Karen said you’d be early.” Mr. Stark said, the suit retracting so he could walk beside Peter.

“Yeah, I told her to.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mr. Stark asked.

Did he?

Not really.

Yes.

“I went to Hendersen’s apartment.” Peter admitted. He heard Mr. Stark’s sharp inhale, but was grateful that he wasn’t interrupting, instead he was letting Peter talk. “I know I shouldn’t have. It was stupid.”

Peter pulled his mask off, he was on the Compound grounds, there wouldn’t be anyone going about to see him.

“It was.” Mr. Stark agreed.

“I didn’t speak to him.” Peter said. “I just stood outside; he was arguing with his wife.”

He has a wife, and kids, he’s such an ordinary man.

“Did it help?”

“No.” Peter said simply. “I want to hate him. I wanted to talk to him and make him hurt as much as I did, but then I heard him talking to his wife and I don’t know anymore. I don’t think that any amount of talking would help. He was a bad guy.”

“It’s not fair.” Mr. Stark said.

“I don’t know what I wanted.” Peter admitted. “I guess I’m just fed up of feeling like this.”

“Scared?”

“Always.” Peter mumbled. “It was a car accident, people have them all the time, why can’t I just get over it?”

“because you’re a kid, and it was scary and it’s not something you’re going to be able to forget about quickly.” Mr. Stark said.

“I should be stronger.”

“You’re plenty strong.” Mr. Stark said. “You’re the strongest kid I know, in fact you’re stronger than most adults.”

“But-”

“No buts on this on, Underoos.” Mr. Stark said.

“Aren’t I making your life harder by being here though?”

“Not in the slightest, I love having you here, just ask Pepper and May.” Mr. Stark said. “I’d keep you if I could.”

“I’d stay if I could.” Peter admitted. “I’m scared to go back to May’s.”

“Have you thought anymore on my offer of therapy?” Mr. Stark asked.

“I have…” Peter said, hesitating, he didn’t want to take Mr. Stark’s money, but… “I think I want to go for it.”

“I’ll support you every step of the way, Kiddo.” Mr. Stark promised.

“I know.” Peter said. “I heard something else at Hendersen’s… he said you were going after him?”

“Damn right I am,” Mr. Stark said, ruffling Peter’s hair, “he hurt one of my closest friends and my kid.”

#peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #Iron Man #MCU #marvel #hurt peter parker #car accidents #Irondad and Spiderson

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

Text

a promise of ice cream

Karen really, really hates needles. But she really, really loves Janis. And ice cream. And the combination of the two of those might just convince her to go through with it.

Trigger warning for needles+phobia of needles.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Janis chirps, her foot landing on Karen’s window seat as she pulls herself through the open window. “I know your mom doesn’t like me coming in through the window but I parked Sabrina round the side and I cleaned my boots before coming so I won’t get any mud on your seat. Again.” She jumps off the seat and hops over to Karen’s bed. “You know, my aunt dated this guy back in the 80s and she came in through his window at like, 3am. I read it in her diary-” Her voice trails off. Karen is pressed far into the corner of her wall, hidden behind as many stuffed animals and cushions as she could get her hands on. She’s clutching her oldest and most precious one-the stuffed rabbit she got as a baby-close to her chest, and the giant floppy dog Janis won her at the carnival a few weeks ago is stretched across her lap like a barrier between her and the cruel outside world. Amidst the mountain of satin and fluff and wool, her face is pretty much the only thing that’s visible, her perfect white teeth biting into her pink lips nearly hard enough to draw blood and her face chalk white, dark smudges under her eyes she didn’t bother hiding with concealer.

She knows why she’s like this. Of course. There’s a reason she came in through the window bright-eyed and bushy tailed and full of enough joy for the both of them, even if cheer is normally Karen’s forte. Because today’s the day Karen’s getting a needle.

There was no getting around her mom. She had given Karen most of her shots as a baby and in school, but her dumb anti vax dad and stepmom (sweet lord, the stepmom) refused to let her get her ovarian cancer shot and hid the leaflet from her mom, distracting Karen and telling her it wasn’t that important anyway. Now her dad’s out of her life for good and Jen has checked Karen’s medical records and tried to break it to Karen as gently as possible that she needed another shot.

