I really wanna write an irondad spiderson mafia AU eventually because I love mafia AUs. Would anyone be interested if I wrote that? It would contain a lot of Tony being supportive and protective of his adopted son Peter, and Peter being protected from bullies from his avengers mafia family that loves him very much. (I would write Tony as a “good” mafia boss even though I know that’s not a real thing lmao but this would be my fiction and I could do what I want lol) Would anyone like that? It would be self indulgent as heck lmao
Thanks for the tag @tracle0!
The last line I wrote was for my fanfic Here to Help:
“Peter?” I said. He didn’t answer, only walking as quickly as he could to the trash can by the elevator. He pressed a shaky hand to the wall and clutched his stomach as he threw up into the bin.
“Oh shit, Peter are you alright?” I asked, the question feeling stupid as soon as it left my mouth. Peter looked up, his eyes dull and blank, still clutching his stomach and the wall. For the first time since he came down here, he wasn’t angry or scared. He was just… blank. Blank and small, especially with the way his clothes were still clinging to his body, making the knobs of his spine and ribs visible, and showing just how thin his legs were.
“Um… no, not really.”
This is from my 12th chapter of Here to Help, so this won’t be posted until about June 6th haha
lemme just preface with the fact that my experiences are not universal and that i didn’t even understand that i’m literally selectively mute until less than a week ago. nevertheless, i hope this fulfills what you wanted <3
Peter doesn’t mean to be doing it.
It’s just that he’s been laying flat atop his sheets for almost two hours now, letting the idle spin of the white ceiling fan raise chills on his legs where they jab out of his too-loose boxers.
He’s got an incessant humming at the back of his neck though the rest of him is cavernous and cool. His eyes hurt. He can’t sleep.
He’s snapping one of MJ’s hair ties against the inside of his wrist. It’s supposed to make him come back into his body. It isn’t working. It feels like he’s up there bobbing on the breeze from the fan. Like suspension as a concept is tenuous and there is no webbing and Peter has been freefalling for ages and he still can’t see the ground.
He’d rather splat. He’d rather hit the ground, guts and grime and all, than keep hovering.
Johnny is off doing alien shit. MJ has an internship. May is on a shift. Ned hasn’t answered his texts.
There’s nothing holding him here.
It’s all too easy to let go.
Peter’s vision slips out of focus.
Time moves like ribbon curls and spilled honey; like sanded wood planks and fingerprints smudged on window panes; like the starchy water left after boiling potatoes and wet ink bleeding across the page.
It is all angles and pains and endless fields of undulating wheat, and then it isn’t.
Focus is painfully sharp. He immediately wants to retreat back into himself.
There’s a warm hand on his wrist. Peter fumbles the hair tie. It snaps onto fingers that are not his, rather than the thin skin over his palm.
“Stop that,” says Tony’s gruff voice, “quit it, kid, stop.”
Peter blinks. He turns towards Tony. He doesn’t know why Tony is in his apartment.
“School called,” Tony says, as if he reads minds. “You didn’t show up. They called May, and she called me to come and check on you since her shift isn’t up until twelve.”
Peter looks idly at Tony.
Tony’s hand skims over Peter’s forehead so lightly that Peter isn’t sure it happened. Peter thinks Tony’s palm is shaking. Peter thinks Tony’s eyes look heavy.
“One of those days?” Tony says.
Peter breathes. Somewhere inside his chest the answer is pulsating—it’s grabbing onto his ribs and rattling them like prison bars—but nothing. Nothing rises to his mouth.
Something, some great and primordial It, stoppers his throat, makes him stupid. Helpless. He fucking hates being helpless. All he does is try not to be.
He closes his eyes when his lower lip trembles. His throat is painfully tight. He hates feeling like this. He doesn’t get it. Nothing happened. Why does he feel like he’s sunk a foot into the foam of his mattress.
“Alright,” Tony says. “Hey, okay, I’m here now. We can fix this. I know we can. You know the first step? Because I do and I’m willing to share my answer with the class. Here it is: sit up. That’s the first thing. That’s always the first step. Come on, up, let’s sit up.”
Tony’s hand squeezes Peter’s shoulder three times, fast. Peter pushes himself up. He must. Because he’s sitting. His elbows feel strange. Too big. Too bendy.
“Hey, look at that,” says Tony. “You nailed it. Olympic gold worthy. I’ll contact the YMCA. You need a minute? Let’s take a minute. Step one, done. You earned a minute, I’m—here, scoot. Move that leg, I’m coming in hot like a mofo. Do the kids say that? I think I heard it on a TV show once and, frankly, it baffled me.”
Tony wedges himself onto Peter’s mattress and leans back against the headboard.
