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The White Dove Pt 20 - Memories and Mysteries

Full Masterlist here - Got some really cool bits in this chapter and some pretty amazing bits to come with ample more new faces to add to this story.

As always since this is meant to be a prequel feedback is always helpful. Got stuck on ch 30 for a good bit in my own head as I’ve been trying to not overpower the original flow and intention of the series, especially as I add in more from other versions of Spider-Man universes to get to use my favorite bits. (Except for Harry from Amazing Universe as I needed him to be an annoying little narcissistic twerp and not Franco’s more empathetic version for me.)

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“I wished to thank you,” the familiar voice of the Ancient One who had come out of nowhere turned your head from watching a bird daringly creep to the end of a weak branch for a bit of food. “Normally in these matters for the protection of the time stream we repair the damage. Nine others were taken through that tear the machine opened up, who were easily rescued. I chose myself to fetch you, due to our prior meeting I presumed a familiar face could help matters. However I came upon you in discovery of a way to return, so we chose to grant you a chance to follow through your plan, and thankfully the manner upon which you returned to the present healed the tear negating our need to continue the time loop for everyone else while you were away.”

“You, you made the time loop?” you asked in a soft tone.

“Oh yes, to have left the tear open would have invited some rather unsavory characters to take advantage of such weakness our planet was faced with at the moment.”

After a brief nod you said, “I suppose I should be confident that if you can manipulate time and you had faith in me I must be on the right track with my studies.”

Softly she chuckled and answered, “Not many could have interpreted those markings on the casing of the tesseract in the manner you had. Were you shopping?” Curious about why you were alone in the park.

“No, waiting for screams,” you said turning her head making you smirk slightly, “My brother is a journalist, occasionally he has me run lookout. Were I to hear screams I have an alarm to trigger.” Softly she chuckled and you said, “Not certain, by your robes if you celebrate, but are you having a merry Yule?”

The term had a grin ease across her lips, “My, it has been a long time since anyone has mentioned Yule to me. I am Celtic with very few reminders of the home I lost long ago.”

At her you grinned saying, “A fellow Pagan,” making her chuckle to your amused giggle, “You’re the first I’ve met, well, I don’t know if some of my friends from the summer count, them being Asgardian and all.”

“I would count them as Pagan,” she said and you looked her face over again, “You are quite skilled with your magic, mastering it all on your own. Not just anyone could have repaired time and left as little damage to the past as you had. Entrusting another magical being and leaving only intrigue in Howard Stark, who would have only honed in on every minute detail of the encounter. I wouldn’t wager SHIELD would have a record on you have you not researched their databases yet.”

“I read about the explosion and forest minimally before our trip to the southern Americas. I suppose had I known more I would have made more damage. What did I break?”

With a pleased grin she answered, “Aside from the flock of Chickadees out of place in Texas who refuse to migrate there was a horse care encircled company one of those boys to whom you gave that silver dollar to created after your interaction.”

“Oh, he’s not some villain now is he?” Making her chuckle.

“No, actually his grandson has improved a variety of medications for equine care. Truly you planted the seed for the love of horses within his bloodline, quite admirable, granted him a dream to get him through the war to not be so depressed on the road to ruin and despair. So, not damage so much as you left seeds of intrigue. They also abducted Tony Stark.”

“That would have been disastrous,” you said making her chuckle again.

“He was the first we removed. Made a bee line straight for his father armed to the gills in the middle of the Cold War.”

“He would have set off a nuclear winter, can’t imagine them in the same room together, that would be dangerous.”

“I shall leave you now to the task at hand, in all things there is one fact upon which we can hold to. We must always strive to be a constant within uncertainty. No matter the view of others, we must hold firm, even when others would declare us wicked.” Your eyes looked up at hers, “I might not know the intricacies of your past or motivation, however I can see the corrupt. Each of us must find our own paths, I am proud to know mine has veered within view of yours. Had we been born of the same age this could be a friendship to savor for lifetimes to come.”

“At least now I seem to be capable of maintaining friendships without being the one to put my friends in the grave.”

To herself she chuckled and replied, “I swear to you, you will not be responsible by any means of the moment of my death.”

“That’s not as comforting as you imagine it to be,” you said making her chuckle again and turn to stroll off.

“A Bountiful Yule to yourself.” Echoed from her the words faded into noises of the park around you. The bird again in the tree in search of the elusive snack drew your eye to cover her vanish into a new portal out of the same spot she had arrived from.

“Got it,” Eddie said having snuck out of the office Venom helped him get into. “Any trouble on your end?” he asked at the footprints in the snow at your side that simply stopped not far away.

“The Ancient One,”

“Ah, monk lady,” he said with a nod.

“Apparently they were behind the time loop, kept the universe safe while I found my way back, the atom connected to the mechanism healed the tear the first machine created.”

“That is both impressive and agitating.” He replied after a moment.

“Apparently they were busy finding Tony Stark, who was also abducted and chose to head straight for his dad, as Iron Man during the Cold War.”

“That is terrifying,” he muttered.

“Exactly what I said,” you giggled, “Apparently he took up plenty of attention and my creating Chickadee’s legend and giving breadcrumbs for Howard to map the element wasn’t terribly damaging so they decided to give me a chance to get myself home. What would you get a man who sold his sold his soul to the Devil then outran him to keep from giving him too much power for a gift?”

“Cowboy, right?”

“Texas Ranger.” You answered and he cocked his head to the side.

“Let’s go see what’s open.” Luring a grin across your face in the start of a shopping trip that had you later in your apartment boxing up a leather jacket and a cow patterned tea kettle with matching mug set. To replace the spotty one you guessed he still might be limping along with these decades later paired with a ceramic chickadee figurine then turned your focus to what Eddie had found. Antique mother of pearl handled dueling pistols in a far from valuable state that to your skill with weapons were pristine again with holsters around the wooden case to be added inside the box. Just tape and an address confirmed by one of your bees that he was still there had the package off to be over-nighted to your still shovel wielding friend.

*.*.*

Almost 80 years inside the same cottage, and huffing to a singed thumb off his kettle still staggering along on its last leg, Carter Slade turned the volume up a bit more on his radio. Glad to have another day beyond the time loop. Mid sip of his coffee the squeak of brakes had him walk to his window and shift the curtain to see a package delivery van outside.

“Hmm,” he said leaving his metal handle free mug on the counter littered with yet to be read editions of papers out of New York a friend had sent him. The wall behind him with shelves of books and scrapbooks alike held stands of magazines and framed clippings and images of a long since seen friend with many faces and names. From those with Bucky and one with Howard Stark drinking and playing poker for those as Chickadee and several more without that alias. Tabs had been kept from afar and became a calming hobby for his worries for their safety.

“Carter Slade?” the driver asked in an uncertain tone, “Please tell me I’m in the right place. Don’t get many cemeteries on the route.”

“I am, and you are.” Carter replied and gained a relieved huff in return as the visitor strolled across the snowy path. Watching as a particularly sizable box was brought out of the back of the van to be carried over to the designated recipient. Carter held that with one arm propped on his hip to sign the confirmation of delivery form by means of a matte grey slate on the end of a handheld device with the stylus provided. “Thank you. Happy Holidays,”

“Happy Holidays,” the man replied and looked around when he turned around.

“Take a right at the headless angel and a left at the marble tiger, take you back out to the main road.” Carter said in a turn of his own.

Nodding as the man replied gladly, “Thank you.”

Back to his cottage he walked catching sight of Banshee, to whom he rumbled as the van drove away, “Wonder who sent us a box old boy.” Inside he went to settle the box on the table and flicked a knife from the sheath on his hip he used to slice through the tape then sheathed again. Laid against the sides the freed flaps were pressed to make the man smile at the shipping sheet inside, upon which the sender was named, “Pluto Pear.” Chuckling to himself he set that aside and read your note inside a bird themed card.

‘Hey Caretaker,

I do hope you are doing well. Just back myself, hope the time loop was not too hard on you and Banshee, how some people I know kept the world from tearing apart while me and others were gone. I am not exactly certain the right things to say.

It’s not much, but I imagine you might be in need of a few things, the rest aside from one might prove more useful than fun. Then again you never seemed the one to have a flat screen tv and be up for a box set of films. If you are, let me know, been building a list of a few favorites I have discovered since I got loose.

To you Carter and Banshee I wish a bountiful Yule and Happy New Year,

Always your friend,

Chickadee’

Low chuckles escaped him in unfolding the newspaper used to wrap the chickadee figurine he added to his bookshelves, then came the holsters and pistols he inspected feeling these were more a gift for his Rider. His other half who expressed great glee in the anticipation of first use of his own gift. Setting that aside he brought out the wrapped kettle and mugs his smile split wider in moving to the sink to wash before using, just leaving the jacket for last he eased on, pleased at the perfect fit.

Out the uncovered window he locked eyes with Banshee to say, “Banshee, we’re going to New York to give an old friend a gift.” Excitedly the horse whinnied and paced around outside in the snow while Carter readied a bag. Over Banshee’s back secured to the saddle the shotgun and holsters loaded with the gifted pistols were tied, straight to the airport he went, knowing he could not take his weapons onboard, his steed would keep them safe while Carter flew across the country.

*.*.*

“Might I trouble you a moment?” A gravely croon you would know anywhere turned your head with a splitting smile from the display of books you were assembling to the standard of the author for a book available in the morning people at the counter up front left and right were snatching up reservation cards to have theirs saved for them out of the first shipment.

Carter Slade saw your sweater and jean clad self in boots tied over thick socks to your knee covering slices in the lower half of the jeans, to him seemed more suited for work than your having to go to fight in a dress and heels as you’d been forced to.

Into the pocket of your apron you slipped the again folded sheets of notes on specifications to face your old friend who smirked at being noted to be wearing his new jacket you gave him. Settled in his palm was a book he showed to you, “Any more books on birds? Have an odd one in the graveyard keeps coming around, can’t source it.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a picture?” Out of his pocket he pulled a polaroid he showed you making you smirk and show him to the section on nature. The proper book on the obnoxiously loud bird was handed to him. “Glad it fits,” you said making him chuckle and lock his eyes on yours again.

“As am I, tore my old one, and thanks to you I have burned my thumb the last time for my morning brew. Rider appreciates the pistols too. Took some work to get them shining again, he can tell by the look of the case, and the figurine is adorable. Thank you, brought you a gift too, outside with Banshee. Don’t need to understand him to know hugs from me didn’t come close to enough.”

“I just have to finish the display, then I’m off.”

“Small park a block over, take your time. No need to rush. I’ve got plenty of it.” He said making you chuckle in his path to the register with his choice of books.

Two days since Christmas and usually crowded streets were gradually gaining more and more bodies by the hour the closer to noon, unlike the seemingly noise free pocket of a growing garden for the community that fed into an open walkway filled park. Atop a bench he waited, with a plaid blanket wrapped bundle his hands rested upon and the book he purchased open to read up on his noisy neighbor. “Do you want to befriend it or scare it away?”

The book was shut and he said, “Befriend it, I think. But he is bothering the mocking jay on the other side of my place. Been nice for the families to not see only crows in the graveyard.” At his side he set the book as you sat down to lift the blanket wrapped bundle, “Before you try going about apologizing or making up for how we said goodbye, open up your present.” Softly you chuckled and he rumbled, “You’re not so easy to shop for either, half useful half fun, with a dash of mystery.”

Gently the top fold of the blanket was eased back to reveal the top half of a fox fur bag that had you let out an awed scoff before you folded the rest back. Clearly it wasn’t used or cheap either, the designer bag was checkered patches of orange, grey and white fox fur. “This is a Prada bag.”

“Well, I’ve had some decades to save up. Hardly none of the bag companies make a decent fox fur bag like the one you have, and this was the only one with ample pockets.” He said making you giggle excitedly. “This old dog’s got ears on him.” At him you smiled and then looked down to tilt the bag upright and lift the snap to reveal the hidden zipper revealing leather bound scrapbooks and plastic wrapped magazines.

“What is this?” you asked easing it all out to lay on top of the bag widening your smile curiously at the word ‘Chickadee’ etched into the front cover you opened with lips parting at the first of many articles on your older persona making him smile proudly at you.

“You know, I’ve been around for some centuries before we met, and I have to say, the eight decades since are the best yet. Rarely do I get to watch a legend grow. Now I have my own copies, but I’ve kept tabs. How it all grew, people coming to that little town asking how it all happened to those aiming to find answers on some supernatural level.”

Page to page you flipped for ones he wanted to show you his favorites until he eased the book shut and brought out the first of the plastic wrapped magazines. “And this one, might be of particular interest to you.” He said as you unsealed the plastic to bring out the boxing magazine dated as covering the championship.

Like a time capsule every page was detailed with information on the tournament until it came to Bucky’s information followed by a picture of your meeting. Mention of a mystery woman noted to have died in the explosive change of the city, by word of Howard Stark, photographed again smiling in equally as happy Bucky’s arms on the dance floor. “They wrote about us?” You asked glancing at him and he nodded turning your focus to another magazine covering Bucky’s death as well with a cover tagline depicting two lovers being reunited in the afterlife. “Oh wow,” you muttered making him chuckle.

“Quite the story it’s evolved into. Most of it fluff to sell tickets for tours around your park. Every now and again I go up to mess with the tourists to ride around for some flashy pictures keeping the tale alive. Some say Chickadee and Barnes are alive and hiding inside that barrier in their own private Eden. People leave tokens, come to just be around it when they want a story to believe in.” Up at him you looked and he said, “So imagine their surprise when Misique comes on the horizon. Bona fide grandbaby to seal the nail in the coffin they ran off and had a super powered baby together, same barrier, same mushroom clouds that generate not obliterate. Now Misique’s got family, internet is picking up on it since the trip you took.”

“That’s an interesting twist,” you muttered.

“Though this one,” he said bringing out from inside his book the playbill on you dancing in the Nutcracker and magazine on creating the Blackhowls made you giggle and accept it and the pen he drew out of a pocket. “This one’s for me. Got a few friends out here who send me copies when your names pop up.” In a clear spot you signed them as he said, “Knew it would take some genius to show Stark a thing or two. Turns out you did a sort of dance of your own, you learn from his future, which you shaped, he sees you do one thing and it changes his career forever solidifying him worldwide as a genius. Stark rode your coattails to billions.”

“Flattering as that is it means they could have been inspired by my forest to make the atom bomb.” His arm bumped yours breaking the serious look that flinched across your face.

“Men are bound to take a bushel of ideas and see what makes the biggest boom. That atom, he couldn’t make it and the atom bomb was the closest they got. Nuclear power is the closest they got to what one man saw you do all on your own, no tools, just you. No matter what they’ve said about Misique, you are so much bigger than that, they will blow this place to bits but like the Rider, you tip the scales and restore balance.”

A chime of a clock from the bank that turned his head had you ask, “In town just for today?”

“No,” he said with a chuckle, “Friend of mine by the name of Johnny Blaze let me stay in his place out here. He’s flying in later, said he’d get me tickets to his show, you wanna meet him? I can get a ticket for your brother too, want him to meet you.”

“Am I right in guessing how you met?” you giggled out making him chuckle.

“Newest Ghost Rider. By far the dumbest by what I can tell.”

“So four of you now then? Take it he doesn’t have a horse,” you said smiling in Banshee’s head dropping over your shoulder after his materialization behind you out of impatience. Eager for you to hug and stroke his head and cuddle back against his tiny friend, enjoying the attention and conversation.

“Nope, motorcycle, ape hangars, with flames.”

“Not nearly as fun or majestic,” you said smiling at Banshee’s head leaning more into your chest making him smile wider in a low chuckle.

“Nope. But, he’s dumb enough to have promise. And he’ll be back in my territory so I can keep an eye on him and not let him spoil your city.” Apples for Banshee were manifested inside your bag to offer him before a tight hug was given to Carter when you both stood up. “And no thank you’s for the gifts. Don’t do thank you’s or sorry’s today. Not from you. I will get your number if you’ll let me,” out of his jeans pocket he brought a sidekick phone like yours but in black and grey that had you smile wider to his comment of, “Got a sliding phone and everything. Came with Pacman on it, couldn’t resist.” Into that you saved your number and a promise to see one another for the show and dinner after.

Blissful Afterlife, Together Forever, Star-crossed Lovers, just a few of the terms liked to Chickadee’s ghost and Barnes’ name. Countless articles on top of this magazine edition based solely upon the iconic doomed couple resembling others like Bonnie and Clyde, Hamlet and Ophelia or Romeo and Juliet quoted various sources. This one contained quotes from Bucky himself and his family members.

‘Q- We noticed you not only won the championship, but also made a connection with a certain young lady.

A- “Impossible,” Barnes chuckled to himself in a smooth of his hand over the back of his neck. “Only word I can think of for her. Had I not met her before the tournament I’d just have assumed I dreamed her up from a blow to the head. She, Chickadee, young woman like her, you don’t just meet, you don’t just find them like others just milling about. There’s a haze, like in those stories wandering into some forbidden forest, a mist, and there she is. Like you’re the one not meant to be there, cuz you can’t be, she’s impossible, I’m possible. And all I’ve been asked since is what do I think? Is she really gone?” Barnes shakes his head in another chuckle, “One day, I’m gonna turn a corner and she’s gonna be there. I know, somewhere on every dance floor, every hotel lobby, she’s inevitable. One day I’m gonna turn a corner and she’s gonna be there. Can’t tell me otherwise.”’

Just a picture of Bucky smiling proudly in his uniform amongst that quotation was a near tear stirring tale of his passing.

‘Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th Infantry is now marching amongst his fallen brothers in arms up to those pearly gates. We remember him with great solace but unimpeachable joy in the fact that upon reaching those gates he will turn a final corner to find his treasured Chickadee there. Ready to offer a hand and from that moment forever to be entangled in his arms the pair shall dance to the beat of their destiny.’ Again that smiling picture finished off the article with the dates of the lovers deaths.

A chuckle over your shoulder had you lift up off the counter in the candle shop you were manning the front while others were on lunch alerting you to Mariah who had a basket of candles she had been choosing with gradual looks and steps your way since she had entered. “Studying up on old magazines?” She asked in a playfully curious tone to not let on she knew the man in the picture who from pictures you had given had a past with you recorded by SHIELD.

“Oh, a friend I met in Texas gave me this,” you said showing her the magazine she set the basket down on the counter to read the whole article.

“This looks just like you,” she said and stole a glance up at you between pages. The nickname of the woman sparking up memory of a highly questionable file within SHIELD’s records Howard’s son had been delving into lately to both get answers on his father and Misique’s assumed mother.

And you forced out a giggle to say, “Oh yes, just me, built a time machine just to go back and dance Captain America’s best friend,” the comment had her chuckle and you said, “I don’t know. Apparently Howard Stark got the notion to stumble across the atom bomb technology by watching her mushroom cloud but he gets all the credit for all of that and Chickadee gets a tragic love story.”

“Well it’s certainly not fair. This is well known in Texas?” She asked with a brow ticking up a moment hoping to learn more on the mysterious figure.

“This town, the Welterweight Championship was held there, then the war kicked off not long after. Now I suppose if she was there to fight with the Howling Commandoes might be more than just an old love story of a woman who exploded into a sea of chickadees like another article says. And my friend found hundreds of them.”

The words you said absently caused her brow to twitch mid break of her grin she fought to bring back out to not concern you at the major secretive wartime actions of said fabled doomed heroine. She closed the magazine taking note of the brand and issue date and watched you ring up the candles she had chosen. “At the time I think a good tale of a soldier finding peace after falling in war would have helped the mood back home. Especially considering it was Captain America’s best friend, and the Cap had just gone down in the ice.” She caught your glance back at the magazine and asked, “You think he’s cute?”

That had you giggle and roll your eyes, “The man taught me to box, fly, parachute and dive,” you said parting her lips, “Told the Cap as much and,” you shook your head, “He’s got nice eyes, but he’s more like a brother if anything. I’m a bit surprised they haven’t even tried to track him down yet if Cap cared so much about him.”

“How is he supposed to find a supposedly dead man?” She asked.

“Think like a dead man. I mean, motivation, necessities, and goals. Start from there and work your way backwards.”

“We don’t exactly get training on how to think like dead men in our military systems.”

After tilting your head to the side you replied with a breathy chuckle, “Suppose it takes a dead person to know one. My whole entire past is a graveyard it seems.” In another glance up at her you said with a grin, “Part of my therapy is not dwelling in denial. Brutal honesty only stings for a while with an open wound. But don’t worry, after lunch I’m going to break into my history of ship building and seafaring in relation to fishing patterns. I think I have a hunch on the ocean floor I want to work on.”

“And, you learn that by a book on boats and fishing?”

“Yes, ocean has layers, you have to take the surface, weather, underwater currents, effects of landmasses upon plant life and the species there. Then you add migratory patterns and territories of creatures, water characteristics,” you said smiling wider a bit realizing you were rambling. “There’s a lot of variables, simply put. Have to add in all the formulas to get the proper answer.”

“What’s the hunch?” She asked with an intrigued smirk.

“Treasure hunting, I suppose you could say,” you said letting out a giggle making her chuckle. “There’s a legendary ship a friend mentioned. I want to try and help him find it.”

“For the treasure inside of it?”

“Ship is the treasure,” you said securing the bow to hold the top of the bag together she lifted. One of a kind, more rumor than fact, but if we could find it, be bigger than the discovery of the Titanic.”

“How?” she asked unable to move.

“Odin’s brother Vili is said to have traveled here upon it for a mighty battle to conquer the great forces wishing to drain the continents of their nutrients and the waters of the world. The ship was lost, but him and his younger brother Ve were victorious, and were returned home upon golden chariots driven by Pegasus steeds the Valkyrie forces sent to fetch them.”

“Thor has been to Earth you know, so you’re saying there could be a spaceship buried on the ocean floor?”

“Doubt it, by the inscriptions I have seen there is no enclosed deck to the ship. More a winged glider than much else.” You said luring out a grin from her. A phone call however urged her away and back into its protective sleeve you settled the magazine you put away and looked up to see Harry Osborn enter with a widening grin.

Right up to your counter he walked to state, “My dad is throwing a New Years party, and we need some candles. Something, light and not too overpowering. Figured you’d know best. We’d need quite a deal of them? Are you free? We plan on outdoing Stark this year. Even invited Johnny Blaze, saw you went to his last show.”

“I can’t stay to ten if it’s a late night bash. A friend actually is having me and my brother at theirs, have bit of a wild goose chase of an evening set up for us. Have to patch some things since the night of the loop for them.” You said widening his grin as you had to relent to some sort of party eventually. It had been a while since the last lunch you had agreed to his father crashed in a ploy to reinforce his future offer of a job when you graduated, and share his notice of your last project and others he had been keeping track of.

It always seemed to be more of a job interview. And just as you expected with little food you could actually enjoy to the small talk of the party prior to, and a bit after, the inedible supper offered you played your part and with Eddie wished the father and son a happy New Year on your way out to the truly planned evening.

Five Symbiotes in all around yourself an old score meant to be settled the night of the loop was put off now had been righted. And when they had split to head home atop a bench near a bridge in Manhattan you sat listening to the sounds of the ocean and the distant city with Venom at your side.

Straight up Venom’s eyes snapped to follow the path of a ship that into the field behind you came to park. Peter Quill out of the lower hatch with eyes shifting all around crept onto the snowy ground aiming himself straight for the only two people in sight.

“Psst,” he whispered and you stole a glance at Venom and looked back at the vintage red leather jacket and t shirt clad man with some odd variation of cargo pants and boots you didn’t recognize.

“Did space man just psst us?” you whispered.

“It would appear so, Sister. That is a Ravager ship.” Venom answered.

“Ah, more of them.” You muttered and looked over the still crouching stranger aimed your way. A bit louder you asked, “Why are you walking like that? You’ve got a Ziggy Stardust shirt on, clearly not your first time here.”

“The ships,” he said and you shrugged making him gesture at the sky, “Last time I came there were three ships invading the planet.”

“Oh, right, ya that wasn’t an invasion.” You replied making him pause then hurry the rest of the few feet to crouch behind the back of the bench.

“What do you mean no invasion? I saw them firing on Earth!” He snapped back at you.

“No, see, there was this plan, called Project Insight, meant to protect Earth from criminals, sort of an ‘immediate reaction’ from the outermost ring of the atmosphere to cut down crime and threats,” you said gaining a nod from him. “Only there’s a seedy underbelly of a criminal organization here who wanted control of it, and it got hacked before they could when the ships launched, and all at once millions of criminals in and out of prison were wiped out. No invasion. They scrapped the project since and the ships were grounded.”

“So, Earth isn’t at war then?” he asked hopefully.

“I mean there’s always a skirmish somewhere, but as far as an intergalactic war, no. You said you came on the Ravager ship that flew up the day that happened?” Distantly one of your bees picked up Stark’s suit on its way to your location.

“Ya, my team they tied me up to stop us from helping. Insisted on protecting our cargo we’d just picked up.” He answered.

“Well I should warn you, they don’t believe the criminal organization was able to handle the hack, and the only other suspect was your ship.”

“But we didn’t do it,” he said shaking his head and you pointed to a growing bright dot warning of Stark’s path for you.

“See, that’s Iron Man, and well, he’s sort of SHIELD’s attack dog. He thinks you did it and spent about two years so far trying to kill me without proof or reason to do so. And well, you just landed a ship on the planet unannounced and are talking to me, so that’s three strikes against you so far on his scoreboard.”

“I mean,” he let out a breathy chuckle, “He’ll hear me out, right?”

Venom shook his head, “That would not be wise. Next visit perhaps warn ahead of time.”

“I,” he sighed and said, “Just, tell him I didn’t do it! I’m from Earth! Peter Quill! February 4th, 1962! I was taken by Ravagers, I’d never hurt Earth!” Fast and hard you gripped him by the shoulder to tug him to his right narrowly avoiding a blast aimed at his face. Onto his feet he scrambled, “Thank you, tell them!”

“Will do,” Venom said for Eddie.

Halfway back to his ship he paused asking, “I don’t know your names, what are they?!”

“Misique, Venom,” he repeated after you said them and leapt inside his ship that he powered up and launched to the highest rate or propulsion possible without damaging the ground around it just leaving Stark to halt in a furious hover.

“Spill it Bee!”

“That was Peter Quill, he said he was on the Ravager ship that showed up day of the blip-,”

“And you let him go?!” Tony cut you off.

“Said he was born here, February 4th, 1962,”

“What was the name again?” Tony asked and as you repeated the name he had Jarvis search the databases catching a clear match of a missing child.

“Said he was taken by Ravagers, didn’t specify when, but he was asking about the alien invasion.”

That had Stark land, “Alien invasion?”

“Asked us to tell you he says they weren’t involved, they were hauling a load nearby Earth and saw what he thought was an invasion. Still considers this his home planet and wanted to know about it. Pretty odd but he had an Eddie Murphy jacket, the red leather one and a Ziggy Stardust t shirt on. Unless they sell those in space somewhere.”

Stark opened his visor naming the readout on a missing child under that identity and looked you both over, “And you don’t know him?”

You both shook your heads and Venom said, “We were alone, fairly low risk encounter for one who does not dwell here to inquire information upon the safety of a planet.”

“Nice Badassium core,” you said to Stark making him look you over for what you meant by it. “Looks new.”

“Yes, there was an explosion on the night of the loop, a friend of a friend discovered an atom of it. Handed it over to us.”

“Looks brighter.” You said keeping the giggles you wanted to let free locked inside.

“It is,” he said nodding at the awkward encounter, “All the readings outperform my initial core, just giving it a test drive on performance.” Up from his side his arm rose to point at you both, “Behave tonight.”

“Happy New Year,” you both said pausing his turn to fly away.

“Happy New Year,” he replied snappily urging his mask shut then clicked his heels together to lift off the ground to fly back to his party at Stark Tower while Jarvis shared the intel with SHIELD, now leaving the blip attack possibly without an enemy to blame it on you imagined would automatically revert to you.