Apparently, it hadn’t been pretty. Apparently it had involved Karen screaming, really, truly screaming and crying, dropping to the ground and begging, begging her mom not to make her go through with it. But Jen refused, of course. Karen and her health mean absolutely everything and then some to her mom. Janis can relate, of course.

And Janis is the only reason Karen has agreed to go. That’s the deal; Karen will go to the Evil Doctor (her words, not Janis’) as long as Janis goes with her to hold her hand and they have snuggle time later (again, Karen’s words). Janis didn’t have any plans for today, but even if she did, she’d cancel them all in a heartbeat to be by Karen’s side.

“Come on, Kare-bear,” she says, reaching past her fortress of fabric to poke her cheek. “The sooner we go the sooner we can come back and cuddle.”

“No.”

“Karen,” she sighs. “I know you don’t want to. But it’s important. It’s so you don’t get sick.”

“Maybe I want to be sick,” she says, a feeble attempt at malice. “Maybe I like being sick. When I got sick last year you came over and watched movies with me.”

“Not this kind of sick, babe,” she tells her, stroking underneath her wide, fearful eyes. She dampens down the impatient flare she feels inside her and scoots up to be as close to Karen as she possibly can. Her heart aches for her, her girlfriend who normally has enough joy to power their school, pushing herself into the bedroom wall in an attempt to make herself disappear and curling in on herself. There’s another, unspoken reason why Karen’s mom allowed Janis to come with them and that’s because Janis is probably the only person able to talk Karen into coming. So she lowers her voice as much as she can, using the soft and gentle tone she reserves for Karen and Karen only. “It’ll only take five minutes and I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”

“I don’t want to,” she says quietly, holding Bunny closer to her chest. “It’s gonna hurt.”

“I know, darling, I know,” she whispers. “But it’s only going to hurt for a little minute and then it’s all over. And then we can come back and cuddle all day long.” She frowns, her resolve weakening.

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Janis holds out her little finger and Karen, breaking out into a smile, wraps her own baby finger around it.

“You can’t break pinky promises,” she says sternly. The smile drops as soon as it came and her lips roll into a thin line. She takes tight hold of Bunny and begins twisting him around, making Janis worry she might rip his little head off. “Can we get ice cream when we’re done?”

Janis takes a look outside the window; despite the sunshine, February seems reluctant to give way to spring. Grey clouds promise rain and the extra sweater Janis wears on top of her long sleeved shirt and beneath her heavy jacket proved wise. Still, if it makes Karen happy…

“Of course we can,” she promises, dropping a kiss to her nose. “So… are you coming?”

“Yeah.” She pushes her animals away and throws her cushions off her, littering her floor with them. They’ll deal with that when they come back. Her legs are unsteady as she stands and her hair flies off in every direction.

“Come here,” Janis laughs, lifting a comb from Karen’s table. She gently rakes it through her golden locks, running her hand down where she’d finished, and clips the front section back with a sparkly hairclip. She taps the tip of Karen’s nose with her finger. “Beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” she replies, slipping her hand into Janis’. It’s cold and stiff from trying not to shake, but Janis won’t press. Instead she looks back at Karen’s bed, at the abandoned teddies strewn across the covers.

“You know, you can bring Bunny with you,” she says. “I know he makes you feel safe.”

“No,” she says with surprising force. “I don’t need him.”

“You don’t?”

“Nu-uh.” She shakes her head, blonde hair moving to and fro. “Only babies take their toys to the doctor’s. And I’m not a baby.” She looks at Janis sheepishly. “Right?”

“Right,” she echoes, dropping a swift peck on her lips.

Downstairs, Jen paces the kitchen on the phone, regarding the two of them with a brief wave. If she was worried about Janis coming in through the window, she doesn’t show it, too invested in the phone call. By the looks of things, it’s isn’t good, and Janis instinctively pulls Karen closer, her thoughts immediately jumping to Karen’s dad. He may not have contacted them in over a year, but she knows that doesn’t mean he won’t try again.