Peter looks at him, all decked in a massive hoodie and ratty sweatpants. His face is strange and blurry. Warped like he’s watching the bottom of a swimming pool writhe. Peter feels like he doesn’t recognize Tony. Peter feels like he would recognize Tony blind and backwards and upside down. He does not understand this feeling. It’s infuriating. He wants to reach down his throat and into his chest and pull it out like those clown napkins neatly tied in brightly-colored knots.
Tony sighs, settling against Peter’s pillows.
He gives a good show. As if this is normal. Any of this at all.
Tony turns his head towards Peter, then pats Peter’s cold kneecap.
He turns away again.
Peter thinks that if some magic spell could summon from his chest the sound that has been pushed so deep it would never otherwise be heard, it would be a guttural, fractured scream.
His finger loops around the hair tie.
Before he can snap it, Tony’s hand stops him. Cuffs around Peter’s wrist, all calluses and divots and swirled prints.
Peter can feel every rise and fall against his skin.
“How are we doing during our little interlude?” Tony says. “More interlude? Less interlude? Terminated interlude? All of the above are fine. Just keep me updated. A memo on my desk will suffice.”
Peter clenches his jaw.
“Oh, he’s mad. Okay. I can give you time. How about the next step for today is a shower? You look like you’re fucking freezing. Go take a warm shower. I’ll do that fancy thoughtful thing where I throw a towel in the dryer for you so it’s all toasty when you get out. Remember to wash behind your ears and everything.”
Tony slides off the mattress and stands beside it. He stares at Peter, open, patient.
Peter pushes himself off the mattress. The floor beneath his feet feels like a memory.
Tony says, “Hey, look at you! Nice. We’re making shit happen, folks. Into the bathroom with you, young one. Throw your towel out the door. I’ll go fix it up nice.”
Peter follows the instructions at half-pace.
In the shower, he finds himself sitting under the stream. He does not remember why he sat. He doesn’t feel lightheaded. Or nauseous. Or anything else at all.
He finds his footing. Stands. Soaps himself.
The garbled sound of the water calms him, even if he feels matted eight layers deep.
When he gets out, the towel is waiting beside a stack of his clothes. All of them are warmed.
He gets dressed and pads out of the bathroom.
Tony is standing at the stove. He’s cooking something. Peter cannot tell what it is.
Tony snorts. “You tuck your sweatpants into your socks? God, I shouldn’t be surprised. You do seem like the sock-tucking type. I bet you single-cuff your jeans or something. Fold your underwear in thirds. Hang your sweaters.”
The worst thing is that Peter has the comeback ready. Like a normal person? he wants to say. Like a normal person? sits on the back of his tongue. He can’t say the words. Neurotypical who? Not him.
God, even joking in his own freaking head sounds discordant.
Peter pushes himself up onto the counter and sits, legs dangling.
Tony continues to cook. Every once in a while, Tony will start to hum, then stop. He’ll get halfway into a verse and then quit as if he forgets the words.
Peter cannot pick up a single melody.
Tony is rather suddenly before him, plate in hand. It’s laden with eggs and turkey sausage. Two slices of toast. A peeled orange.
Tony peeled an orange without Peter noticing. Without smelling, even.
Peter takes the plate. It wavers in his hands but he rights it.
Tony does not begin to clean the cookware until Peter has stabbed a sausage with his fork and begun to chew it.
His mouth feels like it’s full of glue. His whole existence is a cotton ball. Fucking Christ. He’s so tired of feeling like this.
The next time Tony taps him, it’s on the elbow.
Tony catches his plate before it can slip off his lap.
Tony taps Peter’s temple twice. “You’ve been—out there for a while. That place I can’t follow you. Food is getting cold. I expect it all to be finished. I know I’m the cool parent but I will not budge on this one.”
“I know,” Tony says, voice breaking. “God, I know, Pete. It’s okay. Just some breakfast. It’s fine. You can do that, I know you can.”
Peter knows he can too. He knows he can, and he’s pissed because he feels like the crater punched into the earth’s crust that wiped out the dinosaurs, all smoking and empty and awful. He can finish a plate of fucking eggs. Toast. He loves oranges. He can do this.
It feels like he can’t. It feels like an undertaking. The epic sort.
He grits his teeth, stabs a chunk of egg, and does it. It’s like pulling himself along by the ends of his nails, but on the inside.
When he’s finished, he feels sick rather than bolstered.
But Tony takes his plate, grinning, and washes it for him. Whistling from between his teeth, now.
Peter’s finger hooks the hair tie. He knows that if he snaps it hard enough he’ll come back.
He does it once, twice. Nothing. He hears the slap against his skin. It feels like nothing more than a pinch.