Through your joint laughter Eddie teased, “Oh he is painfully pushing to not brag about his new core to you.”

“I got ten bucks says I’m on the news as behind the blip in the morning.”

“They are not going to back step or believe that guy until they have him shackled and interrogated.” Eddie said and nodded his head to the side, “Let’s get you home.”

Pt 21

All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb, @fizzyxcustard

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers, @theincaprincess

@jiminapickle

#Escaped Child Assassin #Eddie Brock #Venom #Carter Slade #Banshee #Presents #Mariah Hill #Harry Osborn #Peter Quill #Tony Stark #Marvel #Happy New Year

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truthliea · 5 years

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tony tag drop, part 1!

#tony: ic. / so‚ you’re a man who has everything… and nothing.#tony: headcanon. / you know who i am.#tony: ch study. / contrary to popular belief‚ i know exactly what i’m doing.#tony: musings. / big man in a suit of armor. take that off‚ what are you?#tony: aesthetic. / i’m your nuclear deterrent.#tony: desires. / i’m prepared to lose a few with you.#tony: visage. / genius‚ billionaire‚ playboy‚ philanthropist.#tony: james rhodes. / you wanna be the war machine? take your shot.#tony: pepper potts. / who’s the hot mess now?#tony: maria stark. / try to remember.#tony: harley keener. / it was worth a shot.#tony: bruce banner. / finally‚ someone who speaks english.#tony: natasha romanoff. / you’re a triple imposter.#tony: steve rogers. / i don’t trust a guy without a dark side.#tony: thor odinson. / point break.#tony: clint barton. / just can’t seem to miss.#tony: peter parker. / so‚ you’re the spiderling.

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accioharry · 2 years

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losing your memory | peter & mj | ch. 1

***NO WAY HOME SPOILERS AHEAD***

He couldn’t talk to anyone about anything—he couldn’t even form words in the comfort of his own apartment to try to speak out loud to Tony. He had no technology, nothing. For the first time in his life, Peter Parker was completely and utterly alone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Until a six year old Morgan H. Stark climbed into the chair across from him and said, “Hi Peter!”

Post No Way Home, somehow Morgan Stark is the only one that remembers that Peter Parker exists.

read here on ao3

Remember (verb): to recall to the mind by an act or effort of memory; to think of again.

Peter never expected anyone to remember who he was ever again.

In the weeks since the fight at the Statue of Liberty, he had gotten quite used to being…and feeling alone.

He grieved May, alone. He watched Happy move on, alone. He watched his girlfriend and best friend get into the colleges of their dreams, alone. He lost everything, alone.

“Just wait. Wait and tell me when you see me again.”

“I promise, I’ll fix this.”

“I really hate magic.”

As time went on, Peter tried to find a silver lining, he really did. He started studying for his GED, even though he was months away from receiving a diploma of his own before everything happened. He found a decent job and an apartment that wasn’t terrible to live in. It didn’t have much, but he could make rent and had a roof over his head, which is really all he needed. He eventually used May’s old sewing machine to make a new suit, because well, the Stark suit just didn’t feel right anymore. It didn’t even recognize him anyways. He shoved it in the back of the closet under a bunch of boxes that held May’s things and left it there. It brought him a small sense of peace to know that when Tony died, he still knew Peter.

But then again, he wondered if Tony could’ve fought a different way to fix things. To make sure none of this didn’t happen in the first place. He would’ve found a way to save May, right?

He often wondered about Peter’s 2 & 3. How things were going in their original universes. Did the spell affect them too? Did Peter 3 make peace with losing Gwen? Did he find his purpose again? One day, Peter would find a way to find them again, even if they were parts of himself, maybe there was a chance they still knew him.

He couldn’t talk to anyone about anything—he couldn’t even form words in the comfort of his own apartment to try to speak to Tony. He had no technology, nothing. He couldn’t call up an avenger for help, at least not as Peter Parker. He didn’t need help as Spider-man, he needed help as Peter. For the first time in his life, Peter Parker was completely and utterly alone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He didn’t realize it was nearly Christmas until the mall a few blocks from his apartment put up a giant Christmas tree in the center of it. He often found himself here before a patrol, sitting at the food court and watching families find gifts for their loved ones. He forced himself to not think about his family...his friends…everyone that simply forgot he existed in order to save the multiverse.

At least, he thought everyone did.

Until a six-year-old Morgan H. Stark climbed into the chair across from him and said, “Hi Peter!”

He choked on his coffee.

#marvel #petermj #petermj fic #no way home fic #no way home spoilers #nwh spoilers #spiderman fic #spiderman spoilers #marvel fic #peter parker fic #peter parker x michelle jones #no way home fix it fic #spideychelle #spideychelle fix #my fics

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milstrim · 3 years

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Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 1: Hand in My Pocket

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter's not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he'd always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn't want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

—-

The red glare of the setting sun set the City That Never Sleeps in a persistent glow as the last of the golden rays disappeared behind the pillars of the city, outlining every shadow. There was the silhouette of buildings, of cars racing along the road, of people stalking down the street in the usual New York bustle, and there was the shadow of Spider-Man as he swung overhead. Not that it was really his shadow.

Where there should have been a perfect replica of the boy clinging to a web as he dipped low (one that outlined his lumpy goggles and rumpled suit) there was instead the poofiness of fluffed up hair and sharp slacks. The movements of the shadow replicated the boy, like they were supposed to, but nothing else indicated that this shadow belonged to the vigilante swinging through the street.

And Peter liked it that way.

Observing the difference between people's shadow had always been a game to the boy, to watch a thin woman walk around while a curvy figure followed her, or too see a little boy being tracked by the silhouette of a tutu and puffy hair. Until very recently, the teenager had loved to stare at his Aunt and Uncle's shadows whenever he could, always fascinated by the way they reflected each other with a broad smile on his face.

Now, though, neither of them had shadows, and Peter didn't smile as often. He didn't feel like there was much reason to. It had been his fault, after all. His fault they'd never get to see flashes of each other when their shadows disappeared in the dark, his fault they'd never walk under the sun with their shadows in line with the other. It was his fault they'd bled out in an alley so dark their shadows hadn't even been there to comfort them as they left.

Spider-Man rattled an anxious, forced breath through his tight lungs as he propelled himself upwards on his webs. He instinctively looked for the taped together watch he kept on his webshooter to catch the time, though he knew he had plenty. Still, after his last time missing curfew at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, he wasn't anxious to repeat the experience. And he did have to swing across the bridge to make his way back to Queens since he'd branched out to Manhattan for the night.

The cracked watch read that it was barely seven, though, so Peter still had a few hours before he had to be back. Mr. Fowler didn't care much what they did as long as they were back before ten, unless it was one of his "days," which really just meant he was as drunk as a skunk and completely willing to smack a few boys upside their head and be unreasonably dickish about the rules. But other than that, Peter was usually left to his own devices to patrol around the streets of his city and try everything in his power to make up for what had happened barely six months ago.

But it would never be enough.

Peter stopped on top of a billboard that clung to the side of a building, landing clumsily and only barely managing to slip his fingers around the poster for a new movie. His world swam--just a little bit--as he regained his bearings. He shook his head at the dizziness that had become a constant ever since moving to live at the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but it wasn't like it was their fault. All the boys were reasonably well-cared for, with regular mealtimes, a generous curfew, and easy access to schools, but they weren't really equipped to deal with Peter.

The teenager held back a sigh as his stomach grumbled painfully. He'd eaten the last of his stash of granola bars that he'd bought after a tourist he'd helped had forced a few bills on him. He didn't like taking money, but he couldn't deny that those bars had helped for the two weeks that he'd made them stretch.

Forcing down a hungry grumble of annoyance, Peter turned to survey his shadow instead, the one that had always been the same. Ever since he could remember. Even when he'd been in kindergarten, there'd been the tall and protective shadow of his soulmate behind him. Despite everything, and despite how selfish it felt, it was comforting to look down and see that familiar crop of hair. He reached a hand up to touch his head, never quite used to the way his fingers brushed up against cloth but the shadow underneath him swept through fluffed up tufts.

His soulmate's hair today was messy, not as poofed up as it usually was. Today must be a casual day for him or something, which weren't very often, but when they did occur they often lasted for days. Other days he could make out the outline of glasses and the sharp angles of clothing that made him think of a business suit, though he couldn't be sure. They were only a shadow after all. Peter wondered what his soulmate thought about his own shadow, if he'd noticed anything odd, but, then again, Peter's shadow probably just looked like he was wearing a hoodie all the time, and maybe what could pass as some pretty obnoxious glasses. He'd used to have those anyway.

Peter tilted his head, enjoying the way the hair on the sidewalk underneath him flopped with him. For some reason, Peter found it very amusing when one had hair showing and the other didn't. It just looked a little ridiculous. Recently, it had been the teenager who had been donning the hoodie over his head, but Peter assumed that his soulmate was usually wearing something too. More often than not, he'd look down to see the hair gone, covered by a sharp outline that really had him questioning his soulmate's fashion sense.

The thought brought a snicker to his lips. He nestled more comfortably atop the billboard. There hadn't been any good action in a while anyway.

"Where do you think we should go next?" he asked aloud, and he didn't know if he was asking himself or the shadow of his soulmate underneath. He didn't know why, but he'd always felt like they'd give really good advice. "There hasn't really been much going on, and I haven't seen any of those alien-weapon guys since the knock-off Avengers robbed that bank. Maybe we could try and find out whoever you are again. That'd be kind of fun."

'Kind of fun.' Yeah, right. It was the only thing Peter looked forward to anymore.

Before, he'd always been excited to graduate, to go through college and apply to Stark Industries, his Aunt and Uncle's smiles egging him on the entire way. He'd looked forward to band and robotics and, while he'd stayed, decathlon too. It wasn't as fun as it had been before, but Ned was still there. Liz too. They were nice, and it was good to see their smiles and hear their occasional pitying encouragement that usually only pissed him off (not that he'd ever let them know, they were just trying to help after all), but they weren't what Peter was looking for.

Then again, Peter wasn't 100% he knew what he was looking for either.

He was pretty sure his soulmate was something to look forward to. Ben and May had always described what it felt like to find your soulmate, to be able to stare at shadows your entire life until you found who you were looking for. You would touch their hand and your shadows would switch, and when you let go, the shadow remained to your universe approved bond again. The satisfaction of finally piecing together the flashes you got whenever both shadows disappeared into the darkness. It was something Aunt May and Uncle Ben had always enticed him about, always encouraged.

Maybe if he could find his soulmate, everything would be better. Everything would be perfect, like May and Ben had always proclaimed.

But that was childish, and Peter knew it. Soulmates didn't fix everything, and meeting his soulmate certainly wouldn't improve his situation. They were a regular person with a regular life. He was a second-rate vigilante that had been orphaned twice. Besides, nothing could really help Peter. Not that he needed help. He just needed to grow out of the system so he could make something that actually felt like life rather than the scraping by that it had become.

By the time Peter moved from his spot, it was because his shadow had dimmed with the entrance of New York darkness. He stood up, barely able to make out the faintness of his soulmate, and flicked his wrist out. He still had a little bit before he had to be back at the group home, so he reckoned he'd be fine. He'd be back in time that Mr. Fowler wouldn't give him another strike and he could still eat dinner. He'd do his homework, go to bed, and the next day would be the same horrible numbness of before.

"Any ideas on where the best crime is, Matey?" he asked his shadow, "Maybe superpowers can leech over to soulmates. That'd be really cool actually. Soulologists haven't been able to prove anything other than memory flashes. We could break that entire field of study if that were true."

His soulmate, of course, didn't answer. But the scuffle of a fight and a warped sound unlike anything the teenager had ever heard, did.

---

Tony glanced around his emptying lab, a tired glint in his eyes as he did. Large portions of the tower had been emptied and organized into large crates as they anticipated the move from the tower to the compound. Most of his lab had stayed the same throughout the process, as staff weren't allowed up here, leaving it mostly up to the billionaire himself to pack up his things. Glancing around at the piles of disheveled work and unfinished projects, he might have to get some help anyway. Or, if he started packing now, he'd have plenty of time to do it by himself.

He turned back to the suit he was working on.

The horribly challenging nanoparticles as part of his newest suit were barely coming together. It was incredibly difficult, which made it the most fun thing he'd worked on in a while, which also meant he'd been working on it for two days straight. It was a good thing Pepper was working in another country at the moment and wasn't there to make him go to bed or take a break or anything worthless like that. Then again, he guessed Pepper wasn't the only one with the power to do that.

"Sir," Friday started, "You are approaching your extent of working without a break. I suggest you go to sleep."

"I'm almost done, girl," he replied at the same moment the gauntlet he was working on sparked. He hissed in pain as he withdrew his newly burnt fingers, his vision swimming slightly. He blinked furiously to clear the dark spots from his sight. "Okay, maybe a break isn't such a bad idea."

"Great choice, sir."

"Don't patronize me," he scolded, grabbing a nearby jacket to throw over his stained shirt and a pair of sunglasses despite the late hour, "I'm taking a break, not going to sleep. Keep the lab running for me, I'm gonna go grab a coffee."

"Might I suggest a calming tea instead?"

"You most certainly may not."

Tony stepped into the brightly lit elevator, staring down at his shadow as he usually did when he was alone. The sight of the usual hoodie brought a smile to his face. His soulmate must have a hoodie addiction as strong as his coffee one, though he usually preferred whenever he could see the kid's curly hair before it was eventually tamed down by what he guessed was a godly amount of hair gel.

His soulmate had turned fifteen recently, he knew. August tenth was the first day he'd had a shadow, one of a tiny baby curled up at his feet. He remembered fondly what it had felt like to look down one random morning and see the dark blob at his feet, the confusion and the joy as he'd realized it moved with him. After thirty-one years, a soulmate of his very own.

He'd loved to watch them grow through their shadows, though his favorite was the little snippets he'd get of their life. Like for everyone else, they were very rare, especially in the bright cities he was accustomed to living in. There was always just a little bit of light somewhere in New York, but he remembered vividly the little snatches he'd managed to get from his soulmate's life when both of their shadows faded into a shade of the dark completely.

A deeply nerdy room with Star Wars posters. The bustling streets of a city. And, more recently, dark alleyways that had made him more than a little nervous. His soulmate was only a kid after all, but it was a bit hypocritical for him to be any kind of judgmental after his own teenage years, and it wasn't like he could do anything.

Other than what he was doing now.

The flashes of the streets he'd seen in his soulmate visions had reminded him deeply of New York (though they could just as easily have been from another city in the States), so Tony had made the effort to go out more whenever he could. Usually he couldn't stay for long, he was pretty busy after all. Still, local coffee shops and street vendors had become frequented by Tony Stark as he'd searched. He knew it was a little ridiculous to parade around the streets of New York City in the hopes that he would stumble upon his soulmate, but after everything that had happened with the team, he could at least try to throw in a little optimism.

The mechanic blinked out thoughts of the broken team as the elevator opened on the empty bottom floor, making his way through the darkly lit lobby and out the door into the streets. Street lamps were lit brightly, and, coupled by the headlight of cars and the alternating colors of traffic light, his soulmate was able to walk alongside Tony as he crossed the road and began down the sidewalk.

"Any recommendations for a good coffee shop, my little shadow?" Tony asked his soulmate. The people on the street paid him no mind, not that it was unusual for people to talk to their shadows. "If you do live around here, you must have at least a few recommendations. Well, I guess you are a kid, but I drank plenty of caffeine when I was your age, so."

He shrugged to himself, stopping at a street corner and pursing his lips as he thought. He'd really only explored Manhattan when looking for his soulmate, but walking across the bridge into Brooklyn and Queens would take much too long. He did want to get back to his project after all.

Tony made a turn, resolving to just find whatever new café he could. Maybe he'd explore Brooklyn or Harlem after the move. Or maybe Queens, he had been wanting to try and meet that Spider-Kid for a while anyway. He'd thought he'd had an opportunity when Rogers and his merry band had taken Barnes and left in Germany, but everything had gone by just too quick and he didn't even know the guy's identity. Not for lack of trying. The guy was pretty good at avoiding cameras, it almost made Tony jealous.

The billionaire walked for about fifteen minutes, passing by every coffee shop he'd already been to in search of a new one. There were plenty in Manhattan, but Tony had been to so many at this point it was a little ridiculous. He stopped, ready to pull out his phone and see where the nearest one he could find was, when he caught sight of a man out of the corner of his eye.

He frowned. How long had that man been following him? A few blocks at least, he recognized that green jacket from when he'd passed by Beany Business.

The light turned from an orange hand to a white silhouette, and Tony hurried across the street. He hadn't brought any kind of weapons with him, and he really wasn't in the mood to cause some kind of scene. If he was quick, he could probably lose this guy and still get to his coffee shop without some kind of annoying disturbance.

Tony allowed himself to be swept up in the crowd of late-goers, moving with them quickly. He let that crowd trickle by and joined another, and then joined one more of a drunk afterparty before finally slipping down an alleyway when he could no longer see the green jacket. He blinked in surprise as he caught sight of a coffee shop just across the street, bright red letters reading 'The Coffee Club.'

He smiled. Perfect.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the alleyway towards the cheap looking café. And then a figure stepped in the entrance, blocking the view from across the street and slapping Tony's easygoing smile off of his face.

The billionaire immediately tensed as his eyes roamed over the green jacket, the covered face, and finally the gun pointed towards him. His eyebrow raised as his gaze rested on the weapon that wasn't really a gun. It was splayed out like a robotic arm, shiny and just a little bit clunky but clearly dangerous.

"Hands in the air, Stark," the man ordered. Slowly, he followed the man's orders. "Phone and glasses on the floor. Now."

"I'm gonna have to move my hands for that," Tony snarked. The man gave him a slight snarl.

"Just do it. Slowly. And throw them over here."

"Sure," he agreed, fishing his phone out of his pocket and taking his glasses off of his face before letting them clatter to the ground. The man kept the robotic gun trained on him as he grabbed the devices, placing them in a pocket in the thick of his jacket. Tony frowned. "So, what is this? A kidnapping? Taking my wallet? Genuinely interested."

"I've been watching you for a while, Stark," the man said, "You go out at night a lot. I knew it'd only be a matter of time before I could get what I want from you."

"And I would love to know what that is. As well as where you got that neat little arm-gun there. Is that Sokovian?"

"Shut up, Stark. I don't need your snark, just some information, and I'll take your wallet too."

"Mind leaving me enough cash for a coffee?"

The gun cocked. "What did I just say?"

"Hmm, I forgot."

"Very funny."

"Thanks, I thought so too," Tony joked. "Anyway, back on topic of what this is all about."

The gun whined and then quickly shot, whizzing past Tony to burn the wall just behind him. Tony turned his head to glance at the large ring of smoke before facing the man in the green jacket again.

"Shut up," he ordered again. "No more words from you unless they're the password into the DODC."

"There's more than just one password. You got a pen? This could take a while."

"No, you're coming with me."

"Oh, so this is a kidnapping."

"I can't have you changing the passwords and alerting anyone of this," the man answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Tony could already count five thousand ways this could go wrong for Green Jacket Guy. One being that Tony wasn't up for being kidnapped at this moment in particular, and he definitely wasn't going to let this schmuck take him while he was just trying to get a decent coffee. "Keep your hands in the air and don't move, or else I'm hitting you with this."

When he gestured to the gun, Tony just gave him a bored look. "You know you're not getting any passwords or anything if you kill me, right?"

The man flicked a switch on the gun. "It's set to stun. It won't kill you, but it will definitely knock you out for a few hours."

"Good to know."

Green Jacket Guy approached, a pair of cuffs poised to slip around his outstretched hands. The man's steps were jauntily hesitant, but clear apprehension didn't stop the man from grabbing his hand and forcing the first cuff around him. He moved to click it around the billionaire's other wrist, but was met with a snapping punch to the face.

Green Jacket Guy stumbled back, a hand pressed against his newly bloody nose in a grunt of clear pain. Tony dove when the man quickly gathered himself and raised his gun, forcing himself behind a trash can as it whined and then fired. The trashcan forced itself against Tony, slapping the mechanic against the wall with a shouted groan, his shoulder barely breaking his fall. That was going to bruise in the morning.

Forced to his knees, Tony scrambled back up only to be faced with the robot-arm-gun pointed directly in his face. It charged up in its now annoyingly familiar warped whine, and there was nowhere to go. He was trapped and he was not excited to be blasted by this thing and if he got kidnapped again Happy was going to have a heart attack, he might as well--

"Hey! Watch where you're pointing that thing!" called a squeaky voice. Tony and Green Jacket Guy both turned as a red blur shot into the alleyway, a thwip! knocking the gun from the man's hand and the red blur knocking into him. The man was barreled to the ground with a pained groan before he was covered in a flurry of webs, the Spider Guy standing over him. "Pointing guns at people is illegal y'know! Sorry to be a party pooper, but I will be calling the police."

Tony blinked, forcing himself to his feet fully as the vigilante turned around, the lenses of his goofy goggles widening in comical shock.

"Oh, whoa."

---

"Oh, whoa," Peter breathed as he caught sight of literally Tony-freaking-Stark dusting off his pants as he stood up. His eyes instinctively fluttered to the man's shadow, expecting the long hair and slim figure of Pepper Potts but catching sight of a short and rumpled man instead. Huh.

"Whoa yourself, kid," Mr. Stark responded, stepping over to where the man was knocked out cold and webbed to the ground. He dug through the man's exposed green jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses and a sleek phone, but Peter's eyes were locked onto the strange gun on the ground. His eyes narrowed at how similar it looked to the ones at the bank. "What're you doing out here? You're a Queens guy aren't you?"

"Oh, uh, yes-yes, sir. Usually, but I was just, uhh, I was just around and I heard the fight and, and yeah..."

Mr. Stark turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised in suspicion as he glanced over Peter's ratty superhero suit. He shuffled on his feet nervously, trying desperately to keep himself still and untense his shoulders, not that it had much affect. The teenager choked down agitation, trying his best to not glance at his watch. It was getting late and, while Iron Man was his second favorite Avenger, the last thing he needed was Tony Stark finding out his secret identity.

"What's your name?" Mr. Stark asked.

"Spider-Man."

"And your real name?"

Peter paused. "Spider-Man. On my birth certificate and everything."

Mr. Stark frowned, and Peter thought he was going to demand a legitimate answer, when he shrugged and stepped away from the guy on the ground. "Fine. You helped me out, I won't bother you about it. For now."

Peter let out a low sigh, muttering, "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

"I am going to bother you about other things though," Mr. Stark said, "I've been meaning to talk to you, and no time like the present."

"Oh, uhh, I kinda have to--"

Peter was interrupted by the painful rumble of his stomach. His face turned as red as his mask, and he was thankful the man couldn't see his embarrassment, not that that stopped the superhero's teasing smirk. With a wave, the man stepped out of the alleyway. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go--go where?"

"Coffee. I came to get a good black coffee and I refuse to leave without one."

Peter glanced down at the guy he'd webbed. "What about him?"

"My AI already called the police. They'll be here soon. Now, c'mon. I'm not gonna ask you twice."

"Yeah, yeah. Ah, okay, Mr. Stark."

---

Peter shuffled his feet nervously, his arms crossed and constantly turning so that he could peer at the time on his watch. Twenty minutes. Not looking great, but it wasn't like Peter could really leave while Mr. Stark ordered his coffee. That would be rude, and plus it was Iron Man, so, overall a bad idea.

He glanced over from where he was leaning against the brick wall of the coffee shop to stare at the clear door. Like a final answer to his prayers, the billionaire stepped out, a drink carrier in one hand and a small brown bag in the other. The man didn't look exactly like he'd thought he would. Tony Stark had always been almost hilariously imposing in his mind, with a sharp suit and a sharper goatee, but this man was softer. Rougher.

His clothes were stained, his leather jacket rumpled, his hair messy and his face worn with the lines of memories. He seemed almost familiar somehow, and it unnerved Peter just as much as it comforted him.

"Here ya go, kid. Black coffee for me, hot chocolate and a snickerdoodle for you," Mr. Stark said once he'd walked over. Peter blinked in surprise, but managed to accept the drink and the bag with stumbling fingers.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, Mr. Stark, but you really didn't have to."

"Billionaire here, Spider-Kid. I can afford a cookie and a drink."

Peter thanked him again and, after a moment of hesitation, pulled his mask up to just above his nose, starting on the cookie. It was almost impossible to not fork it down immediately with how starved he felt. Mr. Stark waited patiently until he was finished with his snickerdoodle to start speaking, and Peter's ears burned.

"So," Mr. Stark started, "New York's benevolent vigilante that directs tourists and saves kittens from trees. Doesn't seem like a very exciting gig."

Peter narrowed his eyes, shuffling on his feet again nervously. What was his game?

He shrugged, taking a sip of his hot chocolate before answering, "It doesn't have to be exciting. I'm just trying to help out."

"Why?"

"Why--why help?"

"Exactly," Mr. Stark pointed, and suddenly he wasn't strangely familiar, he filled up the whole street. "Very few people help just to help, and even fewer dress themselves up in something that embarrassing just to help a few old ladies across the street. Why are you doing this? I gotta know. What's your MO? What gets you out of your apartment and into that onesie in the morning?"

"It's not a onesie," he muttered. Peter forced his fingers not to grip around the cup as images of a bloody street and dying shadows filled his head, instead redirecting the agitation into the scrunch of his face. He imagined he had his usual and embarrassing puppy scowl right now. He tried to release it with a sigh, but he didn't feel much better as he answered. "Because...because I've been me my whole life, and I've had these powers six months..."

Mr. Stark hummed in confirmation, goading Peter on. He swallowed down sick at the image of his aunt's brown hair drenched in blood before he continued. "I...I tried to move on at first. Just, hey! I have powers and I'm just gonna ignore it and showboat it. But...when you can do the things that I can, but you don't...and then the bad things happen..." He took a deep breath as Mr. Stark leaned in closer. "They happen because of you."

"So you wanna look out for the little guy? You wanna do your part? Make the world a better place, all that, right?"

Peter nodded fervently. "Yeah, yeah just looking out for the little guy. That's--that's what it is."

Mr. Stark nodded, his eyes glanced Peter up and down quickly before he asked softly, "And what about looking out for you?"

Peter startled, glaring at the man defensively. Did he just look like shit that much?

"What are you talking about? I'm doing fine."

"You reek of someone who hasn't been taking care of themselves, kid."

"I'm not a kid," he muttered, "And I'm fine."

"Yeah? Your arm's shaking."

Peter glanced down to see that, yes, his arm clutched around the hot chocolate was indeed shaking. Peter switched the drink to his other hand before shoving his arm in the pocket of his hoodie. "Just tired."

"It's barely ten."

"And I've been patrolling for--did you say ten?"

Mr. Stark seemed perturbed by his sudden shift, but Peter couldn't be bothered at the way his voice had lowered and shaken with slight fear or the way his entire self had tensed. Peter tore his hand out of his pocket to glare at the watch on his wrist. 9:57. Shit.

"Shit--fuck!" Peter exclaimed, pulling his mask back down. "Oh, shit. Sorry, Mr. Stark, I gotta go. Thank you so much for the hot chocolate, sir!"

"Kid, wait--"

He flicked out a wrist onto a nearby building, bending to leap when Mr. Stark's hand wrapped around his wrist.

Peter blinked at the odd sensation, holding back a flinch at the unexpected touch and tensing as his vision seemed to leap just a foot to the left before fizzing back to what it had been before. It left him dizzy and disoriented, but he only had a minute to get all the way from Manhattan to Queens. Maybe if he made it home within ten minutes he could get away with it or--

"Oh, my God..."

Peter turned at Mr. Stark's voice, realizing the man's hand was still gripping his wrist. He followed the billionaire's horribly stricken gaze to stare at whatever had left him dumb. Peter's jaw dropped as he caught sight of his shadow. It was his shadow.