“No I understand,” Jen says, shooting Janis an apologetic look. “Yes I know it’s important just… Karen’s got a doctor’s appointment now. In ten minutes.” Her voice trails off as the voice on the other end of the phone hammers on, chipping away at Jen’s resolve bit by bit.

“Everything okay Jen?” Janis asks.

“Fine,” she replies in a low voice, turning the phone into her shoulder. “Just emergency clients coming into the office and I didn’t expect to be called in today so I never requested today off and I can’t seem to get out of it-”

“So I don’t need to go!” Karen beams. “We can do it later.”

“Oh, you’re going,” Jen says, running a hand through her hair, the same shade as her daughter’s, but stopping just past her chin. “Maybe if I can push it back or-”

“I can take her,” Janis says, making Jen stop dead in her monologue.

“Janis, no!” Karen hisses in her ear, half-angry, half-desperate.

“Are you sure?” Jen asks.

“Completely. I have my truck so I can drive her.” Karen shakes her head and Janis tries to ignore the fury in her eyes. She’ll be paying for this later, no doubt. Jen on the other hand almost goes weak with relief and comes over to clap Janis on the shoulder.

“Janis Sarkisian,” she says. “Do you save the world every day or just on Saturdays?”

“Only when it’s important.” Beside her, Karen glares daggers at her. Daggers that are probably pink, sparkly and strawberry scented.

“I am not talking to you,” she announces in the truck. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she keeps her face forwards, looking out at the road.

“You just did.”

“Damn it!” she squeaks. “You tricked me.”

“No, no I didn’t.” Karen pouts, keeping her eyes off Janis, and she lets out a sigh, the smirk melting from her face. “Look, Karen, you need to get this shot. It’s important.”

“My dad said it wasn’t!”

“Your dad is an asshole!” Karen shifts in her seat, her eyes moving down to her lap.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. So your mom needs you to get this shot because your dad didn’t get it for you. And I need you to get this shot because I want you to be healthy because I love you. Okay?” She doesn’t miss how the corners of her mouth turn up at her admission. But she also doesn’t miss how her hand moves seemingly subconsciously to her upper arm, or how her smile drops and her eyes grow wide and how her chest moves as she takes in a slow breath.

“I don’t like them,” she admits in a small voice. “I don’t like how it feels.”

“No one does, Kare-bear,” Janis replies softly. “But I’m going to be there the whole time, okay? You just hold my hand and look into my eyes and it’s over before you know it.” Karen stays quiet and Janis can see the cogs of her mind moving in the unique way they do, a way that’s uniquely Karen. People think she doesn’t understand, but Janis knows she does.

“Can we get ice cream when it’s over?”

“Of course.”

Despite the promise of ice cream, Karen freezes when they pull into the doctor’s office and her steps are slow and fragile as they cross the parking lot. Janis sits her down in the waiting room, slightly crushed at the fact that not even the fashion magazines or colouring books or bright rainbow abacus distracts her. She keeps looking back at her as she checks her in with the nurse. She’s like marble, so white and so still, except for the way her fingers fidget in her lap and for a second Janis actually does consider taking her home, lying to Jen and spending the day watching Karen laugh and hugging her.

She doesn’t, of course, but the temptation is there.

“Karen Smith?” Karen squawks a little at her name. “The nurse is ready for her.”

When Janis tugs on Karen’s hand, she finds it ice cold. She shakes her head, the movements minute, her mouth almost open, protests dying on her lips.

“Hey, hey,” she whispers, tilting Karen’s face to make her look at her. “Remember what I said? Just keep looking at me, just stay with me. It’s okay. Two minutes. One minute, even, okay?” Karen nods, if she could call it that, and rises with Janis, letting her take her down the hall to where the receptionist had guided them. Janis herself doesn’t like doctor’s offices; they’re unnaturally clean and the carpets are ugly and the posters freak her out. But she can handle them well enough, Karen less so. Her nails dig into the back of Janis’ hand, leaving little marks in the skin no matter how much Janis reassures her.

“Hi, Karen,” the nurse greets as they enter her office. That’s another thing Janis doesn’t like about doctors and hospitals; how fake the demeanours are. There’s a big juicy pay check behind every smile. “If you just want to come in here. Your friend can come in too.”

She doesn’t need to guess which one’s which, not with Janis whispering comforts into Karen’s ear and the other girl clinging to Janis like a lifeline.

“Girlfriend,” Karen corrects. Despite the terror leaking through her hand, she manages to puff out her chest a little, a proud smile on her pink lips. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Coming for moral support?” the nurse teases, not unkindly.

“She promised me ice cream,” she replies, turning to Janis with a grin. It warms Janis to see it, however shaky it is.

“Lovely. So just pop yourself up on the table there for me.” Karen goes over, still mostly with Janis’ help, and lets Janis get her up on the blue table. She can feel the nurse working behind her and makes sure to keep Karen’s eyes on her. “And can you take your little jacket off for me honey?” Karen’s hand brushes over her jacket. Janis was there the day she bought it, cut off below her chest, dyed pink denim and little star-shaped buttons. Karen nearly died when she saw it on the rack.

“I like my jacket,” she replies, her voice cracking.

“I’m sure you do, hon,” the nurse replies, taking a break from preparing her stuff to look over at Karen. “But I just need you to take if off for a second so I can get at your arm, then you can put it back on, okay?”

The word ‘okay’ barely leaves Karen’s lips, but she does as she’s told and takes off the jacket, even if her movements are slow and robotic. Janis brushes her hair away from her shoulder, her arm brushing against her chest as she does so, and she feels the frantic thud of her heart and the shakiness of her shallow breathing. Her shoulders, her whole body is so tense Janis fears she may snap in half. She only has minutes and does what she can, kissing her forehead and telling her she’s okay and running her fingers down her hair, but nothing works.

Then the nurse brings her rickety little metal cart over and Karen dares to look, and she catches sight of the sinister silver tip, glinting in the artificial light.

And she snaps.

“No.” She shakes her head firmly, her shoulders wriggling under Janis’ grasp, her chin wobbling as she starts shaking her head. Her voice starts small, just a fraction of a whisper between her and Janis, but it builds. “No, no, no, no!”

“Hey, hey Karen, look at me.” Karen fights back and she’s pretty sure that if she didn’t have three layers of clothing on, there’d be scratches on her arms. Still, she’s stronger than she is, and manages to at least hold her in place, trapping her legs between hers and taking her shoulders firmly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you hate it. Just one little pinch and it’s over.”

“I don’t want to,” she whines, tears forming in her eyes and running down her cheeks. Janis bites back some of her own. “I-I don’t want to.”

“I know.” She smooths away her hair. “I know, darling. But just one little pinch and then it’s all over. Remember what I said in the truck. Come on, what did I say?”

“You said… you said um… you said to just hold your hand and look in your eyes and it’ll be over.”

“That’s right. That’s right okay?” She grabs hold of Karen’s hand, trying to give her whatever strength she can. Karen’s eyes move to the side, to where the nurse is, but Janis takes her chin and moves it ever so slightly. “Hey, hey. Don’t look at her look at me, okay? Just look at me. Deep breaths come on. Remember how I taught Gretchen? In for eight, out for eight, okay?” Karen nods, matching her breaths to Janis’ as best she can. Janis rests her forehead against hers, bumping their noses together. “That’s my girl.” As subtlety as she can, she gives a nod to the nurse, who stands awkwardly behind Karen with the needle ready.

When Karen flinches as the nurse wipes down her arm, Janis kisses her forehead.

When Karen gasps when the nurse plunges the needle into her arm, Janis lets her hold her arm as tightly as she needs, breathing steadily against her as the nurse pushes the syringe down as quickly as she can, but not quick enough.

When the nurse presses a little cotton ball into Karen’s arm and fastens it with a little piece of tape, Janis tells Karen that it’s over, whispering how proud she is of her and that it’s over, it’s over, she’s okay.

And when the nurse leaves to let them have a moment of privacy, Janis lets Karen sob into her shoulder.

“I am never, ever doing that again,” Karen declares. They’re stretched out on Karen’s bed, Janis leaning up against the headboard and Karen’s head in her lap, Janis’ hand doing lazy circles on her stomach. On the way home, Janis called into the grocery store to make good on her promise; a pint of mint chip for herself, a pint of raspberry ruffle for Karen and a pint of honeycomb to share.