The fluffy hair of his soulmate was suddenly gone and, instead, Peter's masked silhouette stood in its place. He glanced down at Mr. Stark's shadow, actions slow and jerky as he caught sight of it perfectly reflecting his own perked up jacket collar and outline of glasses. Carefully, Mr. Stark let go of his hand in a motion that felt like he was testing the waters. The shadows switched. The hooded figure shadowed Mr. Stark while the fluffy hair stood where Peter's shadow once had.

"What the..." Peter trailed off. His breaths felt lighter all the sudden. Fast. Too fast. The street was closing in, the cars passing nearby too loud and too bright and oh God his soulmate was Tony Stark. He swallowed painfully, tears biting at his eyes as he struggled for a breath.

His soulmate wasn't supposed to be Tony Stark. Peter couldn't--Peter couldn't live up to that! Mr. Stark had saved the world and he was an Avenger and he was the smartest man in the world and Peter was just some useless kid who got bullied and had a curfew and Jesus Christ he was going to be so late Mr. Fowler was going to be so mad and--

"Kid?" Mr. Stark asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Peter flinched and ducked away, the cup he'd been holding clattering from his hands as he stood opposite the man. Defensive. A shadow flashed against the man's face.

Peter read it as disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. He shot a web and leaped away, but he could never escape his shadow.

Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

#friendly neighborhood exchange #peter parker #tony stark #spiderman #Iron Man #ironman fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #not st*rker

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interstellarflowers · 3 years

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Professor Parker Ch. 1| Professor, Peter Parker x Student, Reader

a/n this fic doesn’t follow the marvel cinematic universe but assume that peter has been what he’s been through with the exception that tony lived, and bruce is still bruce, sorry but i just can't deal with endgame hulk/bruce rn emotionally or mentally. im sorry nat is still dead but dw i'll actually treat it with respect unlike endgame like goddamn where was her funeral, am i right? the stages of grief thing they did was interesting though. im sorry i digress, this is set in nyc (because heyo im a new yorka) and the avengers/stark tower is still a thing, peter is fucking traumatized and has turned kind of cold as a result. this fic may contain a smut chapter in the future? not sure yet, where this fic goes depends on the feedback, thanks for reading also sorry im not the proudest of this first chapter so ill probably edit it but promise itll only improve from here just not in the best mental state rn

University life wasn’t exactly everything that you imagined it to be. There was hardly time to do anything that people claimed was good about coming to university. The parties, the epic heartbreaks, and romances, they were just nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing particularly extravagant about your experience thus far. You went to class, studied, and went to your internship. Your internship was probably the most exciting thing about your life at the moment, you were lucky to be accepted into the Stark Industries student internship, the company paid college tuition and only required around twenty hours of lab work a week, you couldn’t complain. Of course, the exciting part of the whole ordeal was the name attached to it, “Stark,” not that you had ever met him, but it was nice to have a unique feature like that in such an impressive student body.

So here you were on the first day of your third year of university. You lived off-campus, about a five-minute walk from the Stark Tower, but a twenty-minute subway ride to your campus. However, having an 882 square foot space to yourself was really nothing you could truly complain about despite the distance. The studio apartment being yet another benefit reaped from Stark Industries. Thank you Tony Stark, the unseen benevolent God in your life.

Typically you would start your mornings off quietly and in no rush, a shower, a cup of coffee, maybe some studying before heading off to your campus, but your phone had other plans for you today. Instead of your alarm going off like it was supposed to, you were woken up by the sound of a particularly loud car horn, and oh how grateful you were for that. As soon as you were jolted awake you shifted to grab your phone and turned it over to see an alarming 8:40am glaring back at you.

Holy shit. You were late.

You scrambled out of bed nearly face planting several times in your hurry to get dressed and only barely ran out the door with everything you needed at 8:47am.

By the time you managed to get to the subway and clamor onto the right train it was already 8:55am. Out of breath and panicking, you considered your options. You could explain after class, you could shoot an email, there were a plethora of things you could do but none of them seemed to justify being late as a third-year to a level 500 class. You had googled all of your professors while registering for classes as was common practice. You couldn’t find a RateMyProfessor on Professor...Parker? You were pretty sure it was Professor Parker, but you do remember seeing on the STEM department page that he was currently a Ph.D. student, so you could only hope that as a fellow student he would be at least a little understanding towards your lateness.

You stood outside of the lecture hall huffing and trying to catch your breath at 9:32am, psyching yourself up, you pushed open the door to the class and attempted to go unnoticed. The class was in a lecture hall despite being only composed of around thirty students, so if you were lucky maybe nobody would even see-

“Ms.(y/l/n), I presume?.” Shit.

“Professor Parker?” Shit.

“You are aware that class starts at 9am, and not 9:30am, would this be correct Ms.(y/l/n)?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s just that I had an emergency.” The lying route. Not exactly the highlight of your academic career.

“I regret to inform you that I only take valid excuses Ms.(y/l/n), please take a seat, and next time, don’t bother disrupting class halfway through the lesson.” Fuck. You mustered a quiet “ok,” and a small nod before escorting yourself to the back of the room, thirty-something eyes following you until you sat down.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the class, it was just too embarrassing, time moved forward but you couldn’t help but be stuck on what had just happened. For the first ten minutes after sitting down you felt like dropping out of the whole class out of sheer fucking humiliation. This was of course before you reminded yourself that this class was a requirement to graduate in your field of study. You quietly bargained with yourself before sighing quietly and settling on the conclusion that Professor Parker was just a dick. A dick who certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you switching out of his class. If he wanted to be like that, you decided, you would simply return the favor.

“I know, Ms.(y/ln), why don’t you tell us DeBroglie’s equation?”

“With pleasure, Professor Parker.” Yeah, you’d return the favor alright.

“Ms.(y/l/n), you stay.” Fuck that. You looked the other way and feigned ignorance as you kept making your way towards the door. About to leave, the door shut on your face.

“What the fuck!” You jumped before turning around and you felt your face heat up.

“Ms.(y/l/n), please refrain from using profanities in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Parker. I was just startled.”

“Mhm,” he took his glasses off and laid them on his desk, “Just don’t do it in the future Ms.(y/l/n).”

“Of course. My name is (y/n), by the way, Professor Parker, you can just call me that, actually, I prefer that people refer to me by (y/n).”

“Rest assured, I’m aware of your name, Ms.(y/l/n). My name is Peter, but you can continue to call me Professor Parker.” You could have sworn that you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew what he was fucking doing, asshole. You held back from rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

“Of course, Professor Parker.”

“As you know, Ms.(y/l/n), I did request that you stay after class.”

“Oh? I sincerely apologize Professor Parker, I really didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure, Ms.(y/l/n).” Fucking. Dick.

“Well, what exactly did you want Professor Parker? I do have another class soon.” Professor Parker narrowed his eyes at you in obvious distaste before reaching behind himself into a bin underneath his desk and pulling out a stack of papers,

“These are the handouts you missed from the beginning of the class. Textbook requirements, syllabus...Crucial information to have if you care to succeed in my class Ms.(y/l/n).” So coldly, so maliciously, Professor Parker placed the stack into your arms.

“I take my work very seriously, Ms.(y/l/n), I do my part as your professor so I only have the simple request that my students do the same.” You nodded feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course, Professor Parker, it won’t happen again,” you said with a tightlipped smile.

“Mhm,” Professor Parker turned around and began shuffling around some paper and without giving you a second glance said, “You are dismissed.” You nodded and hurriedly made your way out of his classroom. Of course, you had lied. You didn’t have another class until late in the afternoon. So you called your coworker instead,

“Hey, Harvey.”

“(y/n).”

“Wow, okay, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, just woke up.”

“Tsk, the early bird gets the worm, Harvey.”

“I don’t want a worm.”

“Fuck you. I’m headed to the lab, can I expect you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You had been working with Harvey for around four years now, he was quite the impressive specimen, having attended MIT and graduating Summa Cum Laude at age 20 was no easy feat, he was closer to Tony Stark than you would ever get, he was quite personable, and you couldn’t deny that he was quite good looking. You’d never tell him that though, he didn’t need another ego boost. Besides, you had some connections of your own.

“Hey, (y/n).”

“Banner!”

“Can we expect Harvey today?”

“Honestly, not sure.” You both knowingly smiled at each other before you made your way over to what he was working on,

“Do you ever get bored here?”

“With you and the other idiot always running around? How could I?” You laughed,

“No, seriously, like wouldn’t you rather be doing nerd shit with Tony or something? Isn’t it a little tiresome babysitting us?”

“Tiring? Maybe sometimes, but not nearly as tiring as doing ‘nerd shit’ with Tony. He’s exhausting,” Bruce smiled at his own joke, “I don’t mind playing babysitter at all kid.” He fiddled with the handle of a mug that read, “Don’t be so Na Cl,” which you had gotten him a year back as a joke, but he still used it.

You really loved Bruce for all he was. Since losing your family back in 2012 during the battle in NYC, you didn’t really have any familial figures. But since landing this internship you found yourself with a parental figure again, and you would never be able to put into words how much it meant to you, so you didn’t. Besides, you didn’t want him to feel pressured about it, especially after everything he had been through himself. Frying half your body and losing the love of your life in such a short span of time was really nothing less than horrifying. Yet, here he was, smiling, laughing...You loved him for it.

“First day of junior year? How was that?”

“Shit.”

“Huh?” Bruce stopped tinkering with the device in his hands and looked over at you, “I’ve never heard of a course being too hard for (y/n) (y/l/n), what is it? Aerospace? Quantum?”

“No, just one giant dick.”

“Pardon-”

“My professor, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Ah, I see. If he’s really harassing you (y/n), I don’t mean to overstep, I really think we should alert administration, what’s his name?” Bruce took a sip of his coffee.

“Professor Parker,” Bruce choked on his coffee, “Oh my God, Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yeah-” he said, still coughing, “Just a little too strong.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce caught his breath, “What did he do kid?”

“He’s just a dick that’s all.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do something about it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t know what you could do anyways. Thank you though.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised.”

Sitting at your desk stressing over school work at 3am, it was nothing out of the ordinary for you. Everything appeared ordinary. The ordinary cup of tea, the familiar glow of your computer, and a morning chill creeping through your window. It was all so breathtakingly normal until there was a rap on your window. You took an earbud out of your ear, certain you were just hearing things, you looked to your window. Holy shit.

You opened your window wide so that he could crawl in.

“(y/n)?”

“Mr.Spiderman.” Still too in shock to fully process the situation you started to take in the scene in front of you,

“Please, it’s just Spiderman.”

“Oh-Oh my God, what happened?” Head to toe the suit seemed to have blood seeping through, tears in the body of the suit revealed gashes and a bullet wound.

“Bad guys. I know this guy-said he knew a medical student close by, you are (y/n)? Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m really just a student, I’m not really a prof-”

“This guy, he said you might as well be.”

“I don’t know Mr.Spiderman, really, maybe I could take you to the hospital though.”

“-Spiderman, it’s just Spiderman, listen, (y/n), you know I can’t go to a hospital, it would ruin this whole secret identity thing I got going on here, and this guy, he’s probably the smartest guy I know, so if he says you can handle it, you can.” You swallowed and nodded,

“Yeah-” you wring your hands together, “Yeah-Sorry, let me go get my first aid kit.”

#tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #spiderman #spiderman x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #bruce banner #tony stark #iron man #idk #sorry #ill prolly rewrite this seven times

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fanfic-collection · 3 years

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Loki x Reader: Asgardian Honeymoon ch 1

Please suggest things for doing on a ski lodge adventure, cus so far all I can think is skiing (cuddles on the ski lift) and hot springs (I'm still about that shirtless Loki), I'm not so feeling smut for this one but I might fade to black? but yea please suggest things

Vast mountains stretched out into the distance. Your breath came in soft puffs as you gazed in silent awe at their splendor. Even on Asgard, their grandeur couldn’t be matched.

You leaned forward on the soft wood railing, years of other patrons having done the same, wearing it down so no splinters would dare poke into your hands. Not that you were worried, you had trained enough of your life to be prepared to handle such a simple wound.

Wound.

You chuckled at the thought.

And yet, still, here you were, bundled in Midgardian furs, an overstuffed coat, and trousers, all made of strange materials.

How incredible that Midgard had been hiding such vistas from the rest of the realms. No wonder the princes were fond of the place.

Stealing a glance back over your shoulder, you looked at the lodge behind you. It was far more extravagant than you needed or wanted but that had been out of your control. You would have been happy with a simple cabin, in fact, you would have been happy simply staying in your old cottage if it meant-

There was an obnoxious buzzing and vibrating from one of the pockets of your coat and you looked around in surprise, stirred from your thoughts. Pulling your fingers free from your thick woolen mittens with your teeth, you reached into your pocket and found a piece of Midgardian technology, vibrating in your hand. Studying it for a moment, you saw a green option that said, “answer” and a red option that said, “ignore.”

You creased your brow, remembering the Avengers and the repurposed SHIELD initiative that had given you this… phone. So primitive.

Sighing, you pressed the answer button and held the receiver up to your ear, waiting for the voice to speak.

“Hey! You remembered how to use the phone! Great, great, I was worried I’d have to send someone out there to check on you two lovebirds.” Tony Stark’s voice came through the phone.

Your scowl darkened. “What do you want, Stark?”

“Look, we’re cool, I’m cool, you’re cool. It’s just, we don’t know if he’s cool.”

You held your fingers out towards the air and could see signs of blood fading from the nails as your body left your extremities to fend for themselves and focused on keeping your inner core warm. “I am cool, the snow is very cool.”

“That’s not… listen. Ever since the ordeal with Thanos, we get that everyone knows he’s on our side and there’s no more, you know, take over the world stuff, we finally know his side of the story.”

You rolled your eyes, using your shoulder to hold the phone as you leaned your hip against the railing. Looking at your nails, you considered putting your mittens back on. “It’s funny how you need to know that in order to trust him when you yourself are no saint.”

There was a heavy sigh through the phone. “Look, we’re just checking in occasionally, we didn’t think the Lokster would find love and of all places want to come to Earth to have a honeymoon of all things, Kay?”

You blinked at ‘Lokster’. “Loki.” You grit your teeth for emphasis, “Is very kind, loving, and compassionate. Not to mention intelligent, quick witted, humorous, and loyal.”

“Yea, yea, and I’m sure he’s great in bed too.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, “Mr. Stark! That is none of your business!”

“What? I’m just saying.”

“You are very rude and disrespectful. I wish to speak to you no more.”

“No wait! I’m supposed to check in on you two!”

“I will speak to someone else!” You scoffed, angrily grabbing the phone and pressing the end call button.

Slamming the phone down on the railing with enough force to slightly crack it, the phone - not the railing, you hung your head and sighed.

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you let out a squeak of surprise as you felt cool hands wrap around your waist and a chin pressed onto your shoulder. Shortly followed by the soft voice of Loki murmuring, “Troubles, beloved?” He pressed his chest into your back and pecked feather soft kisses to your neck as he leaned into you.

Sighing, you rested your arms on his and held him as close as you could. You leaned your head back onto his shoulder so that he might reach more of your neck and kiss more of your throat.

Loki began to mix nuzzles into your throat with kisses, his feather soft hair tickling at your skin as you closed your eyes and relaxed into the bliss. You were barely aware when he had started to make the two of you sway.

A final kiss into your neck, a soft nip that you could feel his smile through, Loki murmured, “As I said, what has my beloved so distressed?”

You sighed, opening your eyes to look up at him, raising your arm up to reach up and hold the back of his head. Your fingers tangled through his hair and you sighed lazily, feeling the soft locks through your fingers.

Loki hummed in appreciation at the sensation, though he stared down at you with a smirk, “You’re avoiding the question, love.”

“We’re being monitored.” You grumbled finally.

Loki sighed heavily and was quiet for a while.

Slowly you began to untangle yourself from him, turning around to face him. You began to notice the chilly air as the sun had moved farther along the sky.

Finally Loki answered, “You know my past.”

You nodded.

“The humans are wary of me.” Loki shrugged.

“But they know why you did what you did!”

Loki picked at his hand and looked down, examining his fingers, “And yet, the deed was still done.”

You shook your head, “Should we not have come?” Reaching up you stroked his cheek gently with his thumb, your other hand instinctively reaching for his worrying hands.

Muttering bitterly, Loki asked, “Where could we go? Where could we really be alone, just us, together?”

“Loki, when I’m with you, it’s always just you.” You smiled up at him, and pulled apart his worrying hands, swinging them gently. “I’m just happy to have time to be with you. No matter where we are. If this is a place that makes you happy, for the time after our wedding, our honeymoon, then, I’m happy here. I just want you to be happy.”

Loki still seemed distracted, “Jotunheim, I’d have to reconquer for them to accept me. Asgard is gone, the other realms are no longer under Asgard’s rule so, wait what?”

You stood on your toes and kissed his lips gently before slowly pulling back. “You silly prince. You worry too much. We could be back in the jails of Asgard, as long as I am with you, I am content.”

There were the traces of a tear in Loki’s eyes as they shimmered, looking back at you when he smiled down at you. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to yours, and you could feel his intoxicating scent lingering over you as he searched your eyes. “You really do mean it…” He trailed off.

“Of course, I would not have said it otherwise.”

Loki’s smile widened and he pulled back.

You reached up and wiped at his cheek, for any stray wetness.

“Come, let’s get back inside, you look cold and it’s getting late. We have much in store for the next few days.”

#Loki x reader #loki laufeyson x you #Loki laufeyson x reader #reader insert #2nd person #ficbit #multi chapter

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writerwrites · 3 years

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Yuánfèn | 01

Ch.1: Depaysement: “The feeling that comes from not being in one’s home country; being a foreigner.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.9k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Complete Masterlist

After the 2012 Battle of New York, you didn’t have anyone to tell you that you shouldn’t start working for Stark Industries. The United States government swore that less than a hundred people had died in Loki’s Chitauri attack on the city you called home, but the loss of both of your parents and your only sibling was still sitting like an anchor of depression on top of your chest. They hadn’t even been in the same buildings and thinking about those devastating hours sitting at home alone waiting for them to come through the door as the wireless network collapsed under the panic of the city still sent you into a week of night terrors. The blood never did wash out of your scrubs, one of the worst days of both your professional and personal life. Still, you didn’t blame the Avengers and thought that if anyone was going to stop the world from falling into that darkness again that it was them. If all you could do was patch up those few people skilled enough to save the world, you would manage your own emotions. Compartmentalizations, that was all you knew after that day.

It was your maternal grandmother, a reclusive woman that retired in Mallorca, that was all you technically had left. With no relationship between the two of you, it was easy to take up the offer to start working for Stark and the team, especially with how busy both Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner had been with their own research. The facilities in Stark Tower were far beyond ‘state of the art’ and you’d been given a team of androids and nurses that helped you build confidence in knowing what you were doing when, in terms of years of experience, you’d been an unlikely choice for the job. It was those years learning under great minds that you really flourished and in a few short years, had found a rhythm to your new normal. Work, apartment, study and practice technique; rinse and repeat.

There was more expected of you at Stark Industries than just the titles of doctor, surgeon, or even therapist. You kept your head down for years, expecting Stark to think he’d made a mistake choosing you. It was Dr. Cho’s encouragement that made you stand a little more straight, a little less invisible, a little more emotionally available. When the team came back from Sokovia with an entire hole through Clint Barton, Dr. Cho took him for tissue repair and you ran your checks on the rest of the team. To your surprise they weren’t in the common area, everyone dispersing and choosing their solitude, uncommon for a mission that should have been deemed a success. You found Natasha first, sitting in a room next to Clint’s. “Hey Doc, I’m all clear. Just need to know how Clint’s doing.”

Pulling up your stool you shook your head. “Nice try, jacket off.” She nodded and you worked her bruised arm to make sure there weren’t any fractures or sprains. “Dr. Cho seemed confident Clint would be fine. You know that as long as you clean up she’ll let you in there. Physically you’re good to go, but what happened out there. Everyone’s run off.”

Watching Natasha’s gaze fall, the swallow at her cottonmouth, and the brief silence it was obvious the injuries were different on this mission. “There were some enhanced kids working for HYDRA, she got in Tony’s head, banged Cap up pretty bad too. I’m fine and we got the scepter, but this one isn’t feeling like much of a success. I just have to process, I guess.”

“Well, I’ll have JARVIS pencil you in for a chat. If you’ve worked through it, great. If not, you’ve got me. I get it, really I do. He’s your person.” Offering up a soft smile you tapped away on the tablet. “Clean up so you can get to Barton.”

“Thanks, Doc. I took it pretty easy compared to Steve and Tony.” She trailed off, offering an apologetic smile before she slipped out of the door.

Pinching your nose, you asked JARVIS for everyone’s location in the Tower and the A.I. made you a map with little blinking lights. Captain Rogers was closest and you went into the gym quietly, hearing the sound of his fists lobbing into a punching bag. Quietly crossing the wooden floor, you knew that with his enhanced sense he already knew you were coming before you walked in, but it didn’t stop you from being cautious. He had swapped the suit for sweats and an undershirt and you could see the crusted over cuts on his bicep and forearms, the stain of blood on his wrapped knuckles. By the time you were within arms reach, tablet and medical bag in hand, he grabbed the bag to stop it from swinging into you. Sweat dripped down his forehead causing his disheveled blonde hair to stick to his skin and you lowered your gaze so you’d stop staring. He broke the silence first, “Did you already check on the others?”

For a moment you were tempted to lie, “Clint is with Dr. Cho. Nat’s patched up. Your turn now, Captain Rogers.” With a firm nod to the bench he surprisingly obliged. As you carefully took off the bandages on his hands, cleaning them up and wrapping them in fresh gauze, you asked about what seemed to have shaken the team up. “What did the enhanced agents in the field do?”

He stiffened, not just from the sting of the astringent on his cuts as you moved up along his arms. “The girl used some sort of mind control. Tony thinks it was a vision, but I got the brunt of whatever telekinesis she has. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The boy that got Clint was just fast, threw him off and he got hit.” Pressing one of Dr. Cho’s artificial skin patched over a deeper cut in his bicep, you took off your gloves and tapped away on the tablet before meeting his eye, wondering if he would continue. “Whatever Tony saw, it’s put some idea in his head and, well, you know how Tony is. There’s a lot of pressure to do things right, to get everyone home. I’m not saying I’m not used to it, but since I came out of the ice I’ve had it relatively easy working with SHIELD and the Avengers.”

A crease formed between your eyebrows as you looked up at him. “I know the feeling.” Letting out a slow, shaking breath you took his hands in yours, just for a moment, “Focus on what you can control, Tony’s not one of those things, but the team could learn from the mistakes made. You can make a training plan to better prepare for another run in with the kids. Until you’ve got that down, I’m sure you’ll be busy trying to find out who they are.”

Unless Steve had looked into the undoubtable file Stark had made on you upon your hiring, there was no way he knew you had lost your entire family years earlier while he was out avenging. Maybe he didn’t know you’d noticed he was a planner. He certainly didn’t know you were too or if he did, he wouldn’t know why. Both of you pulled away simultaneously, neither managing to look at the other. It was isolating, unintentionally so. The dynamics in the Tower between the team and everyone else that worked there made you feel like you had each foot in two different worlds; a stranger to the team in an even stranger land. To your surprise, he stood up and grabbed the scraps of packaging and dirty gloves, “I’ll heal up in a few days, so I promise to stay off the punching bag until then. If I need anything I’ll find you, Doc.”

It was exactly what he needed and proof that he was used to these doctors orders. Despite the job, you’d kept a low profile. None of them really knew you. You were at best ‘Doc’ and at worst completely invisible. You watched him do what the rest did after a check up, walk away without another word. Under your breath you whispered your name- seemingly the only thing you could manage to string together as you felt misplaced. It was worse than homesickness because you knew there was no home to go back to, no friends that knew your former self. Lost in your thoughts you almost didn’t hear the soldier softly repeat your name before tossing the trash in the nearest bin and marching out the door. It closed so loudly behind him you flinched.

Pulling up the map that JARVIS had made for you, you finished your rounds and slipped back into your office to fill out your paperwork, the equivalent of a debriefing report. There wasn’t much to write, not a single one of them told you what they’d seen and it was the psychological, not the physical injuries, Clint aside, that worried you. Your thumb pressed into the smooth metal of the two gold wedding bands that sat against your sternum under your scrubs, then across the links of the gold necklace that held them. It was in the unspoken images the woman had placed in Tony’s mind, the powerful scepter sitting in a lab in the Tower, and the near-loss of Hawkeye, all of it was too much at once for the team. You could hear Natasha’s voice saying she had to process that gave you the sense of being unsettled and separate from one’s place of belonging and it had you reaching for the tokens of your past.

Absentmindedly clicking away from the forms to your email you noticed a high alert message with a heading in Spanish. As you clicked, you tried to switch your tired mind into what had once been your first language but that you hadn’t used in deep conversation in years. Line by line you reread the message, thinking that what you read was simply lost in translation. Right when you were about to ask JARVIS to translate, the door to your office opened. Tony Stark never had the decency to knock so you didn’t know why you half expected him to not read your emails. “Stark, come to tell me what the kid put in your head?”

Tony leaned against the door to your office, whiskey in one hand which was more than a hint that he’d found his own way to cope with what he saw. He tapped on the tech on his wrist and projected an images of your grandmother, her villa in Mallorca, and then swiped to display medical records. “I’ve made arrangements for you to take some time off and handle everything with your family.”

Before you could scold him for reading your email or tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you, your phone chimed. The screen lit up with alerts from various apps indicating a flight, Uber, and Airbnb were all set up for you. “Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to…”

“Ah, but I did.” He cut in, wagging his finger at you. “You’ve kept the team in one piece for years, this is the definition of doing the bare minimum. Come back when you’re ready, your job will be here. We might even manage to stay out of trouble while you’re gone.”

“I might actually buy that if it was coming from Cap, but you wouldn’t know how to stay out of trouble if you were given a manual.” Getting out of the chair and picking up your things you hadn’t noticed you’d been crying. Wiping the tears away when you weren’t looking you managed a soft, “Thank you.” By the time you turned around Tony was gone.

Walking the familiar path to the elevator you popped in your AirPods, keeping your head low as you waited for the elevator in case someone tried to stop you or ask you something personal. The doors dinged and opened and you were met with the familiar scent of bar soap and laundry detergent. Reaching for the garage button to see it lit up you pulled your hand back. “What happened to taking it easy?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice was soft, but you kept your head down, music playing quietly in your ears, “What’s this song?” Pulling your phone out of your pocket you showed him the screen, uncertain if you could keep yourself together enough to speak, and ultimately not realizing that you hadn’t cleared the notifications from the screen when he asked with a tone of surprise, “You’re leaving for Spain?”

Fighting the burn in your eyes as your nerves seemed to insist on making you face the reality of this trip you looked up at him, only half way, talking to his chin instead of meeting his eyes, “Yeah, for my grandmother. I have to take care of… I won’t be gone long I don’t think.”

His calloused fingers lifted your chin forcing you to meet his eyes. The bright blue, the concern that melted into sympathy. “Cancel the Uber. I’ll take you to the airport.”

“You don’t have to do that. I haven’t even packed.”

“I want to,” His soft smile made you attempt your own broken smile, causing the tears to trickle down your cheeks. Despite never having a real conversation with you and knowing nothing about you, he wiped the tears away and gently squeezed your shoulder. “What’s easier for you, leaving your car here at the Tower or leaving it at home?”

You didn’t want to admit that the thing that would probably bring you home before the date on your return ticket was the team getting into trouble. “Leaving my car here.”

Giving him directions to your place proved to be an amusing distraction by the third wrong turn. Despite knowing him for three years, it was the first time you really saw him laugh. That melodic, deep laughter was contagious and you found yourself laughing into your hands to hide the ferocious blush that wouldn’t seem to leave your cheeks. With some relief you made it to your apartment and invited him in. “I just have to pack really quick.”

“I could help. Military made me a master at it.” His eyes were wandering over the place, hands in his pockets.