“Never again,” she agrees through a mouthful of ice cream. It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s the truth Karen needs to hear. “How’s the arm?”

“Hurts.”

“I’m sorry, love,” she says, kissing her fingertip and ghosting it over the spot where the needle had gone in. “Tell me if it gets too sore to move, okay?”

“Janis?”

“Mm-hm?”

“I’m sorry.” Janis sits up to attention, putting her ice cream down, hoping she doesn’t stain the pillow. Karen looks up at the ceiling with wide and guilty eyes, moving Bunny’s ears forwards and backwards.

“You’re sorry?” she asks. “What for?”

“For being scared.”

“Baby-”

“I shouldn’t be scared,” she says. Janis isn’t sure which one of them she’s talking to. “It’s stupid.”

“It is not stupid.” She shifts herself, pulling her legs up, and Karen sits up and crosses her legs, looking at her through a curtain of tangled blonde hair. Janis cups her cheek, trying to find the right words. “Karen… it’s okay to get scared.”

“You never get scared.”

“Yes I do. I’m scared of spiders. And I used to be scared of Regina, remember?” Karen nods and Janis wonders if she’s thinking of the same thing she is; twelve year old Janis hiding in bathrooms and Karen’s conflicted eyes watching her from the other side of the yard. She brushes it off, bringing herself to the here and now.

“You’re not now though. And you’re not scared of needles. Or your dad. Or your grades. Or the dark.” She flicks the star shaped night light mounted on her wall. “You’re always brave. I’m not. And I wish I was.”

“Okay, come here.” Janis pulls her into her arms, Karen finding her favourite spot, nestled into the crook of her neck. “Don’t worry about being brave, Kare bear. I’ll be brave enough for the two of us. Just like you’re happy enough for the two of us.” Karen laughs into her hair and presses kisses into her neck and on the underside of her jaw. “So when you need to be brave, I’ll be there. I’ll help you.”

“Just like when you need to be happy, I’ll be there to help you,” Karen says.

“Exactly.” She pulls away, ignoring Karen’s small noises of protests, and runs her hand through her hair. “Because you make me very, very happy Karen.”

“You make me happy too,” Karen says before moving in swiftly to kiss her. “I love you.”

“I love you twice,” she grins against her lips.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“Always. Now, want to share that raspberry ruffle with me?”

Karen looks from the carton to Janis, pondering her decision, while Janis thinks about how lovely she looks when she’s thinking.

“Okay,” she says. “But only because you’re my favourite person ever.”

“You can have some of mine too,” she says, feeling a little dizzy. The good kind of dizzy. “Because you’re mine.”

Karen’s mom gets home a little after three, just before Janis is about to text her parents and let them know she’ll probably be at Karen’s all day. She pops her head around the door, finding Karen asleep in Janis’ lap, Janis stroking Karen’s hair with one hand and scrolling through photos on her phone with the other, and three tubs of ice cream on the dresser, each one a different level of demolished.

“She’s still alive then?” Jen asks fondly.

“Just about,” Janis answers, stroking her girlfriend’s cheek.

“Did she have too much trouble?” she asks.

“She handled it,” Janis decides to say, even though the memory of Karen shaking and sobbing makes her flinch.

“Thank you for taking her Janis,” Jen says.

“Of course,” she replies. “Any time.”

“Staying for dinner?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at that dresser. “If that ice cream hasn’t spoiled your appetite.”

“Oh, nothing could do that to your cooking,” Janis says, making Jen laugh. She looks a lot like Karen when she laughs. She nods and shuts the door with a gentle click.

“You’re staying for dinner?” Karen’s groggy voice asks. Her eyes are still closed, her hand closed around Bunny, her legs hanging off the bed.

“Yes I am, Kare,” she says softly, running her hand gently through her hair.

“Yay,” she whispers before falling silent again, her chest steady against Janis’ legs. Janis leans back against the wall, trying not to wake her as she laughs silently, her lips clamped together. “Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“Always will, darling,” she replies, not caring if Karen hears it or not. People think Karen doesn’t know a lot, but Janis will make sure that she knows how much she loves her.