You didn’t need to look at him for more than a second to know that he had no idea who the people in the pictures were or that you’d lost them all. Your stomach twisted hoping he wouldn’t ask, so you thoughtlessly thanked him and led him to your bedroom, only partitioned from the living room with a vintage panelled wall divider. It was a relief you were almost never home, leaving the place fairly clean. Taking out your one small suitcase and your old canvas backpack from medical school you tossed them on the bed, “The longest I’ve been away from work was four days. I have no idea how to fit enough clothes in here.”

“Just set what you want to take to the side and I’ll get it in there. You should grab your toothbrush and computer, chargers and things.” He sat on the bed and picked up the backpack and suitcase, checking out the pockets as you tossed a handful of clothes onto the bed. You’d changed scrubs in front of other doctors and seen most of the super soldier, leaving you unfazed by the fact that he was now handling your intimates. Steve on the other hand was quickly becoming a warm shade of pink as he made quick work of the task at hand. “So...what’s the trip for?”

When Steve looked up from your luggage and reached for the item in your hands he knew immediately, as if he’d forgotten in the laughter on the car ride that he’d found you in the elevator fighting back tears. The black dress was formal but not flashy, a practical length but not something meant for an interview… and you knew that he knew as he took it and set it as delicately as he would have laid the flag of one of his lost soldiers in the hands of a mother or wife. “I just hope it still fits.” Turning away so he wouldn’t see you cry, you held your breath and rummaged through your dresser for something to wear to the airport.

As you pulled a tunic and leggings to your chest you turned around and smacked right into the super soldier. He didn’t hesitate to pull you right into a tight hug. “If you end up needing anything while you’re there just let me know. Anything at all, okay?”

You couldn’t be sure how long he let you cry into his shirt, but you knew it was soaked through when you finally slipped into the bathroom. With a glance at your phone you realized there wasn’t much time left to get to the airport, certainly not to shower. Cleaning your face and changing, you stepped back into the room to find him with his nose in the book you’d been reading that had been sitting on your bedside table, Heart Like a Window, Mouth like a Cliff. “Home is the place, for better or for worse, we learn to love.” You quoted as you picked up your backpack and put it on, “I haven’t finished it yet, but you can borrow it while I’m gone. I don’t think I’ll have much time for reading.”

He stood up and grabbed the suitcase, but not before tucking the book into the pocket of his coat. Both of you managed a smile and he looked around, “Got your passport, ID, and…”

“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded and patted the bag.

“Stop saying thank you for something you’d do if the shoe was on the other foot.” With one last look around your place Steve noticed the plants and a pet fish on the window sill. “Why don’t you leave your keys with me. I’ll check on your fish and water the plants, grab your mail.”

You hesitated, but it wasn’t as if you’d been home often enough to get to know your neighbors. Telling yourself that it was okay to let a coworker be nice to you, that this wasn’t anything like forming an attachment, you nodded and passed him your keys. “I’ll completely understand if it’s an assistant that ends up coming here, but, umm…” Catching yourself from saying thank you again, you stepped into the hall and watched him lock up a bit unnerved by how quickly he realized which key belonged to the three locks.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” It was the first time you’d heard him say your name in full voice, close up and yet it somehow felt softer than it had earlier. You shuffled quickly down the one flight of stairs, but not before Steve took your small suitcase. Those blue eyes watched you the whole way, making you wonder if he thought you were about to snap.

From holding the door open to passing you the auxiliary cable and asking you to play the music from the elevator, the ride to the airport was fairly quiet. Periodically, a song would come on that would choke you up and you’d go to reach for your phone to skip it. Every time, Steve would grab your hand and give it a squeeze, waiting until you’d caught your breath before moving his hands back to the steering wheel. To your surprise he didn’t pull up to the drop off and instead parked and walked with you as far as the TSA would let him go, carrying your small suitcase and giving your hand a supportive squeeze every time you were asked about the reason for the trip overseas. Rather than saying thank you as you prepared to part ways, you cleverly thanked him in Spanish, making him shake his head disapprovingly. “Steve, you’ve been an absolute gentlemen through the hardest night I’ve had in three years. I know you said I would do the same for you, but I guess I never thought anyone at work knew I existed.”

Steve scoffed, “You’re a little hard not to notice. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way when you’re back.” Your eyebrows furrowed, concerned he was going to scold the team or worse. “Don’t make that face.” He let out one laugh and shook his head and passed you his phone. “Here. I’m getting a lot better with the texting thing. Keep in touch while you’re gone... even if it’s just pictures of food so that I know you’re eating.”

You put your number in his phone and passed it back. “I’m not going to have a problem eating.” When you looked up at him, he seemed unconvinced. “I’m a doctor, knucklehead. I’m trained in the stages of grief.”

He nodded, but you both exchanged the sort of look that said you’d keep in touch anyways, thank you, and goodbye all at once. You wanted to hug him, but felt like maybe you’d used up all the proximity of a fresh friendship’s timer in your fit of tears in your bedroom. Looking back, glassy eyed as you prepared to move through the last line of metal detectors, you noticed he was still standing there, hands in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket as he watched you. Your chin quivered as you fought back tears. No one had stood by you through the loss of your family in 2012, now you didn’t know what you had done to deserve this, but you were eternally grateful for this man.

Your gaze felt to your feet as you fought back fresh tears and then, before you knew it, there he was, arms wrapped back around you, one hand rubbing your back and the other holding your head to his warm chest. He was saying something to the TSA agent but you couldn’t hear it over the fresh bout of weepies. Steve rocked you and then lifted your face in his hands. “What did I say? If you need anything, all you have to do is ask, okay? Don’t miss your plane. You’re going to get through this.”

Then, and you were certain he’d only done this to get your mind off the grief, he placed a kiss to the top of your head. You looked up at him as you slowly untangled yourself from the hug, his eyes stayed on yours but he stepped aside to let you go after another moment or two. You didn’t say goodbye or thank you, words seemed to fail you, and you’d have an entire plane ride to sit confused and overthink how this night hadn’t just turned into some crush on America’s most high profile bachelor. Nearly twelve hours later you made it to your grandmother’s home in Mallorca, emotionally and physically exhausted. As you collapsed onto the sofa, too anxious to roam through the house just yet, your phone chimed. “It’s Steve. I hope you made it to Spain and are getting some rest before you take care of your family. Thank you for the book, I really enjoyed it.”

With a sleepy smile you type back, “Finished already?!? What did you think? I made it. Resting is TBD...”

His reply surprised you, a quote from the book, and you fell asleep before you could muster one last reply:

We cannot know the remarkable velocity at which we pull each other, tear at individuation, until the distance between us curves and no one is themselves.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. While I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #writer: writerwrites

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 4. Low Flying Stationery

Summary: Steve realises that the only way out of the seeming hole he’s dug himself into is to come clean about his feelings to Katie, only that’s easier said than done.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Angst and a pair of total dumbasses in love… A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @angrybirdcr for her lovely little edit.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 3

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“I went under, the world was at war, I wake up and they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.”

“Yeah, well we’ve made some mistakes along the way. Some very recently…”

Steve woke up with a start, taking a deep breath as he blinked, coming out of his sleep addled haze. It didn’t take a genius to work out why his mind had taken him back to that particular moment in time, and it wasn’t wasted on him either that this time he was the one who had made the big assed mistake the night before…

Glancing at his clock, he decided that 5:00 am wasn’t too early, so he changed and headed out for a run, pounding his frustration out on the wet ground beneath his feet. He was so annoyed at himself for simply letting Katie walk out with no protest at all. He should have stopped her, gone after her, he realised that now.

It was official, he was the world’s biggest moron.

He knew now that the only way to salvage anything from this mess was to be honest, regardless of how she felt or didn’t feel as the case may be. So, as he thundered round past the Lincoln Memorial for the fourth time, he started to plan out exactly what he was going to say. By the time he got home an hour and a half later, and climbed into a scalding hot shower, he was feeling slightly more positive.

He just hoped she’d hear him out.

***** After a night of tossing and turning, alternating between being angry at herself and pissed at Steve, Katie had also been up at a ridiculous time, but unlike Steve she had curled up on her sofa with a film, counting the minutes down until it was an acceptable time to call her brother.

“Seven thirty AM?” Tony drawled as he answered. “You wet the bed?”

“Fuck off” She shot back “No, just had a shitty end to yesterday and thought I’d call to hear a friendly voice. Beginning to wonder why I bothered.”

“Bad day?” Tony’s voice softened “Ok Kiddo, I’m all ears.”

“Nah don’t wanna talk about it.” Katie said, and she didn’t. There was NO WAY she was telling Tony about Steve and whatever the hell nearly went down. That was a whole shit storm she didn’t want landing at Steve’s feet. “So what’s new with you?”

“Nothing much.” Tony sniffed.

“How’s things with you and Pepper? Still behaving?”

“I’m insulted you even asked me that.”

“I know you too well.” She chuckled.

“Well, if you really wanna know they’re going great. I’m thinking of taking her out to the Island in a couple of weeks. A dirty week away…”

“Ok too much information” she grimaced as Tony’s chuckle hit her ears “You’re nasty”

“I’m in love!” He said in a sing-song voice, making Katie roll her eyes.

“I never thought I’d see the day where you love someone more than yourself.”.

“What is this, Kiddo? Insult Tony day?” He scoffed making her laugh. “I love lots of things more than myself.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“You, Pepper…” the line was silent for a few seconds before he finished “Nope, that’s it.”

Katie laughed “I’m honoured.”

“So you should be, it’s a very hard list to make.”

They talked for another half an hour about all sorts of crap, Katie simply happy to hear her brother’s voice as it had been weeks since she’s seen him, far too long in her opinion. Eventually they both had to get ready for work so after breakfast and a shower she felt a little better although her stomach was still flipping slightly at the thought of seeing Steve. He’d messaged her a few times last night but she’d completely ignored him, and was feeling a little shitty about it now, if she was honest.

But, there was nothing she could do except apologise and hopefully they could move on and in time forget it.

When she walked into the Tactical Ops Office, Clint and Natasha were already in there, eating a pastry each, both with a coffee in hand and she was touched, as always, to see one waiting on her desk for her. But not touched enough to let Barton get away with using her desk as a foot rest.

“Get your feet down…” Katie slapped at his legs.

“Rude,” he muttered, removing them and placing his feet on the floor. “I bought you coffee.”

“Which is both appreciated and needed.” she pecked him on the cheek. “Thanks Hawkeye”

“You look like you aint slept all night.” Nat eyed Katie shrewdly as she shrugged off her coat “Who is he?”

“I should be so lucky” Katie mumbled dropping into her chair. She didn’t tell them that the reason she hadn’t slept all night was thanks to a certain blue eyed super soldier, but not because he was in bed with her, more so because he wasn’t.

“Better take a nap this afternoon then.” Clint pointed at her. “Want you on good form for the party.”

“What party?” Katie frowned.

“Rumlow’s 40th…”

She groaned. “That’s tonight?”

“Yeah.” Clint nodded, before he let out a snort as he looked over his shoulder at Nat “Now this is gonna be interesting.”

“What?” Katie frowned

“He’s referring to the fact I’ve been planning an outfit for a few days…” Nat yawned, examining her nails.

“Yeah and seeing you try and figure one out in a few hours, Nova, is gonna be amazing…”

“Not like I’m short of options,” Katie shrugged “I mean half the shit in my closet hasn’t seen the light of day in years.”

“You can always gift it to me.” Natasha quipped back

“Speaking of gifts, has anyone done a collection for dearest Brock?” Clint looked around. “I mean it is his 40th party after all, we should probably get him something…”

“Like what?” Nat asked.

“I dunno. What’s he into?” Clint pondered.

“I know what he’d like to get into.” Nat responded with a smirk. “Nova’s pants…”

At that Clint let out a bark of a laugh just as Steve walked through the door, expertly catching the pencil that Katie threw at the Archer.

“Beware low flying stationery.” Steve quipped as casually as he could, tossing the item onto the desk in front of Clint who leaned back in his chair, putting his feet back on the surface. Steve locked eyes with Katie for a second and he saw her take a deep, steadying breath before she looked over at Clint as he responded to Steve’s joke.

“It wasn’t flying, it was thrown.” he smirked. “Just Stark here getting a little upset about Nat’s joke.”

“I wasn’t upset, it was just a shit joke.” Katie rolled her eyes

“But it’s true, that’s what’s so funny!” Clint snorted “Admit it, you know he’s after a bit…”

“Can we just change the subject, please?” Katie groaned, turning to the keyboard on her desk. She could feel Steve’s eyes burning into her back as she tried to concentrate on the screen, ignoring him.

“You coming tonight Cap?” Clint asked

“Rumlow’s 40th?” Steve asked and Clint nodded

“Did everyone remember except me?�� Katie looked round.

“Pretty much.” Nat nodded

Katie scowled.

“You’re a proper little ray of sunlight today.” Clint snorted at the expression on her face.

“I told you I’m tired.”

“Try going to bed and sleeping.” Nat quipped and this time it was a highlighter pen that flew across the room.

“Carry on and it will be a stapler.” Katie frowned. “I was alone, thank you. Unless you count my pillow.”

Steve looked down at his feet

“Was the pillow good?” Clint asked, and she glared at him, picking up the stapler as he laughed, holding his hands up.

“Anyway, Romanoff…” Steve deftly changed the subject as Katie slammed the stapler back down. “You ready for ops drill or…”

Nat groaned and pushed her chair back across the floor with a scrape. “Slave driver…catch you later Stark”

“Yeah see ya…” Katie didn’t bother turning round.

“I’m due on the range in 10 with the new recruits so…” Clint stood up and followed Nat before he stopped and turned back, glancing over his shoulder again before he spoke.

“Listen, don’t tell Widow I asked this but what’s the dress code for tonight? I better start sorting out what I’m wearing whilst I get chance…”

Katie stopped before she turned slowly in her seat and smirked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You hypocrite! It’s smart casual and if you don’t want me to tell Nat, it’ll cost you a beer”

“A beer for your silence… why haven’t we done this trade before?”

“Fuck off!” she flicked him the finger as he disappeared out of the office leaving Steve and her alone.

“Hey.” He spoke gently, testing the water “You alright?”

“Yeah” she nodded, looking up at him and he smiled, that fucking smile again and she cleared her throat. “Honestly I’m just tired.”

“You ran out on me.” he pointed out, studying her face.

“You didn’t exactly stop me Steve.” she shot back and he sighed.

“I know.” he swallowed “But you could have messaged me back.”

“Sorry, I was just…” Katie ran her hand over her face. “Actually, I don’t know what I was to be honest.”

There was a pause, a little awkward silence filling the room before Steve took a deep breath.

“Listen.” he began, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “About last night, what…well, what nearly happened. I err, I wanted to say that I-”

“It’s fine.” Katie cut him off quickly. “I get it, it was an emotional day and there was a lot for you to process and deal with. I mean, I was all over the place so I expect you were too. Guess we just…”

She trailed off and something inside Steve died a little. She’d felt sorry for him, that was the only reason they’d shared that moment. He struggled to keep his face straight as he shrugged, looking down at his hands, all thoughts of his planned speech flying out of his head.

“We’re okay, right?” Katie looked at him, and he glanced up, smile fixed on his face.

“Sure” he nodded, hopping off the desk. “Listen, I need to…” he pointed to the door.

“Yeah, course. I have a tonne of stuff to do anyway. I wanna get home in time for a nap”

He chuckled. “So I’ll err, see you tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah, see you there.”

Katie watched him leave and as soon as he was clear of the room Katie took a shaky breath trying to stem the tears that were threatening once more to pour down her cheeks.

******

A wave of sound, both music and the noise of chatter hit Steve’s ears the minute he opened the door. He spotted Nat and Clint leaned against the bar and after saying hi to Rumlow and anyone else who greeted him he made his way over to the other two avengers and smiled.

“Hey Cap” Clint said, clapping him on his shoulder. “Beer?”

“Thanks Barton.”

Clint ordered his drink as Steve glanced around the room, looking for that familiar shock of brunette.

“She’s not here yet.” Nat drawled and he looked at her.

“Right.” He nodded simply, accepting the beer.

“Nice shirt” Clint grinned and Steve glanced down.

“Very modern.” Nat said,

“Romanoff,” Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re a pain in my ass…”

“She’s a pain in everyone’s ass.” Clint shrugged and Nat simply quirked an eyebrow at him as Steve gave a small chuckle, taking a slug of his beer.

“It’s one of my more endearing qualities.” she quipped.

Clint opened his mouth to say something but stopped as his eyes fell on someone and he smiled. Steve turned slightly to follow his gaze to see Katie making her way over towards them and boy, he had to stop his mouth falling open because she looked amazing. Tight black jeans, patent red heels and a sleeveless red top that plunged down her cleavage and tightened in to her waist before flaring out slightly. Her make up looked different, it was still light but she’d done something to her eye lids as they shimmered with a gold colour that made her eyes stand out even more.

Clint dropped a kiss to her cheek when she reached his side and Steve got a sudden hit of her perfume, the underlying floral tones that he associated with her, and he took a deep breath.

“About time…” Clint smiled at Katie. “We thought you had got lost.”

“Yeah, sorry I needed a nap.” she shrugged, nodding to Natasha and Steve.

“You want a drink?” Clint turned back to the bar waving at the tender.

“Yeah, I’ll have a gin thanks.”

“I like this.” Nat mused, her hand toying with the hem of her top. “New?”

“No, I dug it out from the doldrums of my closet.” she smiled, thanking Clint for the drink as he handed it to her. “I told you, I forget what’s in there sometimes.”

“Must be hard being so rich you can afford that many clothes you forget what you have.” Nat smirked, and Katie flipped her off drawing a snort from the red head.

“Table over there.” Clint spoke, nodding over to the right. “Shall we?”

The four of them made their way over and settled into a comfortable conversation as normal, but both Katie and Steve were ridiculously aware of one another. The smells of cologne and perfume, the feel of his shirt clad arm as it brushed against hers when he moved, her laugh which rang out over the table…

It was torture for them both.

After four rounds of drinks however, Katie had started to relax a little, dare she even say enjoy herself, so it was bound to be a matter of time before something else went wrong.

And it did, in spectacular fashion.

“Who’s round is it?” Clint announced “I’m ready for some shots…”

“Mine, I think.” Katie glanced round for one of the guys who was providing table service, when someone talking to Rumlow caught her attention. Tall, short dark hair, dark denim jeans and a white shirt. To most of the people in the room, the back of that man could have been anyone. But to Katie, well, she knew instantly who it was.

And her good mood sank as fast as it had been rising.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.” She mumbled. Steve, who had felt her tense next to him, looked down at her as Natasha frowned.

“What?”

“Ward’s here…”

Clint’s hand slipped and he almost sent the remainder of his beer flying as he scanned the room, his eyes narrowing.

“Ward as in, your ex Ward?” Steve asked, feeling the heat rise in his neck. She nodded and across the table Clint started grinding his teeth in a combination of anger and irritation.

Katie watched the back of her ex’s head, and then he turned to look around the room and their eyes locked. His mouth fell open slightly before he composed himself, and turned back to talk to Rumlow, running his hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to act cool.

Katie snorted and turned back to the table.

“Want me to go punch him?” Clint leaned over towards her. “Because I’d really like to.”

Steve found himself thinking that was a great idea but Katie shook her head.

“Just ignore him. I am.”

*****

After three further gin and tonics and two tequilas had worked their way through her system Katie excused herself and headed out to the bathroom. Once she was gone, Clint shook his head.

“I cannot believe that fucking prick showed up.” He growled, waiving the waiter over. “Damned it I hate him.”

“I gathered.” Steve smirked as Clint ordered another round of drinks.

“I mean…what the fuck…why is he even here?” the archer continued to rant and Nat gently laid a hand on hi arm.

“Clint, don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” She soothed.

“You didn’t see her Nat, that night when she caught him…she was a mess.”

“So was his car.” Natasha grinned and Clint snorted.

“His car?” Steve asked.

“Yeah…” Clint gave a small laugh. “She smashed up the body work…and I left four arrows in his tyres.”

Steve felt a surge of affection the archer as he took a deep breath, looking around. There was no sign of Katie, or Ward. Something seemed a little off, like things weren’t quite right…

“I’m gonna go check if she’s okay” he stood up, missing the glance that Natasha and Clint shared.

As it happens, Katie wasn’t ok. Nothing about walking out of the bathroom and bumping, literally, into your cheating fucker ex was ever going to be ok.

“Hi K.” Ward said, as his hands gently grabbed round her arms steadying her, his familiar smell washed over her senses. She pulled back immediately, shaking off his grip.

“Don’t call me that.”

He sighed “C’mon…”

“What do you want, Grant?”

“Hey, you bumped into me.” He chuckled. “You look amazing by the way.”

She snorted, and looked away.

“Look, I just wanted to say, well, I hate how we left things, you know? And I…”

“How we left thigs?” Katie’s eyes locked back onto his as she let out a sarcastic laugh. “The only thing I left was your apartment after finding you in bed with some blond bimbo.”

“The biggest mistake of my life.” Grant sighed, “I honestly mean that…”

“Is this the part where you say sorry for cheating on me and beg for my forgiveness?” Katie watched as the dark brown eyes that she had once found irresistible bore into hers and she felt the anger simmering again. She’d worked so long to get this man out of her system, but here he was, daring to try and smarm her into accepting an apology. The sheer audacity of it was making her want to scream.

“I am sorry. I genuinely am…”

“You’re sorry you got caught. There’s a difference.”

“No, that’s not it.” Grant shook his head. “There hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t thought about you and how I fucked up.”

He ran his hand through his hair and Katie shook her head.

“Let’s be honest, she wasn’t the first was she?” She looked up at him. Grant dropped his head and that was all the confirmation she needed. “Our relationship, it was a car crash.”

“I loved you.”

“Seriously? You’re trying that one?” She looked at him, and then burst out laughing. “Oh Jesus…” She shook her head in disbelief and made to walk round him but he grabbed her arm.

“What’s so funny?”

“Let go of me.”

“I asked you a question…”

“And she asked you to let her go.” A familiar voice said and Katie looked up to see Steve stood in the corridor, hands on his belt buckle as the door to the main bar area swung shut behind him, causing the loud background noise to fade slightly. “She won’t need to ask again.”

“Sorry…I…” Ward, let go of her arm as he composed himself and extended his arm in greeting. “Captain Rogers. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m-“

“I know who you are, Agent Ward” Steve looked at him, not even moving to take the man’s proffered hand, and he saw Ward’s jaw twitch, as his arm dropped back to his side, fist balling and unballing.

“I see. ” Ward raised an eyebrow, looking from Katie, to Steve and he took a deep breath and nodded. “I meant what I said. I really am sorry.”

Katie didn’t reply, simply watched him leave as he brushed past Steve who moved to the side to let him pass, but only after shooting him one last contemptuous look before the Captain turned back to Katie.

“Are you ok? Did he hurt you?” Steve asked her, stepping forward, noting she was rubbing the place on her arm where Ward’s hand had gripped.

“Hurt me?” she frowned.

“Yeah, your arm.” He nodded to it.

“Oh, no.” she said, shaking her head as her hand moved. “That was just weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, I mean, well for so long I thought about what I’d say to him when I eventually did see him again, you know, how much he hurt me, broke my heart, but right then when I got the opportunity, I realised I actually don’t give a shit anymore.”

Steve smiled. “Good, I’m glad he didn’t upset you.” There was a pause before he gestured over his shoulder. “You err, you wanna go back in?”

“Do you think anyone would notice if I left?” She shrugged. “I don’t wanna be here anymore and there’s a bottle of wine and a pint of ice cream at home with my name on it”

“What Ice cream?” Steve asked, looking at her, raising his brow hopefully and she shook her head, chuckling.

“Mint choc chip.” she looked at him, before she turned to head towards the door of the bar before she stopped, and spoke again, without looking back. “Suppose I can share.”

With that she pushed the door open and Steve grinned, following her out.

*********

“I don’t know why you wear shoes so high if you can’t walk in them?” Steve snorted as Katie let out a groan, kicking her shoes off as soon as they stepped out of the elevator.

“Because they look good.” She shrugged. “I’m just gonna get changed, won’t be long. Grab yourself a drink.”

Whilst she was in the bedroom Steve did as he was told and grabbed a beer for himself, and poured Katie a glass of wine before carrying them into the lounge and setting them on the coffee table. He had to stop himself from staring when she walked back into the room, all long legs and thigh tattoo, in a pair of denim shorts and a hoody. She dropped heavily onto the sofa besides him, taking her wine and gulping down a large mouthful.

“You sure you’re ok?” he asked, looking at her.

“Stop asking me that, Steve.” She snapped. “I’m fine.”

“Sorry, I didn’t…”

“No, I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “That was uncalled for.” She looked at him and gave a soft smile. “I’m fine, honestly. And thank you, for being there before.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Steve shook his head. “I care about you Katie, you know that. And, well, frankly, when I saw him with his hand on you, I wanted to smash his face into the wall.”

Katie let out a huff of laughter as she glanced at her wine glass. “You’ll have to get behind Tony in the queue.”

Steve looked down at his beer, before he took a deep breath. “The guy is a dick.” he said, tilting side on so his arm was over the back of the sofa behind her. “And I don’t mean that just because of tonight. If you were my girl I wouldn’t be looking twice at anyone else.”

Katie smiled, as she looked up at him. “That’s because you’re a gentleman.”

“No.” he shook his head, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “It’s because you’re worth so much more than that.”

“Sure.” she shrugged and Steve pressed his lips together in a firm line of frustration.

“Don’t…”

“What?” she frowned.

“Do that.“ he pressed.

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. You do it all the time” he sighed.

“I don’t.” She swallowed, looking away.

“Yes, you do. You think so little of yourself but you shouldn’t. Katie, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met” With that he took a deep breath, there was no going back now. The hand that wasn’t draped around the back of the sofa reached out and tangled in hers and as she raised her head to look at him, her eyes were filled with tears and he swallowed, his mouth feeling suddenly dry as the blood pounded in his ears, his heart beating so rapidly he thought it might burst through his chest.

He had to make her understand, just how deep his feeling went.

His right hand gently moved from the sofa back to the side of her jaw where he simply cupped her face and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. When she opened them again, it was just in time to see his gaze flicker to her mouth, before he leaned forward, a movement that was slow and seemed to take forever, until his lips met hers in a soft, sweet kiss that set every single nerve in her body on edge.

Steve pulled away slightly, just enough so that he could look into her eyes, make sure she was okay with this, and finding nothing but eagerness on her part, he pressed his lips back to hers.

The entire world around them faded to nothing and they both relaxed as this time the kiss deepened slightly, his hand still cupping her cheek as he slid his tongue gently across her bottom lip. She obliged, opening her mouth slightly and at the touch of her tongue on his Steve felt a jolt of electricity surge up his spine. Eventually they broke away and Steve gently slid his nose along hers unable to keep the smile off his face as their foreheads rest together.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that, Captain Badass?” She whispered and he gave a chuckle.

“To be honest with you…” he sat up slightly, his right hand returning to where it had been before, resting on the back of the sofa “I don’t think I have until now.”

She grinned and tucked her hair behind her ear with a hand that was trembling from nerves, adrenaline and absolute pleasure at being kissed by the utter God of a man sat on her sofa.

“So err…” Steve licked his lips. “I know this might be a little late, so to speak after, well, erm, yeah, but I’d really like to take you out, you know, on a date?”

Katie blinked as he stuttered over his words, and suddenly became aware she was chewing on her lip. She felt heat in her cheeks as she looked at him and nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That crooked grin she knew and had come to love spread across his face.

“You free tomorrow?” he asked before hastily correcting himself “It’s Saturday, or is that too soon? We could always go next weekend instead if you want or-”

“Steve,” she cut him off, gently squeezing her fingers round his, “tomorrow is fine.”

“Great, tomorrow…that’s…great…” He trailed off as Katie held his gaze.

The air between them seemed to crackle and this time it was her that initiated the kiss. This one was slightly deeper, the fire in her belly was hotter and that naughty part of her would have loved nothing more than to throw her hands round his neck and pull him down on top of her. But Steve Rogers was nothing if not a gentleman, and she didn’t want to rush into anything. She’d waited too long for this to fuck it up by moving too fast. With that in mind she willed herself to pull away.

“So err, you wanna watch a film or…” She glanced at the TV.

“Yeah…” Steve gave a little chuckle, his eyebrows raising a little before he took a deep breath. “You need another drink?”

Katiee nodded and he hopped up off the sofa, taking her empty glass to top it up, frankly glad of the chance to cool down. He’d had to stop himself then from pushing her down on the couch, but he knew that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. He wanted to do this properly, it was too special to risk.

Katie flicked through the android box, and with a grin found the perfect film, one that was a comedy, not romance or action, something easy.

“The Sandlot?” Steve asked as he handed her the filled glass, reading the title on the screen. “It’s about baseball?”

“More about kids having adventures over summer but yeah, baseball features a lot. It’s funny, you’ll like it”

“Sure I will.” Steve said, as he settled down next to her.

She pressed play on the film, threw the remote onto the coffee table and lifted Steve’s arm, sliding into place beneath it, tucking herself in against his side with her legs curled up beneath her. It was something she’d done so many times before but this time, well it felt different. Steve pressed a kiss to her head before turning his attention back to the film, his arm draped over her shoulders, fingers gently tracing shapes on her upper arm.

They sat in the dark living room, watching the film, not another word shared. They both laughed, Steve grimacing at the Chewing Tobacco scene where the kids all vomited off the side of a fairground ride, it reminded him far too vividly of the time he had barfed after riding the Cyclone, and at the end when it showed one of the kids playing for the LA Dodgers Steve was the first one to break the comfortable silence, letting out a little snort.

“I still don’t like the fact they aint in Brooklyn any more”

“Really, you never mentioned it.” Katie said sarcastically, sitting up.

He rolled his eyes before he stretched. “I should be going.”

“Yeah, it is late.” Katie agreed, standing up as he did. “And I got a big date tomorrow.”

“Yeah” he asked, paying along as he walked to the door “Anyone I know?”

“Just some guy from work.” she shrugged. “He’s pretty hot but don’t tell him I said so.”

Steve laughed. “You’re a nightmare, you know that?” he smirked.

“Yeah but, you love it.” Katie shrugged as the elevator arrived.

“Yeah, I do.” Steve smiled softly, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. “Goodnight, Doll.”

“Night Stevie.”

He squeezed her hand and stepped into the elevator and as soon as the doors had closed, a huge shit eating grin spread across both their faces.

***** Chapter 5

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #katie stark #chris evans #chris evans characters

101 notes · View notes

starlordsandrockets · 4 years

Text

Something Familiar: the compendium

Something Familiar: Ch. I - Ch. VI

pairing: college!Peter Parker x spidersona!Reader - 18+ content

summary: Within the past year, you have been bitten by a spider, giving you your own spider-hero persona. You soon found yourself working along side of Peter, patrolling the city with Spider-Man. Being a heroine was not your only secret. You have been admiring Peter for almost two years now, ever since you met him on campus freshman year of college. But you soon find out Peter’s eyes were on someone else.

word count: 11k

It has been years since Peter Parker’s identity had been announced to the world by a counterfeit hero named Mysterio. Those few years felt like the longest in Peter’s life, some nights he thought he would never see the day where he would be able to study at his dream college. As soon as he thought his life was calming down, that is when he met you, or more so, your Spider-heroine persona. Y/H/N is what she called herself, and with one confirming call from Nick Fury, Peter was more than happy to have you by his side.

The truth was, you knew Peter Parker before the turmoil of your recent spider bite. In fact, you have been admiring the handsome sophomore from your college’s coffee shop for almost two whole school years now. You spent most of your time in the campus coffee shop, aimlessly sketching on a spread of your small sketchbook just hoping for a glance at Peter.

“She’s at it again,” you hear your friend whisper behind you in an attempt to make you jump, and so you fake a shoulder raise. Before your new found spidey-sense, you were a wreck: a klutz, nervous, anxious, you name it, you had it. Your gift of heightened sense was a blessing, but a curse. Especially your new heightened smell. You were not talking about passing by a city dumpster or walking through the urine filled city lines, but the real curse. Being able to smell Peter Parker from what seemed like miles away. He always smelled of his morning hazelnut cappuccino, clean laundry and an expensive cologne that you could only guess Tony Stark had gifted him years ago, and which he only wore on certain occasions. That occasion always seemed to be when you and Peter met up for your night patrols, or should you say, when Peter spends his nights with Y/H/N.

“And what could I possibly be doing,” you asked, focusing on your sketchbook, your hand absentmindedly finding the ceramic coffee mug that sat in front of you. Raising it to your lips, you were surprised to find it empty, “damn,” you whispered to yourself. You spoke to your friend with your signature, sarcastic tone. A tone which you lost as soon as you found Peter’s company, falling into an embarrassed, stuttering mess. But when you were behind your mask, talking to Spider-Man was laced with new found confidence and flirting. You would be lying if you said you did not look forward to watching your classes breeze by in order to get to your rooftop dates with your masked crush.

“You’re thinking about him,” your friend teased, pushing a mug into your hands, making you smile, “He studies biophysics, just ask him for help in your intro bio class,” your friend made asking your crush a simple question sound so easy.

“And why would an art major ask a biophysics major for help in a class they’re being forced to take,” you mumbled against the rim of your coffee, “that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” you chuckled to yourself, “I hardly pay attention, I wouldn’t even know any of the material if he said yes,” you spoke over an oncoming migraine. Assuming it was from your lack of caffeine, you downed the rest of the coffee that sat in the white cup. Your preexisting, and crippling, caffeine addiction really helped with your late nights of crime fighting.

You were so distracted by your pounding head that you did not notice your friend smiling at someone who approached the counter behind you, “Y/N, I’m sure Peter would be glad to,” she spoke, quite loudly, making you pick up your head, eyebrows furrowed.

“And what am I glad to do,” Peter’s voice filled your ears, making the hairs on your body stand on end. Now realizing your pounding headache was your spidey-sense warning you about Peter’s close proximity. Until recently, Peter was the only Spider-Man, and there was a lot about both of your powers neither of you understood. Like Peter, you had heightened senses, and your powers were working overtime to tell you when he was near you.

You felt Peter rest a hand on the back of your chair, his hand brushing against the fabric of your button down shirt. The sudden contact made your heart beat rise, and you knew that Peter could sense it.

“Oh, Peter,” Y/F/N smiled, “Y/N had to take an intro bio class this semester, since the our department requires a few academic intro classes,” her voice flowed so easily while talking to the handsome classmate, “and she’d be lost without some help, since it’s almost midterms,” Y/F/N’s smile widened as she noticed Peter’s eyes alway fall back towards you, “If you’re free tonight, she really needs to start studying as soon as possible,” Your eyes studied your sketchbook, your mug, anything besides Peter’s chocolate, brown eyes. Studying the spread of your sketchbook, your heart stopped, finding a small sketch of Peter that sat on the bottom corner of the page. Quickly closing the sketchbook, you had no choice but to bring his gaze towards your eyes and hopefully not the small sketch of himself.

Turning your head, his eyes were waiting for you, “It is almost midterms,” you laughed nervously, “so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were too busy to help me, you know,” you heard your own words falling apart, “since you have midterms and,” you searched for anything to say besides the word Spider-Man, “crime,” you felt your eyes squeeze shut as you mentally kicked yourself.

“Actually, helping you sounds like a lot of fun,” Peter smiled, his eyes squinting. God, you loved how his eyes squinted when he smiled or laughed, “I can’t predict crime, but I can try and predict what questions might be on your midterm,” he joked and you wanted to laugh alongside your friend but he left you speechless, “I actually have to meet someone out tonight,” a smile laced his words as you watched his eyes fall from your gaze.

You heard his heart rate increase and yours followed, realizing he was talking about you, or Y/H/N, “It’s fine if you can’t, really,” you smiled softly, knowing no matter what you were seeing him tonight.

“You live off campus right,” Peter questioned with a smile, it did not seem like he was waiting for an answer. Peter had seen you around off campus, around Manhattan, many times while he was patrolling the city. To be honest with himself, sometimes he swung by your apartment building to see if you were around. He would catch glimpses of you painting in your apartment from behind your white, floral lace curtains, “We can study at your apartment, that way you don’t have to bring drag your books around the city,”

His smile was sweet and it made you weak at the knees, “Yeah,” was all you could muster out as your head tried to wrap around how exactly he knew you lived off campus. You and Peter were definitely not strangers. Peter loved the arts and he showed up to as many opening receptions your campus’s art gallery had. The two of you would make eye contact from across the gallery, peeking at each other around corners of the gallery’s floating walls. Peter fascinated you long before you knew his name, which was now part of his hero identity, “Are you free at eight,” you found yourself asking while still lost in your thoughts of him.

“Eight is perfect,” Peter smiled, his words pulling your head out of the clouds and back down to earth, “You live across from that cemetery,” he questioned almost confidently.

His question made your eyebrows furrow, a small smile crossed your lips, “You stalking me, Parker,” finishing your sentence, you bit your tongue, you found yourself using Y/H/N’s nickname for Peter, “Yeah that cemetery,” you quickly muttered, unable to meet Peter’s eyes, “I’ll see you at eight,” you attempted to speak over the sound of Peter’s quickened heartbeat. You wanted to meet his gaze as he studied you, to look into his eyes, to look for a sliver of realization, but you could not.

Y/F/N’s gaze bounced between the two of you. A thick cloud of nervousness filling the air, “Right,” Peter nodded, not taking his eyes off of you, “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N,” he spoke before leaving your table. Your eyes followed him as he approached the counter, retrieving his hazelnut cappuccino in a to-go cup. Rubbing your temples, you threw your head back.

“What’s up with you,” Y/F/N asked, reaching across the table, she pushed on your shoulder, “he’s going to be in your apartment,” she smiled, “tonight, just the two of you,” she watched as you gave her a fake smile.

“Yeah,” you laughed, unable to tell her the real root of your worries, “I just, he,” words passed through your lips as you thought of an excuse, “an art student who lives across from the cemetery, if he didn’t already think I’m a freak, he’ll sure as hell be skeptical now,” your heartbeat quickened. How were you going to make sure Peter did not catch on to your secret identity?

***

You had watered and straightened out all of your house plants, hoping your space looked less like a jungle. The air smelled sweet, like honey, from one of your many candles that littered your apartment.

Your apartment was a small, two room loft apartment. Bed and kitchen all occupying the same disordered room, and one small bathroom. Since you only had a handful of friends, never having more than three people in your apartment at once, you did not have a couch. You and your company would always find yourselves sitting on the soft carpet between the tv and your bed, or on your king sized bed. Realizing this now, you wanted to scream.

Checking the time, it was almost time for Peter to arrive. Sitting down at your kitchen counter, you poured yourself another cup of coffee. Resting your fingertips on your forehead, your head sat heavy in your hand, knowing tonight was not going to go well. You knew that you were bound to do or say something to make your study date a disaster, “Study date,” you questioned your own thoughts, making you groan. Taking a sip of your coffee, you looked towards your opened window, your lace curtains blowing against the evening breeze. You could have sworn you smelled Peter’s cologne.

Suddenly something wired in your brain, your spidey-sense, and you rushed over to your open window. You were soon face to face with Peter, his mask was off but he was wearing his suit. His soft skin was peppered with bruises and blood, a cut was slowly healing on his brow bone. Meeting your eyes, he almost fell through your apartment window, “hey,” his weak voice laughed as you caught him in your arms.

“Peter,” you sighed, the weight of his body pushing the air from your lungs, “what the hell happened, why didn’t you call me,” your lips closed, stopping the worried words that left them, realizing you were acting as if he knew of your secret identity.

“I’m sorry,” he smiled from where his body relaxed in your hold, “I was going to tell you something came up, but I know how much you needed me,” his words made your heart skip a beat, the flutter playing against Peter’s ear as he laid against your chest, “sorry,” he apologized with a small laugh, he was almost giggling. Peter felt his head spinning, almost as if he was drunk, he could not help the wide smile that formed on his lips as he rested in your arms.

Walking him over towards your bed, you laid him down on the large mattress, watching his soft, brown eyes stare at you, “It looks like you need me right now,” you spoke, seeing him in his suit almost made you forget Peter Parker was in your bed, “don’t move,”

Peter laughed, picking up his head, he watched you leave the room, entering the small bathroom that sat as the only other room in the small apartment. Propping himself on his elbows, he took in the low lit apartment. Candles warmed the room as the lush greenery made him smile, you certainly were not like anyone else he knew, “Y/N,” Peter called, his voice hummed off the white walls, “I’m fine, really,” he closed his eyes as the room continued to spin.

Your eyes studied Peter as he laid, propped up, on your large bed. His head was thrown back, brows furrowed in a pained expression. You felt your heartbeat quicken, not being able to control your attraction to the scene before you, the sight almost intoxicated you. In that moment you almost forgot that you were there to comfort and care for him, although both of you knew Peter’s body would heal him sooner or later, “Sit up,” you whispered, watching his eyes open in response to your presence.

Pushing himself back on the large bed, he sat up against your old, wooden headboard. Peter felt the mattress dip as you put your weight down on the corner of the bed. He studied you as you dampened a white rag with hydrogen peroxide, before pressing it against his bloody brow bone, “ouch,” he whispered through clenched teeth, although his lips formed a smile.

“What the hell did you go up against,” you asked, hoping Peter would clue you in on the action you missed out on. Normally you had the news stations playing on loop, on your television or even playing on the radio as you worked around your apartment. But tonight, you were selfish and lovestruck, and Peter could have paid the price for that, “why didn’t you call Y/H/N, or whatever her name is,” you corrected yourself, making your tone sound doubtful, “aren’t you two, like,” you tried to bite your tongue, but you could not help yourself, “a thing or something,”

“Who’s asking,” Peter laughed, his voice was raspy as his eyes looked at you from underneath his eyelashes, barely opened. He laughed as he watched your shoulders stiffen, “Y/H/N is great,” he smiled, “it’s nice to not be the only one anymore,” Peter felt your weight shift, your arm stretching over his chest, allowing you to inspect his cut brow. You seemed so focused on helping him that you did not realize the few inches that separated the two of you, “I really like her,” Peter whispered, attracting your gaze. With a turn of your head, you felt just how close the two of you were, “you know,” he spoke, his words vibrated your skin, “you kind of remind me of her,”

As the words left his lips, you fell back into your embarrassed state. Shifting away from Peter, you positioned yourself on the end of the mattress, “I couldn’t be anymore opposite,” you stuttered, “Y/H/N, and me,” you felt your head begin to pound alongside your heartbeat, “Peter,” you laughed, mostly at your current state, “I thought Spider-Man was smart,” your sarcastic tone made an appearance as you pressed the damp rag against Peter’s brow, this time with more force.

Peter’s hand quickly found your wrist. His grasp was strong, it always is. But this time Peter wasn’t holding back his heightened strength, “Ouch,” his voice was raspy as he slowly straightened his back against the headboard, “Your true colors are showing,” he spoke with a smile, “what happened to the quiet girl in the art gallery,” his grip loosened as he pulled you closer to him, “always trying to look at me around every corner,” his soft brown hair had fallen in his face, obscuring his gaze from you. Peter still found difficulty talking to girls. After he and MJ drifted apart, metaphorically and physically, Peter had not tried meeting anyone at college. But there was something about you that made him feel as if he has known you more than just catching your eyes on campus.

Your eyes found Peter’s as you assessed your newfound closeness. You had never been this close to a guy before, let alone a guy you were infatuated with. You wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, wanting to feel his heated skin against you, “I’m more than that,” you whispered, feeling his breath against your skin, it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat, “you just don’t know me,”

“I want to know you,” Peter’s bruised lips smiled, watching you wither above him. His words made your heart feel heavy. You could not tell if he was being genuine or playing with your feelings, but at this moment, you did not care. You adjusted your palms that laid flush against the cold, white bedsheets, your hold on the bed being the only things keeping any space between you and Peter, “How about,” he stated, making you hold your breath, “for every bio question you get wrong, I get to ask you a question,”

“Lucky for you Parker,” you spoke, “I’m terrible at bio,” you bit your lip as you watched Peter smile below you, inches away from your own lips, “If you let go of me I can get my text book and two cups of coffee,”

***

“You actually are terrible at biology,” Peter smiled, adjusting his position on your king sized bed, he winced at his forgotten bruises, “I’m running out of questions,” his smile grew as he watched you leave the bed to refill your mug. Peter laughed, you must have been on your third cup of coffee, “Do you like gardening,” he asked.

“That’s your question,” you asked, brows furrowed, “okay, uh, yeah,” you looked at him as you stirred in some hazelnut creamer, “although, my plants are kind of going through a rough patch right now,” you almost whispered, not out of embarrassment, but at the fact that Y/H/N keeps forgetting to water them.

Peter smiled against the rim of his mug. He was not sure if you had noticed as he tailored a few of his questions especially for Y/H/N. Peter knew that she was bitten by a type of garden spider and he could not help but see so many similarities between the two of you. The world already knew his secret, and he was dying to know yours.

“Enough about me,” you almost pleaded, returning to his side, “Please,” you took a sip of your coffee. You studied Peter from behind your mug. His brown eyes fell to the notebook that sat between his clothed fingers. You wanted nothing more than for him to take off his suit and to feel his skin against yours. Your eyes flashed over to your clock, realizing how late it really was.

Peter noticed your eyes leave him, falling on the clock, “One more round, it’s getting late,” Peter sat down his empty coffee mug on the small side table next to your bed, “I have to patrol soon,” Any other day, nothing would stop him from running to Y/H/N’s side. To hear her sharp, sarcastic quips. But something about you made him want to stay here with you until morning.

“You almost seem as happy as I am to be done with biology,” you teased softly, “off to meet your masked mistress,” and there it was, your sarcastic tone you used when embarrassment got the best of you, “forbidden love,” Peter’s wrist found yours roughly, knocking your coffee from your grasp and on spidey instinct, you grabbed it, “You’re,” you stumbled on your words, feeling Peter’s suspicion on your neck, “lucky I caught that,”

Taking the mug from your hand, Peter retired it next to his mug. His hold tightened on your wrist as he studied your eyes silently. You felt as the blood pooled to your cheeks and ears, inches between the two of you began to disappear, “You know you can tell me,” Peter practically pleaded, “Y/N,” your name left his lips sternly, almost dominantly. If you were not slightly turned on by having Peter Parker on your bed before, you were now.

“I,” you stuttered, trying to fake a pained expression from his hold, “secret identities are secret for a reason, Parker,” you spoke, unable to meet his gaze, “or am I wrong, I wouldn’t know. I don’t have anything to hide,” you met his eyes, hoping to be more convincing.

“Fine,” Peter spoke as he backed away allowing the space between you two to grow, almost making you whine. Suddenly, you felt Peter’s hands on you. He roughly tossed you against the mattress, “prove me wrong, Y/N,” he spoke with a smile as he watched you crumble beneath him. His heart did not belong to you, he was in love with Y/H/N. Sometimes Peter felt like a fool for falling in love with someone whose identity was hidden from the world, but more importantly, from him. But damn, something about seeing you beneath him gave Y/H/N a run for her money. Peter watched as you could not meet his eyes, suddenly you fell silent. He could not figure out what came over him, why he could barely talk to girls and now you were pinned down below him. But Peter was determined to figure out if you were truly the masked girl he had fallen in love with.

Pinning your wrists above your head with his left hand, you watched as he activated his web shooter, sticking your hands against the bed frame. You swore under your breath, knowing damn well there was no way you were getting out of this one, “I hope you’re comfortable for the next two hours,” Peter teased, his eyes falling on the exposed skin of your hips and just below your navel. The thin fabric of your button down shirt had hiked up from when he pushed you against the mattress. Raising his hands, he placed his finger tips against your skin. Hearing you let out a small whimper, Peter felt arousal pooling in his stomach, similar to when he experiences a high fall before his webs secure, pulling him back up into the night air. His fingers traveled lightly, reaching the edge of your shirt. Pausing for a moment, he met your eyes, he could have sworn they were begging him not to stop. Pulling down the fabric, Peter sheltered your skin from the cool night air that blew through the open window.

Silently, Peter stood up, the weight on your mattress releasing, “Peter,” you called to him. You watched as he walked towards the small window that sat against the fire escape you found him on. His tall, built frame sat in the warm glow from the candle lit room. Everything about the sight before you made you weak. Your apartment smells of sweet honey and sweat, the romantic glow hid Peter’s bruises as he approached the bed to your disbelief, “Why do you want to know who she is,” you asked, knowing he cared for her and not you. You laid there, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. All you could think about is how disappointed he will be when Y/H/N does not show. How he will now know that she is, and has always been, only you. You hid behind a mask, Y/H/N bringing out what you lacked, confidence you wish you had. Confidence that Peter fell head over heels for, “Aren’t you afraid she won’t be all that you dreamed she would be,” you whispered.

Peter was silent as he studied you on the bed. You were vulnerable, yet your words were defensive. At this point in time, Peter could not tell if he would be disappointed if Y/H/N did not show up, confirming that you were the girl that he had dreamed about for a little over a year now. But now that he spent the night with you, he could not tell if he would be disappointed if Y/H/N did show, because a part of him hoped that she really was you.

You watched as Peter’s eyes traveled across your body, taking you all in as he retracted into his thoughts. The apartment was silent, humming with your beating hearts, “Peter,” you whispered, bringing him back to your small apartment. Your eyes pleaded with him to stay, to not find the answer he was so desperate for. Struggling against the web fluid, you could not break away, even with your heightened strength.

Peter watched you squirm in front of him, making his heart skip a beat. He knew he had to leave you, but he wanted nothing more than to explore you as you were so conveniently ready for him. He did not know a lot about girls or romance, but he could hear your heartbeat accelerate whenever he was around you, he has heard it for the past two years.

At first, Peter was not looking for a distraction, for a relationship, wanting to focus on his school work. But then he met Y/H/N and he could not help himself. Sure, the two of you were chemically attracted to each other due to both of your manipulated dna, but you balanced him out in every possible way. He could not help himself, he fell in love with her like a school boy, “I’ll come back,” Peter spoke over the two girls that played tug of war in his head, “don’t go anywhere,” he teased, placing a finger against the tip of your nose with a smile. Before you could come up with a clever response, Peter was gone.

Laying on your back, you stared at your white ceiling. Studying it, you found a few browning spots of the old apartment building, many negative thoughts fighting for your attention, “shit,” you let out with a sigh. Soon Peter Parker will know your secret. But what you were more worried about was that Peter would no longer have feelings for Y/H/N. And that no matter what Peter would never like you as much as you liked him. You wished you were not tied to your own bed frame so you could call Nick Fury and ask him to literally slap some sense into you. But all you could do for now, was wait for your small world to come crashing down.

***

You lay there, chest rising up and down, slowly but rhythmically. Your heartbeat finally slows to a healthy pace as your eyes find the clock. Peter has been gone for over an hour now and part of you wanted to believe Y/H/N did show up and that you were not her. Of course you knew the truth. But in this moment, you wished to be a normal college girl. A girl whose only worry was if she would end up passing that bio midterm. Suddenly, your daydreaming was cut short by the smell of Peter’s cologne, “shit, shit,” you breathed out over your, once again, racing heart. Closing your eyes, you heard the soles of Peter’s suit tap against your apartment’s old, worn wooden floor.

Peter stood in the quiet room as he observed you through the white lace curtains that blew in the night air. You did not meet his eyes, the room echoed with your racing heart. He had waited for Y/H/N for over an hour, and she was never late. Peter’s eyes traveled along your body hungrily, not knowing what was coming over him.

Peter was not inexperienced but he sure as hell was rusty and, well, he was Peter Parker. MJ was not the most physically affectionate, but for the years they were together, they had found themselves in some ‘intimate situations.’

For a year now, Peter had been thinking about being in similar situations with Y/H/N, and now you. Peter’s eyes rolled back, closing slowly as he thought about having his way with you, and he was damn satisfied that you were indeed his “masked mistress.” A hunger stirred in Peter’s stomach as he slowly approached you, presented so beautifully before him. Your hands rubbed against each other as he watched you squirm. Your wrists held in place by the web fluid he had shot you with before he left. Peter licked his lips as his throat began to feel dry, out of nervousness. Fearful that his voice might crack, he cleared his throat, “Y/H/N,” your hero name rolled off his soft lips, slightly turning you on.

What the hell was wrong with you. Sure, you were literally just tied to your bed by the guy you have been dreaming about for two years. But feeling aroused by hearing him call you by your hero name, the girl he had been infatuated with, a girl who up until now, was just a faceless heroine. That was drawing a line.

Peter watched as your head rolled, turning towards him, finally opening your y/e/c eyes. He took you in, as you did the same with him. Peter was now sporting a worn backpack. You watched as it fell to the floor with a quiet thump. He melted under your gaze and before he knew it, he found himself on the mattress, straddling your hips, “Y/H/N,” he repeated, his voice was more demanding. Peter needed an answer from your soft lips, his heart ached every second that he waited for a response.

You felt your heart skip a beat, seeing Peter Parker above you. Something about that sight made you give into him, “Did I disappoint you,” your soft confirmation set arouse off in Peter like fireworks. You could swear you saw a change in his eyes, as if his pupils dilated. You did not get to study his eyes for long before your eyes fluttered closed as Peter’s hands met your cheeks roughly. His lips pressed against yours.

His lips, cold like the night air, melted against you. A small, unannounced groan passed through your lips as Peter allowed an inch to find its way between the two of you.

“I would have been disappointed if it wasn’t,” Peter spoke against your lips, “then I would have been in love with two girls,” his words began to fall from his lips in between peppered kisses, in an attempt to cover up his sudden confession.

‘Love.’

Many words fell from his lips, but only one word occupied your mind. The smallest word stopped the world from spinning, and suddenly, it was just you and Peter, “fuck,” you hummed against his kiss. Peter was surprisingly handsy. He was hungrily grabbing at you, as if he did not want to leave an inch of skin untouched. You let out a small groan, wishing to feel his touch without the barrier of his suit. Peter’s hands had found their way under the thin fabric of your shirt, its buttons restricting him. The cool air draped against your heated skin as you radiated sensuality.

Releasing you of the kiss, Peter observed you as you wiggled under him. Your body agitated the clothed skin of his thighs, the tension between the two of you was unbearable. Peter removed his hands from your skin, but only for a moment as his fingers faltered against your shirt's buttons. Peter worked gingerly, trying to not let his strength and hunger get the best of him. If it was up to him, he would have torn you out of your shirt.

Your heated skin shuddered against the air as Peter released you from the fabric that covered your black, lace bra. You felt as if your skin was crawling with desire as you watched Peter attempt to fully remove your shirt, making you smile slightly. Your bound hands obstructing the shirt's path, “Didn’t think things through, did you Parker,” you quietly quipped, meeting his brown eyes and furrowed brows.

Peter suppressed a groan as your artful claim made his eyes roll back. Y/H/N was showing through and your confidence was emerging. He watched as you struggled against the web fluid, so desperate to touch him, and that turned Peter on. Reaching out, his hands found your breasts that were covered in the black lace of your bra, a small moan passed through your lips. It was breathless and sheepish, making Peter groan in response, “So pretty,” he whispered as his palms kneaded your desperate skin. Peter’s eyes roamed your exposed skin quickly, almost afraid that if he blinked you would dissolve in his grasp.

Pushing the lace up and over your breasts, he exposed your skin that scorched with desire, the air painfully cool against it, “Peter,” his name left your lips as a weighted sigh, allowing him to watch your exposed chest rise and fall. You waited for Peter’s touch on your skin, but he was hesitant, making you squirm.

Peter’s eyes were soft, yet hungry. Visually, he took you in ravenously, while his touch was delicate. Reaching forward, Peter took your left nipple between his fingertips, the textured fabric of his suit stimulating your skin. A whimper left your lips as you struggled against your restraints, “I want to hear you say it,” Peter whispered to himself as he focused on your hardening nipple.