#mean girls broadway #mean girls fanfic #janis x karen #janis sarkisian #karen smith #barrett wilbert weed #kate rockwell #tho i kept picturing jonalyn!karen when i was writing?#nothing weird im just unfamiliar w jonalyn's karen #anyways... i wrote a thing! lookie!

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lottiesfics · 5 years

Text

In My Life (d.d imagine)

Summary: David reminisces his life story with the one girl he will always love, in all of his life...

Word Count: 2629

"Mr.Dobrik, everyone's going downstairs to watch a movie, do you want to go see it?" Karen asked, coming into David's room. "What movie?" He asked her. "Charlie's Angels," She smiled. "I'm okay tonight Karen. Could I just get a blanket? It's a little chilly tonight," David said. At the age of 70, he still had a wonderful smile. "Of course, here you go," She said grabbing the blue blanket off his bed. "If you need anything else, just ring the bell," Karen said, walking away. David put his book down. He sighed as he looked over at the picture of her. She was so giggly, so pretty and so smart. David loved her more than anyone in his life. He thought back to the first day they met. July 18th, 2018. "Oh my god! It's David Dobrik!" shit. David turned around to a swarm of people. Teenagers alike, some even wearing merch, all gathered around him wanting a picture. "Hey! Hey guys!" He said over the crowd. He just wanted a new hat, not a stampede. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Grove security would come around and either a) clear out the group or b) kick David out. David took a few pictures, signed a few articles, and hugged his fans. As weird as this is to him still, he was grateful for every second of it. He wouldn't have it any other way. He had loyal fans who cared about him, and that still wasn’t registered in his mind. Through the mob of people, he did catch eyes with a girl. She was in the way back of the crowd. She smirked at him and looked back at her friends. Then she walked, yet David realized that she wasn't too far, just getting a pretzel. He would look back at her every now and again. Soon enough, Grove security came around and crushed the mob. David thanked them generously, and then went to the pretzel stand. "Hi," He said. The girl turned around and smirked. "Hey," She said. "I saw you in the mob and I wanted to make sure you were okay," He said, his words getting caught on his tongue. She was prettier up close, he was amazed by her eyes and how her smirk made him already feel things he hadn't felt. "Yeah I'm fine, but thanks for checking," She said. "Did you want a picture?" He asked. She sighed and said in the sweetest voice, "I'm really sorry, but who are you?" She started to laugh. She felt terrible like she was supposed to know who he is. "David Dobrik, I'm a YouTuber," He said. He hated using that word. She was immediately impressed. "I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N), that's such a cool job! I work in American Eagle," She laughed. "Hey! Whatever makes the money right?" He said. They went quiet for a while. She was finding him attractive. The way his eyes scanned all his surroundings and how his tongue poked outside of his teeth. "You want one?" She offered him a pretzel bite. "No, I'm good!" He said. Except, David really wanted one. "No, I insist," She said, putting one in his hand. He smiled and thanked her. As he chewed on the treat she wrote down her number, handed it to him and walked away. David didn't waste any time and called her the next day, already setting up times to get her to meet his crazy friends. The memory made David smile. Every time he had Aunt Annie's he thought of her, they once had outside vendor day at the folk's home and oddly enough, they had the pretzels. David got two buckets. One for him and one for her. Even if she couldn't have any. It was the time of night he loved the most, post dinner and his relax time, but tonight he spent it reminiscing. He thought about the first time she went to Vernon Hills with him. October 22nd, 2018. "You know, I hate flying. You are so lucky I appreciate you!" She joked. Except, she hated flying. David thought she was kidding. As Jason, Zane, Heath, and Todd checked their bags, she printed their tickets. "Hey!" David called out to her. "You wanna sit with me on the plane?" He asked. She frowned, "I promised Todd" David nodded and looked down. "But, I can sit with him on the way back." She laughed, to which David smiled. They went through security and got closer to the gate. This was when she started to become quieter. "Hey, you okay?" Jason asked her. "Yeah, planes just freak me out a bit," She dry laughed. Heath frowned and said, "Don't worry! You have a higher chance of dying on a car crash than you do on a plane," He smiled. She