“What,” you questioned in between a few sharp breaths. You redirected your gaze from Peter’s hand to his face, studying it, trying to figure out what he meant. Managing to pry his eyes off of your peaking skin that sat between his fingers, he met your y/e/c eyes. The dominance in his eyes contrasted against a boyish blush that creeped over his pale, freckled skin.

A nervous sigh pressed through Peter’s lips, “I want to hear you say that you’re,” your hero name could not pass through his parted lips. His heart was desperate to hear it from your lips and not his own.

“That I’m Y/H/N,” your words rang through his ears with a minor questioning tone, “Peter,” you almost laughed as you heard his racing heart, his face the visualization of desperation. Peter wanted confirmation, he wanted nothing more in his life than an audible reason to fall head over heels for you. Not just Y/H/N, but all of you. He wanted a reason for his heart to ache whenever he left Y/H/N’s side but also a reason as to why he wanted to be by your side just as badly. Peter watched as your lips moved with no words passing through them. Desire burned through his veins as he released your sensitive nipple from between his fingers. A whimper passed through your lips, finally freeing a noise that had been caught in your throat. Peter’s eyes studied your face, waiting for your response eagerly, “Peter,” you whispered nervously. You had been directed to keep your identity a secret, and that was nothing but common sense. But Peter did know your identity, so why was it so hard to tell him the truth? You wanted nothing more than to have some of the weight lifted off of your shoulders and you were thankful Peter ended up being the one to help you through your long kept secret.

Peter’s sudden movement jolted you back to reality as he cupped your breasts roughly, “Y/N,” he disciplined, somehow making your name sound like a punishment.

A small moan escaped your throat, feeling Peter’s hands on your skin, “I’m Y/H/N,” those few words followed the embarrassing moan. Then, the room fell into silence. The echo of two rapid heartbeats filled your ears.

Without a word, you felt Peter’s grip strengthen as he brought his lips to yours forcefully. Peter was sloppy, his mind cluttered with romanticized memories of you from your many nights spent together. Peter had spent the past year dreaming about you and you were even more beautiful than he could have ever pictured. Now that he had you, he felt as if he could not hold himself back. He has been starved of you for too long. Peter’s hand left your right breast and trailed shakily down your exposed stomach, resting on the hem of your black jeans. His name rang through his ears as it left your lips in a quiet, pleading tone, “Y/H/N,” he stuttered, your hero name slipping through his blushed lips, “Y/N, you don’t know how many times I dreamt of this,” he nearly groaned. Peter Parker was embarrassed and falling apart right in front of you, “shit,” he spoke as his hand faltered against the button of your jeans. Defeated, he retreated his hand from your breast. His long fingers popped open your jeans within seconds, exposing your matching lace-trimmed underwear that sat prettily against your soft skin.

You studied Peter as he pulled the skinny fabric down your trembling legs, every movement making you more anxious and lustful. Peter’s hands found their way to your bare knees, placing each of your legs by his sides. Bringing his lips to the side of your knee, he left a delicate kiss on your newly exposed skin, “We can just study some more,” Peter smiled, leaving a few kisses on your inner thighs, each one sloppier than the last, “since you’re so bad at biology,” he teased, feeling you squirm in under his touch.

“Screw you, Parker,” your words fell heavy, each sounding like a panted breath. You never thought Peter had an ounce of dominance in him, but he had you wrapped around his finger, “I want you,”

Peter smiled. He was finally getting what he wanted and he was not about to let you slip away from him.

“I want you,”

Those three breathless words echoed through Peter’s mind as he picked up his head from where it was positioned between your legs. He heard you let out a whimper as his muscular shoulders straightened, sitting up, “Yeah,” he asked cockily, his voice low and it made your need for him grow.

“Peter,” his name rang with desperation from your parted lips, “please,” you ached for his touch against your skin. Feeling as if your skin burned with desire, you pulled against your restraints, watching Peter smile, “please,” you whisper, with a bat of your eyes you found Peter above you, your breath warming his skin.

Without a word, Peter buried his face against your neck, hiding a blush that gently flushed his pale complexion. Kisses peppered the soft skin of your neck as Peter’s dominance seemed to fade; as if he was back to his awkward nature.

Peter almost seemed innocent, the type of guy that your parents would love to have around. But you knew better.

You knew that for Peter, you were responsible for a year’s worth of eroticism. He worshiped Y/H/N and she occupied all of his thoughts. For months she was someone he found himself reaching out for but could never grasp. But now, you were all his, and your gazed begged for his touch.

Your lips mirrored your eyes; pleading words slipped between them, “What do you want me to do to you,” Peter whispered against your ear as he attempted to compose himself, his breath catching in his throat. His fingertips hovered against the small of your back, he was hesitant now. Moments before, Peter grabbed at you hungrily. But now, he felt as if he could possibly disappoint you. It has been years since he was intimate with anyone physically, but mentally he had already done so many things to you.

One of Peter’s favorite daydreams was where he slowly, and finally, got to unmask you. The material of your mask sitting between his fingers softly as he exposed your blushed lips. He would watch your lips part, taking a sharp inhale of the night air. Did he forget to mention this takes place on a tall rooftop in Manhattan? Your soft skin would be illuminated by the neon glow of the city’s lights.

In that moment Peter’s mind would wander to the endless possibilities your mouth could provide. After all, he was a guy, and a stressed crime fighting, college guy at that. Trying to shake those thoughts out of his head, he revealed your nose, little by little; which would make you laugh. “Come on Parker, get it over with,” Y/H/N would tease him in an unintentional sensual tone. Or maybe it was just sensual to Peter, who knows.

Then, before he could even get to your eyes, he would plant a heated kiss on your lips. He would feel you smile into his kiss, your teeth separating the two of you for a moment. After a few more sincere kisses, Peter took a deep breath. Almost as if he was ripping off a bandaid, Peter pulled your mask. He watched as your y/h/c hair flowed in the cool night air.

You shook your head, a bit embarrassed by your suit hair. Staring at Peter, you waited to meet his soft and sweet, brown eyes. His gaze was hesitant, he had waited so long for this moment that he hoped one day would come.

“Peter,” your pleading voice brought him back to reality as he pulled his face out of the curve of your neck and to your imploring gaze.

You seemed different now that Peter knew your secret. Your aloofness and mysterious nature that once seemed odd to him, now intoxicated him. Does that make him a hypocrite?

Whenever he noticed you on campus you were almost always alone. The company you did keep was only one or two friends and maybe a few peers who helped you study for classes outside of your major. You were secretive and impersonal because you held secrets. Everyone on campus knew Peter, and even more people knew Spider-Man. You never treated him like a hero, but always greeted him with the smallest hello.

Peter studied your eyes for what seemed like the first time. Your y/e/c eyes stared back at him. He took in every inch of your eyes, studying every distinctive feature, “So pretty,” Peter unconsciously breathed out. As if a switch flipped, Peter was obsessed and hungry for you. As his hands made their way to your skin, his lips locked with your own. Shakily, his hands traveled from your navel to your breasts. His hands held your breasts lightly before his hunger overtook him; his hands squeezing your soft skin. A whimper passed through your pressed lips as he began to move his hands, fingers massaging your skin. Peter could tell you were growing impatient, as was he, but he wanted to make every moment last; as if his lustful movements could slow down time, “I’ve been waiting too long to have you like this,” he almost whispered, “I need you to be patient for me,” his voice rang with a surprisingly dominant tone, making you nod. Peter smiled, a small laugh spilling through his teeth, “To be honest with you, I almost took Y/H/N as the dominant type,” he toyed, “but you’re just a bratty bottom,” bending his muscular shoulders he placed a kiss between your breasts, your heartbeat rattled against your chest.

With a quick, sharp breath, Peter attached his lips around your nipple allowing the room to fill with profanities and rapid heartbeats, “Shh,” Peter hummed against your sensitive skin, as your body’s surface was kissed by goosebumps.

“Peter,” his name passed through your throat as if it was desperately clawing its way out, “mm,” was all you could muster as his tongue teased your hardened nipple. Peter’s lip released your skin with a ‘pop’ before meeting your eyes once again. His brown eyes seemed darker now, glazed with lust. His pupils dilated, left little room for the chocolate brown eyes you found yourself getting lost in, “Parker,” you breathed out a whine as you watched his gaze take you in hungrily.

“Sh,” he repeated, a little more demanding. Raising his non dominant hand, he ran his thumb across your lips, “open,” he spoke, and you listened. Peter placed his clothed thumb against your tongue, catching a groan in his throat. Watching your lips close around his finger could break him.

Peter felt his heart begin to rattle his chest at the thought of taking things further. Your eyes were burning into him with desire and he was about to melt. Raising his free hand, shakily, it made its way down your body until his suit made contact with the silky fabric of your underwear. Gingerly, his fingertips slipped under the hem of your underwear, hiding underneath the dark fabric. Feeling you pull against your restraints, Peter’s hand neared your heated center, “Is this what you wanted,” he asked, his eyes focused on his finger that sat between your plush lips. Watching you nod he began to advance his touch, feeling how wet you truly were, he could tell even with his suit clothing his long fingers. His advance made you let out a hum that vibrated against Peter’s thumb, tickling his skin.

The texture of Peter’s suit added another level of bliss to your pure, unadulterated euphoria. As Peter began to stimulate you, a string of moans began to blossom from your occupied mouth. As suddenly as his thumb slipped between your lips, it was gone and Peter was taking in the pornographic tunes that escaped your lips. For a moment, both of you closed your eyes, blissfully. You have both been starved of each other for so long that hunger blinded the two of you as you occupied your bed.

Opening his eyes, Peter studied you underneath him: eyes fluttered, lips moaning and legs shaking.

A year's worth of desires flooded Peter’s body, as if hunger was coursing through his veins. He was barely holding on to the small amount of restraint that kept him from already having his way with you. You were beautifully laid out in front of him. Breasts exposed and kissed with the chill of the night air. The sight of your dark, satin underwear hiding his hand was enough to make him moan; let alone what his fingers were doing to you, hidden from his gaze. Without a thought, Peter held the silky fabric in his hands, stopping the pleasure his hand was providing you. A whimper of disappointment hummed from your pressed lips but was soon interrupted by the tearing of fabric.

“Parker, what the hell,” you asked. After your fit of moans, minutes before, hearing your own voices caught you off guard, “You could have just,” your annoyed claim was cut short as you took in air, sharply, as Peter took ahold of your hips. His strong arms could toss you around without hesitation.

Looking down, you found Peter’s head positioned between your legs. Your hips were inclined as Peter swung your legs over his strong shoulders. You watched as Peter studied your newly exposed skin, almost as if he had never seen anything in the world as beautiful as what was laid out before him. You felt your stomach drop, anxiety flooded you, along with self consciousness. You were not happy with your body, but then again who was?

Peter was.

Peter loved everything about what was before him. He took in every inch, almost as if it was the last thing he would ever see. And if it was, he would be okay with that, “Just when I thought you couldn’t get more beautiful,” Peter’s words teased your ears as his long, index finger teased your entrance, making you squirm from overstimulation. Lifting his head he watched your eyes roll back with every inch of his finger that he introduced, “you look so pretty like this, Y/H/N,”

Hearing your hero name roll off of Peter’s flirting tongue could be enough to push you over the edge. You did not know why hearing him call you Y/H/N turned you on, when in reality you were so afraid that your true self would disappoint him. Maybe you were a masochist, who knows? You came back down to reality after Peter added another digit to your pleasure, “Peter,” you whimpered, chasing your high that you lost during your moments of overthinking.

Your eyes closed, brows furrowing as you came closer and closer to your high, lips muttering as you pulled against your restraints. Suddenly, you felt Peter’s warm tongue against your clit as his fingers picked up their slow rhythm. Peter’s actions brought you right to your edge, and he knew that.

Peter picked up his gaze, wanting to see just how good he was making you feel. But his eyes found your brows furrowed, “What’s wrong,” he asked, his words vibrated against your sensitive core. As fast as he stopped, he began again, eating you out with excessive skill.

A groan passed through your parted lips. Your body ached physically and mentally. You longed to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair. To tug on his disheveled, sweat-kissed hair that was beginning to curl, “I want to touch you,” you moaned, breathlessly, catching yourself off guard. Opening your eyes, you picked up your heavy head just in time to catch Peter smile from between your legs, “fuck,” you almost screamed. Peter’s smile pushed you over the edge. Your legs shook as you rode out your orgasm, your hips moving as Peter still absolutely devoured you.

***

You felt Peter’s hands outstretched, traveling up your body, slowly and sensually. Every movement making you breathless and adding to the euphoria that flowed through you.Peter’s clothed fingers teased your nipples as he continued to stimulate you. His tongue still lapped at your clit, making your eyes lose focus on the ceiling above you, “Parker,” you moaned, “fuck, please,” anger laced your desire. You were so deprived of contact. Not the contact you received, but how you were desperate to touch him. His hair curled in such a way that if you did not touch it, you felt as if you would regret it for the rest of your life. Knowing, or hoping, you would get another opportunity did not matter. You needed to feel his sweat-soaked locks at this moment.

“Be patient,” he spoke against your sensitive nerves. Both of you have been keeping an eye on the clock, knowing that you still had around thirty minutes before you would be free of Peter’s bondage. Struggling against your restraints, you prayed that your enhanced strength would spare an ounce of compassion and allow you to break away, “stay still,” Peter’s demand brought you back to reality as he entered your line of vision. He was leaving the bed now, which only made you disobey him, fighting to reach out to him. Your eyes practically begged him to finish what he had started, and little did you know Peter was only getting started.

Peter’s back faced you, his clothed fingertips brushed against the fabric of his worn backpack, stopping his action as he heard you whine. Your desperation almost made him laugh. He had been intoxicated by Y/H/N for a year, but now that he had unmasked you, the facade faded and instead, you were the one under his control. Y/H/N’s somewhat conceited and overbearing confidence was nowhere to be found, instead you were a timid and moaning mess, practically begging for his touch.

The webs around your wrist began to shift against your movements, the noise attracting Peter’s attention. Peter’s hand fell against the wall with force, making your eyes screw shut. Taking in a sharp breath, your lungs filled with air that was laced with his cologne and it made you weak. Or should you say, weaker than you already were, Peter Parker was turning you into a fucking mess. You were too embarrassed to meet Peter’s gaze, feeling his breath against your cheek, “What did I say,” he asked, his tone was almost sweet, but he did not fool you. You knew better, you knew that as long as he was in that suit, you were screwed. You felt as Peter’s hands fell roughly on your hips, raising them, making you arch your back.

You melted against his touch, hips loose, as he twisted your body before bringing a flat hand to your ass. The spank allowed a whimper to pass through your lips as you finally opened your eyes, alarmed at Peter’s sudden dominance.

Peter was leaning over you, one knee on your old mattress. His left hand was flat against the wall, his backpack separating his palm from the painted surface. He had stuck his bag to the wall with his webs, you were unsure if it was intentional or an action from his suddenly improvised foreplay.

“Are you going to be good for me,”

You nodded, locking eyes with him, the night concealing him as your apartment grew darker and darker. Peter’s soft skin glowed from the candle lit room, allowing you to make out his features well enough to watch his jaw clench.

“What was that,”

“Yes,”

“Good girl,”

The hushed exchange made a chill travel up your spine, your nipples hardening. His low ‘good girl’ traveled straight to your core, striking something deep. You almost sigh out of relief. The praise he gives you satisfying something you did not know you needed. Peter must have noticed your sudden wave of bliss, since a smug smile crossed his lips before he met yours with a heated kiss. The room echoed with the sound of a zipper as Peter continued to kiss you: tongue and teeth, and hungrily.

Leaving your blushed lips, Peter found his way on the bed, sitting on the back of his heels. His thighs stretched the fabric of his suit as he sat before you and you savored every inch of his body. The slight movement of Peter’s hand caught the candle light, or what sat in his hand. The warm flame reflected off of the foil of a condom.

A small laugh left your swollen lips, “Really Parker,” you teased. Before returning to your apartment, Peter had taken the time to, literally, swing by his room to find a condom.

Peter had quietly set foot in his room, trying not to signal to his roommate that he had returned from patrol. Grabbing his worn backpack, he approached his nightstand, mentally praying that he still had a condom left from when he last had MJ in his bed, over a year ago. He also prayed that condoms did not have a quick expiration date.

Next thing Peter knew, he was pressing the spider on the front of his suit, allowing his heated skin to cool in the night air. Even under the low, yellowed light, Peter felt you studying his flushed skin; making him feel a bit self conscious.

Whenever Peter became flustered or aroused, his neck and chest often became kissed by pink patches of a sex flush. Little did he know how endearing you found it, and how much the sight of it turned you on.

You were in a constant battle of wanting to tear right out of his webs and to touch him, which at this point you probably could, and being good for him. Instead you let out a whine, it was desperate and hungry and you hoped it would convince him to touch you. At this very moment, you craved Peter’s touch more than ever, your first skin on skin contact with him. You watched as he studied you, that damn smug smile still plastered on his handsome face. You wanted nothing more than to place your lips on every freckle that kisses his face. To trail your lips down to the prominent freckle that sat on the side of his neck, desperately wanting to leave your mark on him.

And at this point you could. His webs were weak enough, ten minutes ago, for you to escape his constraint.

But you did not. Peter had you fully submitted and in his control.

Your eyes found Peter’s hands as they made their way to you, his fingers brushed against your sides, sending a chill throughout your whole body. The sudden chill was contrasted with his heated touch. Peter’s long fingers wrapped around your sides, sliding from under your breasts, down to your hips. Fingers gripping your hips, he pulled you closer to him. You watched Peter’s chest rise and fall as he took in the sight of you below him, bound to your bed.

Peter’s jaw clenched, repressing his hunger and urge to take you then and there. But he could not repress it any longer. His eyes watched you as he tore open the condom that sat in his grasp, a deep breath passed through his nostrils as his hand found its way between your breasts. Flattening his palm against your warm skin, he trailed his touch upwards until his fingers draped around your neck, almost as if they belonged there, “You’re going to be good for me,” Peter asked, his eyes were still locked onto you, although his tightening grasp around your neck attracted his gaze, “my good girl,” his words slurred as if he was entranced by his own whitening knuckles as his large hand enveloped your neck.

“So good,” you tried to speak, your voice coming out in sheepish waves as Peter’s touch made it harder and harder for you to breath. As suddenly as his hand choked you, his touch left you cold. Opening your eyes you watched as Peter’s hand left your throat to provide him some relief against the tightening fabric of his briefs.

The particular pair that Peter was dying to escape from were tight and thin, black briefs. They sat under his suit with almost no trouble, but the tight fabric was no longer forgiving. A groan passed through Peter’s lips as his palm fell against his growing length. Looking down at you, he realized how nude you truly were.

Not naked, nude. There was a difference. You were nude, not out of vulnerability, but he could sure as hell do anything to you; whatever crossed his mind, but out of want and the desire to be.

Just the thought of it made his dick jump, his body practically leaping towards you. Peter took in a breath as his fingers fell under the elastic of his briefs, pulling them down, allowing his heated length to be hit with the cool, night air, “shit,” he hissed as his ears filled with a curse that left your lips.

The sight of him before you sent a wave of emotions through you and straight to your core. You expected him to be big, hell, you glorified him for two years now. You had already, mentally, put his dick on a pedestal. But seeing him fully nude, right in front of you almost broke your mental note on staying tied up for him. For a moment you almost reached out to touch his abs, his fit chest, his thick length. His dick was kissed with a bead of precum that you prayed to taste.

Peter watched as your eyes traveled over his skin, adding blush to his already flushed skin. He wanted to feel your lips around him, to hold your neck as he explored every inch of your throat, but he knew he would not last that long if he did. His eyes found the clock, realizing just how little time he had left of your bonded wrists.

Placing the condom at his tip, he pinched the rubber before rolling it over himself. His own touch made his head roll back, he could not imagine how you would make him feel.

How Y/H/N would make him feel, “fuck,” he laughed, almost as if he was satisfied with himself for unmasking you.

For tying you up. And soon, for fucking you.

“I bet you feel so good, Y/H/N,” Peter slipped, the name leaving his throat in a groan. But you did not mind, “so soft,” his tip teased your entrance, letting a sigh pass through his lips as he felt just how wet you were, “so tight,” with a bit of force, he began to fill you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, feeling just how much he was stretching you, “fuck, Parker, you’re so big,” your cliche claim brought a smirk to Peter’s lips, but it was true. He was thick and filling you out in all the right ways.

Peter’s senses were on fire, as he tried to wrap his head around the effect you had on him, “so good,” was all he could muster as his lips parted. As his hands found your hips, his fingers dug into your skin as if he was trying to ground himself. Peter groaned, he was lost in you, the feeling of you, and there was no coming back.

With a fast and rough thrust, Peter bottomed out, filling you completely. Curses fell from your blushed lips in sheepish moans as his thrusts continued, not allowing you to adjust to his size, “Parker,” you almost screamed his name as he reminded you of his strength, leaving bruises on your hips. Your powers almost matched Peter’s, but he was far stronger than you, and at this point, you wondered if your accelerated healing would even be able to hide the bruises he was leaving behind, “fuck,” you cursed, realizing you did not want them to fade, you wanted him to mark you. You wanted a trophy to take home, a filthy reminder of your unmasked identity, “harder,” with a tilt of your hips you allowed him to, somehow, hit you even deeper.

Your lashes batted with every thrust, dying to look at him. You looked at Peter through your lashes, eyes unable to focus, clouded with lust. Your words challenged him, seeing how far you could push him. You were not at all the dominant type, you were a brat. But at this point, you were just bitter. Bitter at how Peter outsmarted you, coaxed your identity out through your faults. He used your weaknesses against you, reading you like an open book, “You’re gonna make cum,” you whispered past your lustful haze.

“Yeah? So good,” Peter faltered, bringing you back to reality, the feeling of Peter’s skin slapping against yours made your eyes roll back, “you’re so good, shit, gonna cum,” embarrassment laced his words, wishing you did not make him feel this good. His thrusts have been growing sloppy as he came closer and closer to his climax, “Y/H/N, wanted you so bad,”

A small smile teased the corners of your lips at the sight of Peter Parker unraveling above you, “I’m yours, you feel so good, so big,” you praised, watching as Peter’s brows furrowed. With a small tug, you escaped from Peter’s webfluid, “fuck Parker, cum please, please cum,” you begged. Your fingers found Peter’s abs, trailing your long nails against his toned skin, “so deep, you feel so good,” you spoke, helping him chase his high, which was not far. Your lips found his jaw line, leaving wet kisses underneath it.

Your actions pushed him over the edge quicker than he was willing to admit, “I’m cumming, Y/N,” he breathed out, hips allowing a few jutted thrusts before he filled the condom, still deep inside of you.

Watching Peter’s chest rise and fall above you, “Lay down,” you smile up at him. You wanted nothing more than to finally be able to run your fingers through his sweat curled hair.

With a hum, Peter fell against your mattress, right by your side, as if he belonged there. Your fingers wasted no time, pushing back the locks that had fallen in front of his eyes. His brown hair was soft and damp, making your heart skip a beat. Taking a deep breath, Peter’s cologne filled your nose. You wondered why the seductive scent did not cross your mind as he was fucking your brains out. Nevermind, you answered your own question.

“Did you cum,” Peter’s quiet question brought you back to reality. He watched as you shook your head, making his eyes screw shut.

“You were fucking me so good I couldn’t even think straight to cum,” you laughed, “Parker,” your gaze followed him as he sat up. Your heart skipped a beat, afraid he was going to leave, “don’t,” your words were cut off as you watched him tie off the condom before positioning his head between your legs.

Your mouth close, lips pressed into a straight line. You were not about to complain, Peter ate you out like an expert. And you also could not say no to being able to pull on his soft locks as you came on his skillful tongue.

***

“There you are,” you heard your friend’s voice as she approached your table. Lifting your head, you met her eyes, “You’re not facing the quad,”

“Change of scenery,” you smiled as she noticed a cup that sat across from you. The chair was empty as a hazelnut cappuccino waited in front of it.

Y/F/N’s head was cocked, hand rested on the unoccupied chair, “and how was the study sesh,” she smiled, “I want all the details,” her voice hushed was her eyes found Peter’s as he exited the coffee shop’s bathroom.

Approaching the table, Peter crossed his strong arms, “Y/F/N, are you taking my seat,” he asked with a smile and playfully cocked brows, “I can pull up a chair,”

Y/F/N’s eyes fell from Peter and onto you, a smug smile stretched across your face as you finished off your cup of coffee.

“The usual,” Peter asked you, pulling out his wallet. Receiving a nod and a small “yes please” from you, Peter pecked your cheek with a kiss. Flashing a smile to your friend, he walked past her.

You sighed at Peter’s actions, he was showing off, marking you as his. You were not mentally prepared to explain to your friend on how the two of you got so close in just one night. But you definitely were not going to leave out the smutty details.

#peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter parker fan fic #peter parker smut #spider man fanfic #spider man fic #spider man smut #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #peter parker x reader

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elisaphoenix13 · 3 years

Text

Delusional (Ch.1)

Okay, so this is something that won't be for everyone. It's a trope that me and my friends got into while RPing so this was born. I think this will be one of those fics that I'll only continue if there's enough interest. Let me know what you think!

Tony had been pissed when his parents told him that his mother was pregnant. He had no idea what possessed them to think having another kid was a good idea when they could barely pay attention to the one they already had, and he even said that. It ended up turning into an argument between him and Howard and Tony gave them both the cold shoulder for the entirety of Maria's pregnancy. Whether it was because of her age or possibly because of Tony's ongoing silent treatment stressing her out, his mother went into labor a month early. Tony couldn't even bring himself to visit his parents or the new baby at the hospital, but they eventually came home with his new baby brother that he almost considered ignoring completely.

But then he realized that would make him exactly like Howard.

So when his parents went gallivanting off to some party one day, leaving their preemie baby in the hands of the maid, Tony finally decided to properly meet his brother. A seventeen year age difference wasn't unheard of, but it still felt weird to walk into the nursery with the knowledge that the baby inside was a sibling. He decided he would make sure the baby was still alive and then go back to his bedroom to study for his physics final, but when he approached the crib the baby was sleeping in...he softened.

His baby brother slept peacefully on his back with his arms stretched out on both sides of his head and every so often snuffled in his sleep. He wasn't covered with a blanket and he vaguely recalled hearing that he shouldn't be at his age, but he was at least dressed warmly in tiny blue footie pajamas. He had wisps of dark hair that looked like they would be soft to the touch and Tony was tempted to reach out and see but he refrained. He didn't want to disturb the baby.

Tony had been so focused on ignoring Howard that he had to wrack his brain for his brother's name, which he knew his mother had told him. He was pretty sure he had been studying at the time and was only half listening, but it eventually came to him.

Scott.

Scott Harris Stark.

It was barely seconds later that the baby started to fuss and Tony looked around a little lost before finally giving in and leaning down to scoop him up. Tony was a goner after that. Scott's hair was just as soft as it looked and Tony was worried he could break his brother if he so much as sneezed. It didn't stop him from taking over most of the responsibilities of caring for Scott from that moment on though. Tony did his research, watched his mother, and even asked the maid for advice, but soon he was changing diapers. He fed Scott, stayed up for hours on end when he was colicky or sick, dressed him, played with him…

Tony was determined to make sure Scott had the love and attention he was deprived of. At least Maria tried with both of them.

But when Scott was just under a year old, tragedy struck. Both their parents died in a car accident on the way to a party, leaving Tony alone with his infant brother. Fortunately he was freshly eighteen so he could have legal guardianship over Scott and Tony had Rhodey and Obadiah for support and help with the company he now had control over. Scott always came first though. Tony made sure he had a decent childhood despite the fact that he easily got sick, and the adorable smiles he got in return were well worth it as Scott grew up.