smiled and looked for David. Her stomach had butterflies growing in it and her hips went numb. "Gate 24 we are now boarding, first class," The woman came over the speaker. She felt her body tense up. David noticed but didn't say anything, except Todd, did. "What's wrong?" He said. He put his arm around her. "I'm scared of planes," She said. "It's okay, don't worry!" She handed her pass the lady. Her hands began shaking. David caught up with her as they went to their seats. "(Y/N), Is everything okay?" He asked. She wanted to say something snarky like she would but instead was reaching deep into her bag for her Xanax. "Yeah, just one minute," She grabbed her water and took half the pill. "I'm sorry, I'm just really scared of planes." She said, looking at him. Her eyes were watering and she felt tense. David put his arm around her, and she melted into him. "I got you, just focus on me, okay?" David smiled at the scared girl. As the plane took off she buried herself into him. He smiled because he felt important to him. "Ladies and Gentlemen we are up in the air!" She breathed. He breathed. "Okay okay, I'm good." She said, falling back into her seat. David sipped from his water and fell asleep. He didn't know that while he was asleep, she was thinking about him. She thought about how he was so caring, so loving, so ho-. She got scared now, not because of the plane but because she knew she liked him. Vernon Hills was unlike anything she had seen before, she understood why David loved it so much, yet, she also didn't It seemed like nothing was there. She was a woman of her word and did sit with Todd on the way home. That oddly made David jealous for some reason he couldn't understand. Floating back into real time, David took another look at the picture, them in the park. "Hey, you still up?" "Jared! Could you please take this blanket off of me, I'm too hot!" He said to his son. "Sure thing Dad, I was gonna bring the girls today but Madison and Claire are both kinda sick, I didn't wanna chance anything," David was just getting over a wicked cold. "Ah I see, how's your sister?" He said. "She's good, I haven't seen her in a while," Jared said. "I haven't seen her either," David said. Sadie just wasn't the same anymore. "But, I did see the kids recently, John went on a camping trip, Cathrine has a school show next week and Melanie made it on her math team!" Jared said, telling his Dad about Sadie's kids. "I miss them," David said. "What were you doing?" Jared asked. "Just thinking that's all," David said. Jared was talking to him but David was zoning in and out. He thought of the first time he had kissed her. December 29th, 2018. "Dave! Loosen up a bit!" Scott said, tugging at his tie. "I am loose, just tryna get some footage," He said. In all honesty, he was watching her. In the sparkly dress, be talked to by every boy that came her way. "Stop worrying about her, she's fine," Scott said. David scoffed. "I'm not worrying, I'm just-" "Jealous?" Scott said. "Maybe a little," David said. "Well, just go talk to her, vlog her." Scott said. He nodded and walked over to her. "Hey!" He said she turned around with a glass of champagne. "Hey! I've been looking for you," She said all bubbly. It was true, she was looking for him and this made David feel irresistible. The clock read 11:50 pm. "10 minutes until 2019!" She was all excited. "I know! Do you have any resolutions?" He asked her. He wasn't a fan of small talk nor was he a fan of how slowly time was at parties. "You know I always say work out but I never do," She giggled. "Well, why would you need to? You've got a great body, you're beautiful!" He said, catching himself. David didn't wanna ruin a friendship but he also wanted something more. 11:53 pm. "Thanks, Davey," She said, punching his arm. He felt like he was in a movie, he pinched himself to make sure he wasn't in a movie. "What about you? Any new vlog ideas?" She asked him. 11:56 pm. "I wanna try to branch out of the vlogs, maybe a popup shop, more merch. But I also wanna work on myself, you know?" He said. She nodded and sipped from her champagne, "Want some?" She laughed. "Now does that sure sound familiar..." He said, his voice trailing upwards. 11:58. "Everyone gather round!" People started crowding the TV. "Here's to a bright and successful new year!" Zane said, his glass high. "And to meeting new friends!" Matt said, pointing at her. She was wrapped around David as she was a little tipsy. "You know, I should tell you this-" "Dave, it can't wait? Were about to countdown!" She laughed. "10,9,8-" The crowd started. "Meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me!" He shouted over the crowd, "7,6,5-" "That's so sweet!" She said. "4,3,2" "I have to tell you, I think I-" "1, Happy New Year!" Out of pure want, she pulled him close and kissed him. "Like me?" She asked him. Her eyes sparkled and his eyes did too. "Yes." He said simply. "Dad?" David was brought out of his trance. "I'm gonna go now okay? Claire needs me, I'll see you on Tuesday!" Jared said. "Okay Jar, oh speaking of dates, what's today's date?" David asked his son. "It's May 17th, 2066, you and Mom's 45th anniversary," He said smiling. David smiled and nodded. 