So was the boy's first word. Dad. Tony never corrected him since he did raise Scott, and his brother never knew their parents. So as far as Scott knew, Tony was his father and Tony made sure to hide away the truth. As far as he was concerned, the lie wasn't hurting Scott and it was partly true in a sense.

He didn't expect it to be easy and it wasn't. Because Scott was born premature, he had special needs in the form of allergies (both food and environmental), asthma, and he even got sick constantly. Most days found Scott in Tony's room because the boy whined whenever Tony tried to put him in his own room, and he was terrified Scott would stop breathing in the middle of the night. Scott slept in Tony's bed until well into his grade school years when he finally started to grow out of his need to be near his father. Tony was still nervous and checked on Scott before he went to bed and at least once in the middle of the night when he woke up.

When Tony first found out Scott was allergic to peanuts, he was a wreck. He threatened the doctors to help his kid when he heard Scott wheezing for breath, and when the boy was finally recovering, he demanded they do whatever they had to do to check for any allergies he might have had. Tony didn't think he could handle seeing Scott as sick as he was again. The wheezing, the hives, the overall misery his little boy had been in…

It turned out Scott was severely allergic to all types of nuts. Peanuts, cashews, almonds, walnuts...if it was a nut, Scott couldn't have it. That was easy enough to plan meals around but then there was also shellfish, sesame, parsley, and pineapple. Whenever they went out to eat, Tony scrutinized every ingredient on the menu if it was available, and if it wasn't, he demanded to talk to the chefs. Fortunately once he learned what food Scott could have, it became second nature.

Tony always made sure to carry an inhaler and epipen with him, had extras held for Scott at school, and more in the boy's backpack. He taught Scott as early as possible what he couldn't eat because it would make him very sick and for the most part, things went well enough. There was only one incident at school when Scott unknowingly ate something he wasn't supposed to, but he was quickly treated with one of his pens and sent to the hospital. Scott was quick to bounce back from that since the school staff had been prepared, so the only constant issue was his asthma.

Scott never let it slow him down and Tony swore he was going to either go gray at 25 or suffer heart failure. The little boy was constantly climbing everything, and Tony once had to pull him off the bookcase that he managed to climb up to the fifth shelf. The fifth shelf. Rhodey had his fair share of retrieving Scott from high places whenever he visited too.

Before Tony knew it, Scott had grown into a young man with a talent for hacking and engineering and had a penchant for tacos, oranges, and lollipops. He helped Tony with a lot of his projects but absolutely refused to help with anything related to weapons. Scott never liked violence and always hated that Stark Industries was solely based on weapons making. Tony never faulted him for it.

"Scott, have you seen my--?" Tony stops mid sentence when he looks over at the young man and finds him at his computers with his feet kicked up on a small part of the desk, dozing with a lollipop in his mouth. "Oh, that's safe."

He walks over and takes the lollipop out of Scott's mouth and he jolts awake. "Hey! I was eating that!" Scott complains.

"Yeah, you were very proactive about it. I didn't raise you for 21 years so you could choke and die because you fell asleep with candy in your mouth." Tony rolls his eyes and sticks the candy back in Scott's mouth before he could protest. "Now have you seen that little screwdriver you like to steal?"

"You had it last, and I've been busy updating Jarvis's code." Scott answers.

"I saw that. I guess you're so good you can do it in your sleep."

"It was uploading!" Scott drops his feet to the ground with an annoyed huff. "And I told you I wouldn't help you with your stupid weapons. That includes finding misplaced tools."

"Fine, fine."

Tony tries fixing the cow lick in Scott's hair and rolls his eyes when it only floofs back into place. He learned very early on that his kid's hair was untameable but that didn't stop Tony from trying. Hair gel, pomade, hair spray...none of it could contain and style Scott's hair. The cow lick worked for him though so Tony wasn't too obsessed with trying to find something to keep it in place.

"Well while you wait for your new code to upload, why don't you make me a sandwich?" Tony says. "I gotta get the Jericho prototype finished tonight."

Scott frowns. "Why do they want you to fly all the way out to Afghanistan? What's wrong with how you usually sell this stuff?"

"It's just for a couple of days volpino. Now where's my tuna sandwich?" Tony asks.

"Probably in the fridge. It's deconstructed." Scott says as he leaves the lab.

"Oh, haha. Funny. I like mine constructed so get on it. Chop chop."

Tony smirks when he hears Scott mumble something under his breath along the lines "slave driver", but with no heat. Things had gotten easier as Scott got older but he never really grew out of his physical problems. He still had his food and environmental allergies, his asthma, and even his tendency to get sick, but that had mostly been remedied when Tony moved them to Malibu. The warm weather helped with that and Scott didn't get sick nearly as often as he did in New York, and that had been a huge relief for the both of them. Tony only wished he had thought of it sooner.

When Scott comes back with the sandwich and sets it nearby for Tony, the man looks up at him and rolls his eyes when he finds the younger man drinking out of a juice box. "You know you can have beer now right?"

"Juice is better." Scott says. "When are you leaving tomorrow?"

"You'll probably still be asleep. Even if I leave late." Tony grabs the sandwich and takes a bite. "So try not to blow up the lab while I'm gone." He adds around his mouthful.

"That's no fun." Scott says sarcastically. "Pepper called by the way. She said she has some paperwork for you to look at before you leave."

Tony groans. "Tell her I'm not home."

"It'll be true in a few hours anyway."

"Don't underestimate Pepper. She'll be waiting on the tarmac for me to look at those papers if she has to." Tony grumbles and then looks up at Scott with a suspicious smile that makes his son narrow his eyes at him. "You're 21. Maybe it's time to start giving you some responsibility with the company."

"I do. It's called making sure my dad doesn't blow himself up because he writes codes when he's half asleep. How are we still alive?"

"Rhodey and Happy." Tony replies dryly before whapping Scott upside the head. "Don't sass me."

Scott rubs the back of his head as he walks back over to his personal workstation to check on the progress of the code. When he had shown an interest in engineering and computers, Tony had immediately set up Scott's own work area with age appropriate equipment that he either replaced or updated as Scott got older. He was good at it too. Tony couldn't count the number of times he got calls from the FBI asking him to get Scott to stop leaving them viruses with laughing cat videos or something. They were always harmless and easily fixed, so Tony's response was to tell them to update their security so Scott couldn't get in.

Apparently they had yet to find a way to keep Scott out and Tony wasn't about to take away one of his son's very few joys in life. As long as it all stayed harmless, Tony would look the other way. He knew Scott was very capable of hacking into pretty much anything, and he was glad his kid was a pacifist. Because Scott was definitely very capable of getting his hands on nuke codes.

Tony actually wouldn't be surprised if Scott had already gone in and changed them.

Some whirring pulls Tony out of his thoughts and he looks over at the kitchenette to find DUM-E making smoothies again. A quick glance told him that there was at least peanut butter and almond milk in it so it wasn't safe for baby boy consumption.

"Hey! Are you trying to kill your little brother with that?" Tony asks and DUM-E beeps sadly when the blender goes off. "You know he can't have nuts!"

"There goes my social life." Scott says and Tony makes a face.

"I don't want to hear about that."

"Says the man whose one night stands I had to chase away."

Tony laughs. "To be fair, it was funny to see them get creeped out when you just stood in the kitchen and stared at them while drinking your juice box."

"...yeah. That was pretty fun." Scott admits.

"Sir, Miss Potts is on her way down." JARVIS says and Tony groans.

"Ugh the dreaded secretary with her paperwork."

There's a few beeps before the lab door hisses open and then the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum.

"Tony-"

"I know," he sighs. "Paperwork. Give it to Scott."

Pepper places the small stack next to his arm. "He's too busy making sure you don't blow yourself up."

"You know I had to teach him how to do that right?"

"And now he's better than you." Pepper says and Scott cackles.

"Ouch. My pride." Tony clutches at his chest in mock hurt.

"Please just look at this and sign. It won't even take you ten minutes." Pepper sighs.

"I trust you."

"Nice try."

#tony stark #scott lang #pepper potts

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arandompostarchive · 3 years

Text

Inure Ch. 4

SAVED WORK

Summary: To some, The Specter is a serial killer. To some, a hero. But to everyone, you were entirely a mystery. You had no history, just a list of victims a mile long. No matter how many people searched your name, they could find anything. If only they had the spelling right. Now, you’ve come across some unfortunate information that drives you out of your usual shadows and into the path of the Avengers. Including two of the more reclusive members of the team. And it’s hard to pick only one of them.

***

“I don’t see what the problem is!”

You scoffed, angry at Howard’s words. “Really. You really don’t see the issue?” He shrugged but stayed silent. “You invited a horde of reporters when I said that no one else should see this. That doesn’t seem like a problem to you?” Despite the anger you were feeling, you looked fairly calm.

You weren’t the type to lash out and scream whenever something went wrong and even in the toughest situations you were collected. It’s a trait that would stick with you for decades to come.

“We need people to know about this. They need to know that there’s hope at the end of this tunnel, okay? We’re doing miraculous things, excuse me if I’d like to show the world.”

You rolled your eyes at his excuse. “Oh please, Stark. You just want an early payday. Not everything can be about your bank account. Especially in the middle of a war! People are dying Howard. We don’t need a media storm to distract us.” He huffed and sat down on one of the many stools you had around your lab. It wasn’t the fanciest place, but the army needed all the weaponry it could get and when they heard about you, they didn’t hesitate to give you a lab. Of course, your skills were always in question, as with most women, but for the most part, they left you alone. You had Peggy to thank for that.

“Look, let’s just give them a quick tour, tell them about SPECTR, and turn it on for a minute. 60 seconds, that’s all I ask.”

“Absolutely not.” You weren’t budging on this. Usually Stark was able to get you to agree to his stupid plans, but you had friends fighting in this war. Peggy had friends fighting this war. You weren’t going to see them dead just because you got distracted by cameras.

For a genius, Howard was probably one of the stupidest people you had ever met. Of course, he could invent beautiful things, but then he’d go and do something like this. Inviting reporters to see a project that was far from done. This wouldn’t give people hope.

“40 seconds, c’mon Doc. On and off, just so they know it works.”

“But it doesn’t work!”

“Well that’s why I’m saying 40 seconds!” He sighed, taking in a deep breath. “I understand, but don’t you think that’s a little unfair to me? C’mon Doc!”

You groaned, not dignifying him with an answer. You walked over to your machine, choosing to work more on the control panel outside the glass. The door to the machine was locked tight, keeping everyone out. It could be opened from the inside, but opening it from the outside took a specific keycard. As of now, there were four of them. Yours, Howard’s, Peggy’s, and an extra for high-ranking guests that entered your lab.

The control panel was still malfunctioning. It was the main reason you were saying no to Howard. You couldn’t risk something going wrong.

“You’ve gone over that panel 50 times.”

“If we want to help people, we have to be sure it won’t hurt them.” You said, looking at the buttons and making sure they worked. “Check the air compressors, okay? That machine gets too hot, I need to make sure those work. If it overheats, it’ll do the exact opposite of what we want.”

You could hear Howard mumble under his breath about how he was ‘certain that they worked’, but you ignored it and went back to your work.

You heard his voice shout at you from across the room.

“L/n?”

You didn’t respond, too focused on one of the buttons that wasn’t responding properly. It was the one meant to open the door with a small key card like invention. You took yours out and tested it a few times. It wasn’t responding correctly. You rolled your eyes and took out a few tools to fix it.

“L/n. Hey, Doc?”

You still didn’t respond, too focused on the task at hand.

***

“Doc? You good there?” You looked up, Tony’s face staring back at you.

You blinked a few times before coldly responding. “I’m fine.” You took another second before looking around. The lab’s lights were dimmed, which wasn’t surprising considering that it was about 4am.

“Alright then. As I was saying, this is definitely Hastings’ blood. I’ve ran it through every test I’ve got, every single match was positive.”

“He’s dead. Believe me, he’s dead. I always double check. A while ago I ran into someone who could regenerate. Had to kill him twice. Now, I just make sure I get it the first time.”

“Listen, I’m not doubting you, but are you sure?”

You rolled your eyes at him. He was so like Howard it bothered you. Even down to his nickname for you. “Doc”. “Well, that sounds exactly like you’re doubting me.”

“Okay, I’m doubting you,” he admitted. “But this is a perfect match. If this guy has been dead for years, I don’t think I need to explain why he couldn’t have robbed a museum.”

“Well, obviously.”

You looked over the matches again. Each result was perfect or near perfect. Not that you had much blood to test, but it was enough.

“Wanda might be right with her shapeshifter theory.” You heard from across the room. Bruce had joined you in the lab, though he was more interested in you for the time being. He had agreed to help find Hastings or his copycat and you agreed to let him research you. He was studying something under a microscope. You weren’t sure what he was looking at, but it seemed like he was comparing two samples.

“We have blood and it’s completely separate from the body. Can he really shift down to the molecular level and keep it that way after it’s away from his body?” You asked, not entirely sure. The scientist in you said it was impossible, but a few years ago New York got attacked by an alien race led by a Norse god, so you had really changed your definition of the word “impossible”.

“Maybe once it leaves the body, it retains its last form. If anything, it would make sense that the blood doesn’t have the ability to shift back when it’s away from its host.”

“Well, that’s one theory,” Tony said, thinking it over.

Of course, that wasn’t helpful at all. “So, our culprit is most likely a shapeshifter. How do we proceed?”

Tony and Bruce thought it over. “I’ll go inform everyone, they might have some ideas. Maybe you can find some way to make him revert back to his original form.” Bruce said, slowly walking toward the lab’s exit. You and Tony nodded and started looking over the limited information you had.

It was silent for a minute or two, the both of you working quietly on something. You were looking into a microscope, trying your best to compare it to a normal human sample. So far, nothing noteworthy. “Hey, Doc, when you built this thing, did you know it could turn into a giant weapon, or was that just an oversight.” You couldn’t entirely tell if Tony was joking. It seemed like something he’d want you to laugh at, but you still weren’t sure.

“Just work, Tony. If you find something, then talk to me. Otherwise I’d appreciate quiet.” You said harshly. It sounded meaner than you thought it would, but Tony was a Stark. You doubted he had any feelings anyway.

“Okay, let me ask you a question.” He said, slightly agitated by your response.

You sighed, “I have a feeling you’ll find a way to ask me whether I say yes or no.” You didn’t look up from the microscope, knowing Tony probably wouldn’t care.

“Why exactly do you hate me?” He asked. The question was sincere, but the tone of his voice made it sound sarcastic.

“What makes you assume I hate you?” Of course, you really did hate him. But you hadn’t murdered him yet, so you were doing better than you thought you would.

“Well, we haven’t exactly been best friends.” He says, looking at you. You had only looked away from your microscope to check some of the information you had gathered about Hastings. Nothing useful.

“Perhaps that’s because there’s a shapeshifter trying to murder people with a makeshift weapon that I invented.” Your voice stayed fairly monotone. You were only half paying attention to what Stark said.

“Well, yes. But you’ve been tolerating the company of most people here. Just thought maybe I did something. Which, hey, I’m not perfect.”

You nodded. “Yes, Stark. You are far from perfect.” You still didn’t look up to meet his gaze.

“See! This is what I mean.” He didn’t sound rude, which is what you were expecting. Instead he seemed to want an answer. Admittedly, this wasn’t the outcome you were looking for.

“Well, Stark. Maybe you’re just not as charming as you think you are, hm?” You said, glancing up for only a moment before looking back down. “I’ve seen your press conferences. That outrageous confidence. I’ve seen you flying around, thinking you’re this world’s savior. You treat everything like a joke. There always has to be a punchline with you, something sarcastic. Talking to people like you’re some kind of god.”

He sighed, taking a moment to think of something to say. “Well, you may have seen me on TV, but you haven’t gotten a chance to actually know me. I mean, yeah, I’ll give you the sarcasm one you’re pretty spot on, but I’m hardly as confident as I look in front of those people.”

“I’ve seen you from afar. That’s good enough.” You said simply, trying to get him to be quiet so you can go back to working in silence.

“So you’re not going to try to have a real conversation with me? Who knows, you might hate me slightly less.” This time you didn’t respond, hoping he realized this conversation was going nowhere.

He reminded you of Howard more than you’d like to admit. But he certainly had his differences. “You’re an idiotic genius who thinks he’s a god on Earth. I’ve seen you Stark. What you do, who you are. I know everything I need to.”

He seemed upset, almost offended. “I understand, but don’t you think that’s a little unfair to me? C’mon Doc!”

That made you stop. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You weren’t sure what emotion you were feeling. It certainly wasn’t sadness, but it wasn’t quite anger either. More like an upsetting mix of several emotions, all making each other worse.

Then you laughed. It was a humorous laugh, but an empty one.

“You sound just like him.” Now you were actually looking at Tony, tracing the outline of his face with your eyes.

“Uh… who?” Stark said, looking fairly confused. He was probably somewhat creeped out by you staring at him, but you didn’t really care.

“Howard. He said that to me once.” You had abandoned your work, now more focused on the man in front of you.

“Right. I forgot you and Capsicle lived in the 40s.” You could tell he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Not that you blamed him.

“You’re very alike you know. Dumb. But the stuff you build makes it seem like you’ve got a real brain in your head.”

“…thank you?” He said, thinking over your words.

“You’re also both arrogant assholes.” You said, not really considering his feelings. In your experience, feelings were too bothersome. Sometimes, you’d get attached to people you had to kill. That was never helpful.

“Hey, I thought you 40s people were supposed to be polite and stuff.” You only shrugged in response.

“Howard was awful. The bane of my very existence. I thought we were friends, but I was extremely wrong.” You looked straight at Tony, your eyes darkening as they stared into his. “If I give you a chance, Tony. If I get to know you and make a real attempt to become your ‘friend’, then you will do the same. You are a Stark, after all.” You said, stating the reason for your decision.

Tony got more serious too. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever he did. Clearly, he, uh, did something pretty bad. I don’t blame you. But whatever it was, I didn’t do it. I never asked for him to be my father. Don’t group us together.” You could tell you had struck a bit of a nerve. You doubted anyone could hate Howard Stark as much as you, but you were starting to hate his son a little bit less.

***

“You seem tired.” Bucky noted from the kitchen. He was reaching up to grab some chips while you stood across the room. It was midday, so almost everyone had something to do, leaving the two of you alone.

You had a proper sized glass of whiskey in your hands, much different from your usual full glass.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Yeah, thanks.”

He seemed a bit worried, “Not in a mean way, you just seem, I don’t know, less energetic?”

He was right. Since you had moved in to a strange place with people you didn’t know, it had gotten harder to sleep. You decided to let yourself adjust. These were heroes, they weren’t going to murder you in cold blood.

And then you remembered that you’re a wanted serial killer, which put you even more on edge. Of course, without you they wouldn’t have as much information about SPECTR, but that didn’t help ease your worries.

Instead, you had spent a good amount of your time in the gym. It had been a while since you’d had a place to work out alone. While you were enjoying the alone time, the lack of sleep was starting to get to you.

“Yeah, I don’t feel too energetic. Just a bit sleepy I guess.” You told Bucky, choosing not to discuss your sleep issues.

“Fair enough.” He said, putting a few chips in his mouth and biting down. The crunch filled the empty silence and you chose to walk toward the living room area. As expected, Bucky silently followed you and you turned on some older movies. Though Tony had a limited number of 1940’s movies, modern movies and TV shows weren’t all that bad. When you were a child, the special effects would’ve entranced you. Now, you let Bucky choose which movies to watch. He seemed to understand that superheroes and serial killers didn’t really like action movies. You saw enough of that in real life, though there were a few interesting ones out there.

As you sat with Bucky watching some feel-good movie, your mind drifted a bit. You found yourself wondering what Loki would’ve thought. The thought was fleeting at first, but the more you considered it, the weirder you felt. It had been decades since you’d had a real friend, much less two. Besides, it didn’t hurt that two literal superheroes wanted to spend time with you.

You found yourself moving closer to Bucky, letting your head fall on his shoulder. Truthfully, you didn’t think much of it. You felt like putting your head down and Bucky happened to be there. The action was simple.

Your eyes fluttered closed barely 20 minutes in and Bucky noticed how your breathing had evened out. He smiled softly to himself and turned down the volume so it wouldn’t wake you up.

***

“So, we have no idea who they are or where they’re going next. Any thoughts?” Steve asked the group. They all looked at each other, hoping someone would speak.

You glanced across at Bucky who seemed to be staring at everyone but you. He never looked in your direction during meetings. Normally, you wouldn’t mind, but a small part of you was disappointed.

“If we ran into him, Wanda could scan his head, right? Like, tell us who he is?” Clint asked. The question wasn’t really directed at anybody, but Wanda was the one who answered.

“Sort of,” she began. “It is more like sensing someone. Not exactly mind reading. And if I don’t know the person I’m looking for, it’s not very helpful.” She said, slightly disappointed. Mind reading. Now there’s something you could do.

You were going to speak, but Loki beat you to it. “Mind-reading is a magical art, though it is one I have never trained in. I don’t have a proper teacher, so I doubt it will be adequate, but I could try to find some books on it.” He suggested.

Steve nodded and you spoke up before anyone could say anything else. “Actually, I can read minds. I don’t use it often, but it’s not difficult for me.” The group had mixed reactions. Some seemed glad they had someone in the group who could help, but others seemed more wary of you now.

“You may be a good teacher then. This may be easier than I thought.” Loki said, smiling at you. You smiled back at him. You inwardly questioned why you automatically smiled, it wasn’t something you found yourself doing often. In an odd way, you liked it. Loki seemed to have that sort of calming air about him, despite what the media may say about him.

“Okay, so we have one mind-reader and two sorta mind-readers. How does that help us find him?” Tony questioned.

“Maybe we set a trap.” Natasha suggested. She shifted her vision to you, “Spectr, did you have any other parts that can’t be replicated?”

You thought over everything you made. You shook your head. “Everything else can be replicated with a little bit of time and effort.” You said, not thinking of everything.

“But they don’t have time. We’re coming after them, they must know that. So, if you were building the machine again today, what would take the most time.” She said, still looking at you. The rest of the group was also looking. It was beginning to make you a bit self-conscious.

“Our core was a complicated thing. To be honest, we didn’t even know what it was. Now that I’m here, 70 years later, it was probably something magical. But then we had no idea. The container I made for it took me longer than I’d like to admit. With the modern tools I’ve seen, I’m sure it would take less time, but I know it wouldn’t be quick without blueprints. I had to test it over and over before I finally got something. And building it took forever.”

Natasha nodded. “So, we start there. Where would that core be?” She asked, still looking at you.

“I have no idea. I never bothered to do research on where it went or if it survived.” She then glanced at Steve who was already looking at a screen in front of him.

“Steve and I found a list of World War II machinery that might be yours.” Natasha explained. You stood up, standing by Steve and looking at the pictures.

You didn’t spot anything that resembled your core at all. You sat back down, unsure how to continue.

Natasha was thinking too. Then, Wanda spoke. “Well, if he can’t find the real machine, then he’d want blueprints, right?” The group nodded. “So, where would he get those?”

You had limited tangible blueprints. Though every other inventor in the world would scold you, you liked to sit down and tinker. Sometimes, you made something odd and useless. Other times, you made things like a core stabilizer.

“From the file I got, he already has most of the blueprints that exist. Everything else is my head. No tangible papers.”

Wanda’s eyes darkened. “So, he’ll be coming for you.”

***

#loki x reader #loki #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #loki x reader x bucky #inure #saved work #fanfic

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milstrim · 3 years

Text

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 5: Ironic

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

"Woah."

"I know, right," Peter said, unzipping the inside of the suit and moving to plug it into Ned's computer. His friend continued to gape at it, fingers trailing over the fabric reverently.

"I can't believe Iron Man made this," he whispered. "I get to sit here. And touch a superhero suit. That Tony Stark made. For my best friend. This is the greatest day of my life."

"You've said that a lot recently," Peter pointed out, pulling up the schematics of the suit on Ned's computer, who turned to look at him in confusion.

"What are you doing? Are you supposed to be messing with it?"

"I'm not messing with it. I'm just going through Karen's code real quickly."

"Karen?"

"The AI," he explained. "I just want to make sure she's not gonna snitch on me."

"Snitch on you for what?"

"Uhhh, so you know those alien weapons I've been talking about?"

Ned nodded. "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna take that down, and I don't really need Karen telling Mr. Stark," he mumbled the last part nervously. Ned stared at him.

"Why don't we want Karen telling Mr. Stark again? I mean, he gave you the suit, he must think you're capable."

Peter paused, puffing up his cheeks as he took in an awkward breath, staring at the protocols showing up on the computer. He'd already spotted three to tell Mr. Stark if he was in trouble, so he knew it was the opposite of Ned's assumption.

"Actuallyyyy..." He took a deep breath. "You can't tell anyone this." Ned nodded, but he continued to press. "I mean it. Nobody. Not a soul."

"I won't, I won't! I promise, Peter. Not. A. Soul."

"Mr. Stark's my soulmate."

Ned's head whipped around to stare at Peter's shadow, his mouth falling open.

"Oh, my God... Oh, my God! He's your soulmate!!?" Peter nodded, preparing himself for Ned's excited ramblings, but he couldn't really hide the smile on tugging at his lips either, however faint it was. "This is insane! Your life is so fucking insane I think I'm going to lose it!! Have you talked to him? Wait--yeah you have! How many times have you talked to him? Have you done, I don't know, 'soulmate things?'"

"Ned, what?"

Ned threw his hands up. "I don't know, I haven't met my soulmate. I'm trying my best, Peter!"

Peter laughed, shrugging.

"I don't really know what 'soulmate things' are, but we had dinner, and he showed me some stuff in his lab."

"Oh, my God...you've been in his lab. You know you have to show me one day."

"Definitely. I'll figure it out later, just, let us get more used to each other? Maybe? Let me impress him at least, which is why I'm trying to keep Karen from snitching on me."

"Sure. Here," Ned agreed, sitting beside him on the bed and gesturing for the computer. Peter passed it over to him wordlessly. "I'll work on the protocols, you do detective work or something."

"Thanks, dude."

"By the way, and answer honestly, is that Tony Stark's hoodie?"

Peter glanced down at the red hoodie that Mr. Stark had given him, 'MIT' emblazoned on the sleeves while the faded logo sat on the front of the piece of clothing. He smiled at Ned. "Yep."

"This is so cool," his friend melted.

With an amused eyeroll, Peter pulled out his phone, clearing his throat and nervously calling, "Karen?"

The phone lit up. "Yes, Peter?"

"Listen, ah, I was wondering if you could help me. I'm trying to figure out who these guys under the bridge were a few nights ago, but I mean, I can only kind of remember part of a license plate."

"Can you tell me where you were?" Peter rattled off Liz's neighborhood. Karen was silent for a little bit before piping up again. "Was there a white van involved?"

Peter perked up. "Yes! Exactly!"

A hologram popped up from Peter's phone. Ned stopped to stare at it as they both let out an identical, "Whoa..."

Peter watched intently from the security camera as the van rolled up under the bridge to where the buyer had been waiting. Karen highlighted the faces for him.

"Okay. The two on the right, who are they?" he asked.

"Searching law enforcement databases," Karen said, pausing before answering. "No records found for two of the individuals."

"Nothing?"

"One individual identified." The recording was replaced by a mugshot. "Aaron Davis, age thirty-three. He has a criminal record and an address here in Queens."

Peter and Ned glanced at each other. Ned said, "The protocols are disabled."

"Let's pay him a visit."

---

"So, what's this surprise you've been talking about?"

Tony's head shot up at the sound of his girlfriend's voice. He smiled, turning from where he'd been forcing some kitchen tools into a box to take in the woman as she stepped off of the elevator. She very much looked like she'd just come out of a meeting in sharp business slacks and an exhausted expression.

"Hey, Pep. How was...London?"

"Tokyo," she corrected, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "It was tiring. How's the packing?"

"Eh, boring," he said, kicking the box lightly and shoving his hands in his pockets. "So, anyway, I think that we should reconsider moving to the compound permanently."

"Tony, we just finished all the paperwork for the tower! And most floors have been packed by now, we can't just--"

"Not the tower. Just for us. Ever thought about a nice high-rise in Queens?"

Pepper stared at him, crossing her arms. "Queens? Since when have you ever cared about Queens?"

"Well, that's the surprise."

"The surprise is that you want to move to Queens?"

"No," Tony corrected, unable to stop his bright grin. "The surprise is that my soulmate lives in Queens."

It took a couple of seconds for that to register to Pepper. When it did, her eyebrows raised and she let out a smiled gasp. "You found him?"

Tony nodded. "Yep, just swinging around New York like a maniac."

"Swinging?"

"He's Spider-Man. Well, 'man's' a strong word. Here." He waved his hand, pulling up a screen that displayed Peter's yearbook photo. Pepper cooed at him. "Peter Parker. Top of his class at Midtown High by day, overly excited vigilante by night."

"He doesn't look like he could hurt a fly, never mind stop robberies. How'd he get his powers?"

"Forgot to ask, actually. He wasn't super excited to meet me at first, actually."

Pepper snorted. "Good. I'm glad he doesn't feed your ego."

"Hey! This is serious," he pouted.

"Uhuh." Pepper gave him another kiss on the cheek. "How'd you meet him?"

"Mugging. I bought him a hot chocolate."

"Hmm. I expected something stranger given your track record."

"He ran away."

"There it is," she said. "It's all good now, though?"

"Yeah..."

"Tony?"

He hesitated. "Peter lives at a group home, and I gotta say, not super fond of his foster father."

"Is he... Does he hurt Peter?" Pepper asked. He shrugged.

"Possibly. I gave Peter some money and the guy took it. Spent hundreds of dollars on liquor. And the kid's really thin. Jumpy, too. But there's nothing to prove right now."

"I'm surprised I didn't have our lawyer calling me to say you broke into a foster home and kidnapped a kid."

Tony shrugged, giving her a soft smile. "I don't need to break down the door to say hi to Peter. Besides, kid's wary, gets nervous easily. I don't want to scare him off by being too invasive about his home."

"Good on you for learning some boundaries, Tony," she congratulated before turning just a little more serious as she glanced at Peter's picture again. "You're sure he's alright?"

"No. But he's got a new superhero suit, a phone with me, Friday, and his own AI on speed dial, an unlimited credit card, and a badge to get into the tower. He's got resources if he needs them."

"Then let's just hope he doesn't need them."

---

Peter waited until the next day to find and interrogate Aaron Davis, more at Ned's insistence that they study for their Spanish quiz and to let his friend geek out over the suit than anything else. He'd stayed at his friend's house for as long as humanly possible, readily accepting whatever snack that Ned had pushed his way and going over notes that Karen gave him about Davis. It wasn't until the alarm he'd had Karen set that it was 9:40 went off did he leave.

Peter didn't like to impose on his friend so much, but Ned hadn't seemed to mind with the new addition of a supersuit and Mr. Stark being his soulmate, and the teenager couldn't help the way he was still avoiding Mr. Fowler like the plague. After leaving Mr. Stark's on Sunday and failing to stop a simple burglary, he'd hurried back to the group home, helping Eric with his homework and then cooping himself up in his room. He'd managed to avoid him the entire night and the next morning due to the man being passed out drunk in his room. Though he was still wracked with guilt at the fact that his foster father had stolen Mr. Stark's money on alcohol, he had to admit that it was at least useful.

Bidding goodnight to his friend, Peter slipped out of the apartment and hurried down onto the street where he joined the late night crowd as he made his way back to the group home. He popped his earbuds in and chose a song on his phone (that had an unlimited choice for him now, but he just stuck with his familiar Spotify playlists) as he rushed back to a place that he wished he could avoid for longer. Unfortunately, the curfew was final, so he made it back to the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys with five minutes to spare.

He stopped in front of the door as his hairs rose. Surprisingly, they didn't direct him towards the house, instead calling him to turn around. Peter glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of a man sitting at an apartment's steps a few buildings down. It was too dark to see his face, especially with the hat he wore pulled down low, but he looked just a little familiar. More than a little nervous, the teenager shook it off and stepped inside.

Mr. Fowler was waiting for him at the dining table. Peter paused, taking out his earbuds as Mr. Fowler turned to stare at him, chewing on a slice of pizza. For some reason, despite living in New York, the man was obsessed with frozen pizza. It was practically criminal, but Peter excused it as mind games since all the kids weren't allowed to eat any of it. Only a sociopath would eat exclusively frozen pizza in Queens.

"Pity. I was hoping you'd be late," Mr. Fowler frowned at Peter as he shuffled to a hesitant stop by the stairs. "Got another card for me?"

"No," Peter lied stiffly.

"What? No sugar daddy today?"

He knew better than to argue. "I hung out with Ned."

Mr. Fowler stared at him, but the travel agent was nothing if not a man of his word. Peter had been on time, so he waved the teenager on. Resisting the urge to scramble into the safety of his room, he whisked up the steep stairs and into the dark bedroom only lit by the lamp in the corner.

Tim was already asleep, but Jeremiah was sat on his bed going over what looked like a book report. The teenager paid Peter no mind as he dropped his bag onto the ground beside his bed and changed into a pajama shirt. He kept the hoodie on that Mr. Stark had given despite the warmth of the night as he slipped under his covers, bundling up in the reassuring fabric.

Peter didn't fall asleep for a while, grateful for the light provided by the lamp as he stared at the outline of Mr. Stark's shadow as though it were the only thing in the world. It might as well be for all he cared. Blocking out Mr. Fowler was quickly becoming a new necessity that was increasingly hard to do with the way his senses focused in on every little thing.

The entire house smelled of the man's alcohol, musty and strong and littered with the memories of a dark closet where even his shadow hadn't been able to comfort him. But the hoodie carried the fading scent of Mr. Stark that washed away his tired uneasiness, at least for the time being, and the shadow kept him preoccupied with one comforting thought. Out there, just across a bridge, was an adult who cared.

---

When Peter woke up, he felt off. He wasn't quite sure how to explain it, just that he knew the day was going to go wrong before it started. He wanted to curl up deeper into the hoodie that wrapped around him like a cocoon, but forced himself to push the covers off of himself and plant hit feet on the cold morning floor.

Jeremiah's bed was already empty, so Peter assumed that he'd already eaten and left with Eric, whose school started much earlier than everyone else's. Tim was still asleep, so Peter put on a pair of pants, grabbed his bag, and woke the kid up before knocking on the door of the other kids' room. He then headed downstairs and began putting together bowls of cereal for the kids that would be stumbling downstairs in a few minutes.

Mr. Fowler was in the kitchen, leaving the teenager to shuffle around him awkwardly as the man gave him a suspicious glare that he tried desperately to ignore. He left the kitchen as quickly as possible, placing the bowls down in the kids' usual spots and then taking up his own place to quickly scarf down a bowl of tasteless cereal. By the time he was finished, all the other kids had already stumbled downstairs and begun to eat.

Peter went along preparing their bags and then taking their bowls to the sink once they were done. He had just put the last dish in the dishwasher when the other boys at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys walked out the door, leaving him alone with Mr. Fowler. The man was staring at him with the same suspicious glare as he closed the pantry and then made to grab his backpack.

"Wait just a moment, Peter," Mr. Fowler said. Peter paused immediately, holding back a shiver at the danger in his tone.

"Sir?"

"There was a pack of granola bars missing from the pantry last night." The man glared at him, clearly waiting for a reaction, but Peter just stared at him, hesitant. Which kid had taken the bars? He hadn't seen anything off in their bags, unless Mr. Fowler had just miscounted, though that didn't happen often. "Anything to say to that, Peter?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, sir. I didn't take them."

"You didn't? I find that very hard to believe. How close are you to ending your grounding?"

"Three days, Mr. Fowler."

He tutted, standing up from his chair and stepping over to Peter. The teenager couldn't stop the way he froze, tensing up and squaring his shoulders as a large, meaty hand clamped down on one. Fingers curled over the thick fabric of his hoodie, pricking at his skin.

"Well, it would be a pity if it was extended longer. You're sure you didn't take anything?"

"Nothing, sir." The hand flashed to his hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling his head down and to the side with a pained grunt. Peter forced his breaths to steady even as tears pricked at his eyes. "I didn't take anything, Mr. Fowler, I promise!"

"Then you've wasted my time, son. Do you know what makes up for lost time?"

"Wha-what? Sir."

"A bit of hard cash." Peter noticed the way the man's hand trembled. "That card was nice for the weekend, but I'm afraid I'm running a little low. Got anything else for me?"

His thoughts flashed to the newly activated card sitting in his wallet, tucked safely in his hoodie pocket. He could just give it up and walk away. Mr. Fowler would be happy and Peter could go to school, safe and sound.

Steely eyes met Mr. Fowler's impossibly strained ones. "No. I don't have any other money."

The fist let go of his hair, throwing him back. Peter caught himself in a stumble as Mr. Fowler looked at him in disgust.

"Fine," the man rasped. "Extend your grounding until next week, then. Now get to school before I'm forced to call you in an excuse."

Peter mumbled out a grated, "Yes, sir," before stumbling out the door. Instead of making his way to school, he stumbled into the nearest alleyway. The teenager sucked in a deep breath, cursing himself for the tears biting at his eyes and the panic choking his throat. He was fine. Nothing had happened. He was completely fine. It wasn't like the extension of his grounding even mattered, Peter had money to buy food when he needed it. Everything. Was. Fine.

But Peter wasn't fine. He was choking on air and stumbling on panic as he slid down a grimy alleyway wall, unable to even begin to calm down. He didn't know why he was even freaking out so bad, Mr. Fowler had only pulled his hair, but the revival of the strong smell of liquor and the closeness of the man's face to his was horribly haunting.

Peter pulled at his hair as he finally managed to wheeze in a breath, staring desperately at the shadow in front of him. Mr. Stark's fluffy hair and tall shoulders seemed to stare back at him, almost reassuring. The teenager shoved his nose into the collar of his cardinal hoodie, taking in a deep breath to drown out Mr. Fowler.

It calmed him slightly.

But not quite enough.

With chattering teeth, Peter pulled his bag off of his shoulder and tore the suit out of it. With no hesitation, he took off his clothes and stepped into the suit. Karen greeted him instantly.

"Good morning, Peter. Shouldn't you be heading to school?"

"Uh, no, no. Not today, Karen. That man, Aaron Davis? Where is he right now?"

A path was highlighted on his screen.

---

"Remember me?"

Peter's voice was almost hilariously unnatural, but the man at the car stumbled back, so he guessed it worked. He thundered forward to where Aaron Davis was trying to stumble away from his car but was pulled back by the web sticking to the open hood.

"Uh, hey..."

"I need information. You're gonna give it to me now," Peter demanded half-heartedly, the enhanced interrogation mode making his voice much angrier. Maybe it was better than he thought.

"All right, chill," Davis placated.

"Come on!"

Davis paused, staring at him in confusion. Peter tried not to shuffle on his feet. "What happened to your voice?"

Crap.

"What do you mean, what happened to my voice?"

"I heard you by the bridge. I know what a girl sound like," Davis deadpanned.

"I'm not a girl! I'm a boy," Peter protested, quickly moving to correct himself. "I mean, I'm a--I'm a man."

"I don't care what you are, a boy, a girl..." the man trailed off with a shrug, continuing to load his car with groceries.

"I'm not a girl! I'm a man," he protested again. "Come on, man. Look, who is selling these weapons? I need to know. Give me names--or else."

Davis slammed the trunk shut and Peter flinched back on instinct. The man flashed him a teasing smile, shaking his head.

"You ain't ever done this before, huh?"

"Deactivate interrogation mode," Peter said sullenly. Davis huffed in amusement, shaking his head again. "Look, man, these guys are selling weapons that are crazy dangerous. They can't just be out on the streets. Look, if one of them can just cut Delmar's bodega in half..."

Davis, not paying attention in the slightest, looked up, regarding him in slight interest. "You know Delmar's?"

"Yeah, best sandwich in Queens," he shrugged.

"Sub Haven's pretty good."

"It's too much bread."

"I like bread."

"Come on, man, please," the teenager begged one last time. Davis stared at him, unresponsive, so with a dramatic throw of his hands, Peter began to walk away. "Stupid interrogation mode. Karen, don't ever do that again."

"The other night," Aaron started. Peter turned around to look at him. "You told that dude, "if you shoot somebody, shoot me." It's pretty ballsy. I don't want those weapons in this neighborhood. I got a nephew who live here.

Tentatively, Peter stepped back over, catching sight of the man's shadow. It was smaller, clearly a boy with a tall afro.

"Who are these guys? What can you tell me about the guy with the wings?"

"Other than he's a psychopath dressed like a demon, nothing. I don't know who he is or where he is." Peter sighed, leaning his head on the car roof. He was never going to prove to Mr. Stark he was worthy of being his soulmate when he couldn't even find the vulture guy. Aaron offered, "I do know where he's gonna be."

Peter perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah, this crazy dude I used to work with, he's supposed to be doing a deal with him."

"Yes!" Peter exclaimed, beginning to step away in giddiness. "Yes. Thank--"

"Hey, hey, hey," Aaron called. Peter stopped. "I didn't tell you where. You don't have a location."

Peter flushed bright red, making his way back to the car in embarrassment. "Right, of course. Yeah, my bad. Silly. Just...Yeah. Where is it?"

"Can I give you some advice?" Peter hummed. "You got to get better at this part of the job."

"I don't understand. I'm intimidating."

He crossed his arms, but Aaron only shook his head again.

"Staten Island ferry, eleven."

"Oh, that's soon," Peter realized. He began to walk away, pointing a finger at where the man's hand was webbed. "Hey, that's gonna dissolve in two hours."

"No, no, no, no. Come fix this."

"Two hours. You deserve that."

"I got ice cream in here."

"You deserve that. You're a criminal! Bye, Mr. Criminal!!"

---

Tony clapped his hands together in an attempt to dust them off as he stared around the packaged remains of his lab. Scribbled formulas and problems had been wiped clean from boards, tables folded and disassembled, and prototypes all packed into boxes ready to be loaded onto the plane in a few days time. Most of what was left in his workplace was personal items and two encased Iron Man armors.

"How we looking on time, Fri?" he asked, grabbing his mug from where he'd placed it on the counter earlier and taking a sip.

"Packing for the move to the compound is on schedule, boss," the AI responded.

"Great," he said, smacking his lips at the comforting bitterness of his coffee, "How's the search for a Queens apartment going?"

"I have several different listings placed into the Itsy Bitsy Spider folder for you to look at."

"Great. Forward them to Pepper."

"Of course, sir."

Satisfied with the prospective of flipping through apartment listings closer to Peter in the evening, he glanced down at his shadow, frowning at the lack of fluffy hair there. It was Tuesday, wasn't it? He checked his watch for the time. Barely eleven. He was pretty sure Peter should be in school by now.

"Friday, is the spider-suit active?"

"Yes, sir."

He frowned harder. "Activate the Baby Monitor Protocol, I want to see what's going on."

"That protocol has been disabled, sir."

"What?"

The AI was silent for a moment before responding, "It has been disabled, along with many others. The only way to reinstate them would be manually."

Tony glanced down at his shadow again. Surely the kid wasn't messing with the suit? And especially not the protocols to keep him safe? And he'd skipped school, too.

"Call Peter."

---

Peter peered over the top of the ferry roof at the men gathering below, who practically screamed shady. He kept an eye on Dronie's recording, the small robot keeping an eye on the other two guys up on the ferry, while Karen highlighted the men below.

"Who’s the guy on the left?" he asked, his spine shivering as he looked at the man.

"Mac Gargan. Extensive criminal record, including homicide. Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark?"

"What? No. I've got this, Karen."

One of the men that Peter had seen at the bridge approached Gargan. Peter could easily pick up his muttered. "White pickup truck."

Gargan nodded at one of his crones, who immediately began walking into the inside of the ferry holding the cars.

"Dronie," Peter whispered. "Scan the ship for a white pickup truck."

He watched the footage apprehensively as Dronie flew farther outside the ferry, x-raying the boat to pick out the truck inside. The robot then zipped over to it, beginning to scan the contents covered in the trunk but flying away and back to Peter as a man stepped out the front. His leg bounced nervously as the robot settled back in his chest, his heart beating erratically.

"Oh, this is too perfect," Peter said. "I got the weapons, buyers, and sellers all in one place."

"Incoming call from Tony Stark."

"No, no, no. No, no, don’t answer."

Despite his protests, the screen of his suit was swept away as Mr. Stark filled his screen. Peter tried not to grimace, keeping a careful eye on the men below even as the billionaire began to speak.

"Mr. Parker. Got a sec?" Mr. Stark greeted with a tight smile.

"Uh, I’m actually at school," Peter lied, ignoring Karen's correction in his ear. "I gotta get back to class, Mr. Stark, so--"

"What class?"

"Uhh--" Shit, what did he have at eleven? "Alge--"

The ferry's horn blared excruciatingly loudly. Peter resisted the urge to grimace, trying to keep an eye on the criminals below still.

"Band. I'm at, uh, band practice."

Mr. Stark stared at him, unimpressed. "That's...odd. You told me you quit band when you started swinging around as Spider-Man."

"I gotta go. Uh, end call."

"Hey," Mr. Stark protested, but the screen clicked close, allowing Peter to clearly see the people below once more. He flicked out a wrist, snapping a web onto a pair of keys being handed over.

"I’ll take those! Yoink!" He flipped, snatching the keys and webbing them to the ceiling. "Hey, guys. The illegal-weapons-deal-ferry was at 10:30. You missed it."

He webbed away the weapons from two guys quickly and threw them into the water. With a shiver up his spine, he ducked out of the way of the approaching man wearing the shocking gauntlet. The man's weaponized arm got stuck in the net on the ferry.

While he was distracted with the gauntlet guy, the other two he'd disarmed had scrambled to their feet, egging for a get away. Peter turned lackadaisically, webbing them

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast." He threw the two to the ground. "Are you guys okay? My bad. That was a little hard. I gotta say the other guy was way better with that thing. I’m honestly, I’m, I’m shocked."

This was going super well.

---

Peter let out a short scream of pain, suspended between the two crumbling halves of the ferry. His arms burned as he gripped at the webs fruitlessly, but he refused to let go. He could hear their heartbeats, fast and afraid and exactly like his own. The teenager panted, straining harder than he ever had before only to continue to fail. The ferry wasn't coming back together, his webs hadn't done anything, and the entire ship was going to fall apart.

And yet he refused to let go, even as he felt his arms tear painfully. He cracked his eyes open, searching desperately for his shadow. It was currently lost in the waves crashing underneath as cars piled into the rushing water. There was a moment, so quick he almost missed it, where a car hood stayed still long enough just for him to make out the shadow.

Of an Iron Man armor.

There was a metal groaning and an easing on his shoulders. Peter looked away from his shadow.

"What the hell?" With the ferry putting itself together, the teenager let himself drop onto the ferry floor, arm raised in fearful apprehension as the sound of metal colliding echoed around the entire boat. "What the hell..."

Mr. Stark in the Iron Man armor rose into view at the windows. Despite the fact that he was wearing a mask, it was easy to tell he looked angry. Or, hopefully, he was reading too much into it and the suit was just mean looking.

"Hi, Spider-Man. Band practice, was it?"

Nope. He sounded mad too. Peter had to force down a shiver, ignoring the clapping people and swinging to the cargo hold as Mr. Stark flew under it, beginning to piece the ship back together. He followed anxiously on the ceiling, turmoil sitting heavy in his stomach as he followed the man.

"Uh, Mr. Stark?" he called nervously. He continued to skitter after the man as he flew up to the ferry's top, trying to catch the man's attention even as he continued to ignore the teenager. "Hey, Mr. Stark. Could I do anything? What do you want me to do?"

"I think you’ve done enough."

Peter couldn't even bear to look at his shadow.

---

"So that’s it, you’re just gonna run?" Adrian asked as Schultz approached with his overflowing duffle bag.

"Feds were waiting for us. Now we’re on Iron Man’s radar? Yeah, I’m running. You should, too."

"You know I can’t do that," Toomes said, glancing down at the shadow of his wife.

"So now what?" Schultz shrugged. Adrian rubbed at his chin.

"Mason, can you get that high-altitude seal thing up and running in time?"

"Seriously?" the engineer asked, comically giddy despite how hilariously screwed they all were. "Yes. You will not regret this."

Adrian turned back to Schultz. "You in?"

The man glanced down on the floor, contemplative. "If we get caught, we're dead. And we have days before that plane takes off. We'll be caught before then. Stark will get us, you know that."

"So we take care of Stark."

"Take care of Stark? You're crazy. How the hell are we gonna to kill Iron Man?"

Adrian thought for a moment, thoughts creeping back to the night over the lake; a defensive boy and an over-eager man and matching shadows. Peter Parker, as had been reported by one of his men following the kid. He even went to Liz's school, on her academic team and everything. He hurt a little to do this, but nothing was more important than family.

"We don't need to kill Stark," Adrian responded. "We just need to insure his compliance."

---

Tony finally spotted the kid sitting on the edge of the building, his legs thrown over the side, his mask torn off his face as he stared down at the water. The bulky outline of the Iron Man armor extended behind him, an imposing figure compared to the hunched and shivering kid. The sound of sirens and helicopters rang in the distance, only feeding fuel to the fire that was his anger. It had been two days since he'd given Peter the suit and he'd already hacked it, lied to him, and endangered the lives of more than a hundred people. He'd taken Tony's tech and ran with it, doing what the man had warned the teenager not to do, and almost gotten himself killed too.

It terrified him just as much as it infuriated him.

"Previously on Peter Screws the Pooch," Tony started, hovering next to Peter's spot on the building. "I tell you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do."

"Is everyone okay?" Peter rasped.

"No thanks to you."

He clunked down on the ground, but Peter barely even looked at him, just grasping the mask in his fingers tighter. After a tense moment, the kid turned to glare at him, a sour look on his face.

"What do you care?"

The question almost shocked Tony from his anger, but the fury managed to cling on as the suit opened, allowing for him to step out. There was a defensive flicker on Peter's face, washed away as quickly as it came, at the stiff anger glued to his figure.

"What do I care?" he echoed incredulously. "Who the hell gave you the suit that you're wearing right now? The one that you used to go fight people you weren't ready to fight. Peter, you're not prepared for this--"

"I didn't see you doing anything."

"Who do you think called the FBI, huh?" Tony demanded.

"And they got their asses kicked immediately!"

"And you did what exactly?"

Peter swallowed. A soft, angry mumble shivered from his chest. "I just wanted to be like you."

Tony glowered. "And I wanted you to be better."

Peter didn't have an answer to that, turning away with a sharp flinch to stare down at the water again where the ferry was finally beginning to dock. His face was scrunched up in cold anger. Tony stared at him, waiting, but the teenager didn't do anything. Didn't say anything. With an indignant sniff, Tony glanced between the approaching boat of people and the kid sitting stiffly in front of him.

"Okay, it’s not working out. I’m gonna need the suit back."

That caught Peter's attention. His head whipped around and he finally swiveled off of the building's edge, standing to face him. The defensiveness was back in full force now, broken only by a shiver of fear in the tremble on his face.

The teenager swallowed. "For how long?"

"Forever." Peter gaped at him, shaking his head. Tony hit him with a withering expression. "Yeah. Yeah, that’s how it works."

"No, no, no... Please, please, please..." the kid rushed, his voice pitching higher.

"Let’s have it."

"You don’t understand. Please. This is all I have. I’m nothing without this suit."

"If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it." Tony stopped in his demand, pausing to stare into the distance under the guise of letting Peter absorb his words but really choking down his own panic and regret. This was how he was treating his soulmate. He hadn't known this kid for a week and he'd had maybe two successful conversations with him. And now he was yelling and bringing down and punishing. "God, I sound like my dad."

Peter stared at him, swallowing. "Mr. Stark, please I don't want you to g--"

"The suit. Peter."

He could barely even look at the kid's completely dejected expression.

---

Peter meandered down the street, his head down as he forced himself to bite down on tears. It wasn't that hard, he'd had a lot of practice recently after all, but he couldn't deny that it hurt. Well, he could, but not to himself.

With the loss of the suit, Peter's bag was considerably lighter. Empty. It was disturbingly similar to how he felt in the moment, like a stumbling shell of a person.

He'd fucked up. He knew he had. But he didn't think he'd fucked up enough to lose his soulmate. He'd just--he'd just wanted to try and impress Mr. Stark, to show the man that he was worthy of being the shadow that had followed the superhero--his hero--around for fifteen years. He huffed to himself quietly at the horrible irony of it all.

After Mr. Stark had demanded to the suit, well, Peter had given it to him. He hadn't had much other choice. The man had allowed for him to go grab the bag he'd webbed to an alleyway earlier and change into his clothes. Choking down panicked tears, the teenager had folded up the barely used suit, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped the card, the phone, and the badge given to him into the mask. He wanted to have given him the red hoodie too, but it was the only top he'd had, so he'd reluctantly kept it. He'd given the stuff that was no longer his to the still seething Avenger and had left. Mr. Stark hadn't ask where he was going, so he hadn't told him.

Not that Peter was amazingly sure he knew himself. He didn't want to go back to where Mr. Fowler was surely working from home. Peter was supposed to be at school, the man would be furious that he hadn't gone, and he didn't have the courage to face him right now. The ghosted feeling of a hand tugging at his hair and painful nails in his shoulder was enough to keep him wandering the streets of Queens for as long as he possibly could.

There wasn't a destination, there was barely even a journey, there was just the tired wanderings of a teenager trying desperately not to break down crying. Part of him wished he'd kept the phone, just so he could text Ned, or even lose himself mindlessly on social media for an hour or two, but Mr. Stark's words rang clearly in his head.

"Forever."

Peter shook himself vigorously, taking a wispy breath. Of course he would lose his soulmate not even a week after meeting him. Everyone else had left too, it really only made sense.

He didn't know why he'd let himself hope.

"I don't want you to go."

A painfully strong shiver up his spine forced the teenager to stop in the middle of the alleyway he'd been cutting through. Peter pulled back his sleeve, brows furrowing as the hairs on his arm rose on end. Without his phone, or the watch kept on his webshooter, the teen had no way of knowing what time it was, but it had to have been at least half an hour since Mr. Stark had taken the suit. Since he'd caused a gun to split a ferry full of innocent bystanders in half.

"And I wanted you to be better."

Peter had assumed his senses had continued to freak out from the resounding adrenaline and the complete rush of panic that had been today--from the horribleness of it all--but they still weren't calming down.

Jittery, he turned to leave the alleyway back the way he came, but there was a man blocking his way. He froze when he recognized him and the glitching gauntlet on his arm. From the bridge and the ferry. The man stalked forward.

Peter whipped around to escape towards the other end, but another man stood there as well, a different alien weapon in his hands. Peter paused again, eyes shifting desperately for an escape even as the weapon behind him charged up with a threatening snap.

"Give it up, kid," ordered the man. "Come easy, and we won't hurt you."

"Wow. So reassuring," Peter snapped. Without warning, the teenager leaped, jumping onto the wall as high as he could reach. He attempted to begin skittering up the wall, but there was another spike in his senses.

There was no time to dodge as he was encased by an annoyingly familiar blue light that crashed him to the ground straight into a gathering of trashcans. He groaned in pain as he collided with the metal, the cans tipping over and releasing their contents near and on him. There were footsteps, and he tried to push himself back up, but the man with the gauntlet approached quicker than he could recover.

The teenager stared up at him as the man smirked. The gauntlet cracked.

"Nighty-night."

Peter could only close his eyes as a metal fist came crashing down.

---

~Click for better quality~

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

#friendly neighborhood exchange #peter parker #tony stark #Iron Man #spiderman #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #ironman fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #not st*rker #you would not BELIEVE the amount of time i spent on the stupid thing peter is sitting on #idk who designed that #but fuck them

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