45 years ago today he married the best woman he ever laid eyes on. "Are you nervous?" His brother asked him. "Nervous? No, I'm just shocked still Toby," He said. As young as he was he could understand little things. May 17th, 2021, it would be the day he would set in stone things with her, things he had been waiting to do since she met her on that fateful day. "Who's ready?" Jason asked walking in. To the surprise of many, David had chosen Jason to be his best man, Jason was like an L.A. father to him. "I am but I'm incredibly nervous," He said. "You are a confusing man!" Toby said. "David, when you see her walk down that aisle all of those nerves go away. You will see her there, in all white and feel all the feelings you felt and those will never leave you," David nodded and Jason was right. She walked down the aisle in white and lace, her arm around her Fathers and the hum of the choir and instruments rained throughout the church. He cried, he knew they would be together since day 1 and this showed 100% how he felt. She was dripped in the thread and moving towards him his heart was full. In all of his life, he loved her the most. Thinking to now, David remembered their honeymoon in Hawaii...and also remembered 9 months later Jared Palo Dobrik. Yes, a honeymoon baby indeed but one of the best babies out there. Jared slept all the time and just loved both his parents. He was a daddy's boy, and the two always got into mischief until the day Sarah Paisley Dobrik came into his life. Sadie was a version of her mother. She was her, and David loved her just as much. Sadie and her mom grew incredibly close and it was the four of them a ride or die. David taught them that family was the most important thing. The family became the most important thing when on August 12th, 2056, when the light of David's life was hit by a car. She spiraled out and it was up to David, at age 60 to take care of her. "David, you are too good to me," she said. "(Y/N), you have given me two wonderful children, which have given us 5 wonderful grandchildren, how could I not give back to you," David fed her soup, read her books, watched movies with her. Even up until the day she died she'd say to him, "You know, I've loved a lot of people in my life. But I've loved you more,". And during that day, November 24th, 2061, she told him how she wanted to be with the family. It was Thanksgiving day! Not to mention her favorite holiday. David gave her turkey that night with a little bit of stuffing. He kissed her and told her that he loved her. He left to go back to the family until he got the call, she had gone into a coma. Of course, he rushed over to the hospital and sat with her. As Jared came with his kids and Sadie came with hers, this may be the last time they'd ever see her. Sadly, she couldn't speak. Sadie cried in her Dad's arms, he shushed her yet tears fell from his eyes. Their lives flash all before their eyes. David mostly, he had lost Jason and now he was losing her. The next day, November 25th, 2061, She passed away. Sadie was never the same, Jared didn't understand and David sold the family house, all in the course of two months. He moved into Sunny rode Old Folks home and lived there peacefully. At the funeral, he'd recite words to their favorite song, an old song, one that most people in the room had never heard. She loved the Beatles and "In My Life" was her favorite song. David couldn't sing so he sat and recited each word, saying what it meant to them. Until the last person had left, him alone, with pretzel bits and a casket. He went home that night and slept the next day. Now, a few years later he was doing much better. Everyone was, it was the process of moving on. It was the process of life. He took one last look at the picture, he placed it on his bedside table and got into bed. Shutting off the light and grabbing the blue blanket, one of the last things he had of her. "You know, in all my life I've loved a lot of people. But I will always love you the most,"

#david dobrik #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik imagines #vlog squad #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad imagines #vlogsquad #vlogsquad imgaine #vlogsquad imagine #vlogsquad imagines #david dobrik fluff #david dobrik sad #david dobrik angst #david dobrik x reader #jeff wittek #zane hijazi

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