“Hey, stop that,” Tony says, hands wet and sudsy as he takes the tie off Peter’s wrist.
Peter blinks at his skin. It’s mottled red, lightly bruised. He hadn’t realized.
It was supposed to fix him.
“I’m keeping this. I’ll personally give it back to Michelle. This isn’t May’s. It’s not May’s, right? She only uses scrunchies. She’s a child of the flowers, bless her hippie heart. Okay. Pocketing it. Let me finish the dishes. I need May to love me. Okay. Be right back.”
Tony pats Peter’s knee before he goes.
Peter watches the wet spot from Tony’s hand grow on the fabric of his sweats.
Tony brings him to the couch. The couch is not big. It is deep and too soft and sometimes, if you sit wrong, you get a butthole piercing from the springs.
Tony wraps him in a blanket. And then another. One is a quilt Ben made. The other is a blanket so enormous and thick that Peter is faintly sure it will smother him.
But he lets Tony wrap him up. Because he has no other choice. And because a little part of him—one tenacious bit who hasn’t lost hope—deeply wants Tony to fix this for him, and trusts that Tony knows what he’s doing.
Tony settles onto the couch next to Peter, tossing an arm across the back. His fingertips scratch Peter’s neck, along the knots of his spine.
“We could watch something,” Tony suggests. “I tend to think watching something after eating aids the digestive process. Gets the systems moving. Sound good? Let’s watch something fun. Let’s watch Ferris Bueller. God, that poor bastard. What mother would name their child Ferris? And he’s such a successful kid too. That’s overcoming adversity right there.”
Tony fumbles with the remote. He pulls up the movie. Peter sits in his blanket nest.
The film starts with the iconic monologue sequence.
Something in Peter settles seeing it. It’s so familiar to him, he could recite the whole script end-to-end.
Not now, probably. But usually.
It itches in his chest.
Tony hums rather than laughs during movies. A soft noise with his lips pressed together. A light smile.
He seems so calm. At ease. Peter doesn’t get it. Tony is always freaking out, especially when there’s absolutely nothing wrong, but not now.
Peter can’t make himself speak and Tony isn’t freaking out. That’s weird.
But maybe it’s good. Maybe. Because Tony acting normal might make Peter’s subconscious feel normal and then everything will click back into place and Peter can stop being so helpless and pissed and nonexistent.
It doesn’t reboot his subconscious. What it does is make him sleepy. The brush of Tony’s fingers, the familiar cadence of the movie—Peter drifts, and this time, he sleeps.
He’s shaken awake what feels like hours later.
He opens a bleary eye. Everything is moving.
A great mane of braided hair whacks him across the face.
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Sorry, baby, just me, joining in on the cuddle sesh. Don’t worry, I changed out of my scrubs first. I know how much you hate being near my dirty work scrubs. Which astounds me, considering Ben saw you sneak a pizza crust out of the trash once when you were a kid.”
She settles next to him on the far side, where a snoring Tony isn’t.
She wraps her arm around Peter’s waist, strong and lithe and familiar, and Peter feels it.
It makes his eyes ache.
He swallows and swallows. He turns to May. He presses a firm kiss to her cheek.
“I love you too, honey,” she says, poking her nose into his neck. They’ve never needed words to communicate anyway.
He closes his eyes, warm enough to bake, surrounded on every side with stifling love.
He sleeps, chasing the sun across the sky, and when he wakes again, he wakes.
Here it is, the fic I sobbed while writing. Some context about my relationship to this fic and why I wrote it: I myself am a twin and a few nights ago I had a nightmare where I was in an alternate reality where I wasn’t a twin and my sister didn’t exist and it just made me so sad and scared for the future where I may have to live without my sister. So, enjoy Lis projecting onto Penny.
It’s been hard for Peter and Penny. After losing both of their parents and their uncle it’s safe to say that their lives are more difficult than some. When Tony came into their lives, it provided a comforting amount of financial stability (though all three Parkers refused the aid at first) as well as a sort of safety net for the twins and another place they felt at home.
When Peter got a call from his aunt’s work at 8 pm on a Wednesday night, he doesn’t know what he expected. But it certainly wasn’t them telling him that his last living relative’s heart stopped in the middle of her shift and all attempts to resuscitate her failed. In other words: the only person left for the twins is dead.
Penny walked into the room just in time to see Peter’s face go deathly pale and the phone drop from his hand and she rushed to catch him before he collapsed.
They spent that night sobbing into each other’s arms on the couch, both too distraught to even entertain the idea of going to the hospital and saying a proper goodbye to their aunt. The next week was a blur and by Friday Peter and Penny were moving into Stark Tower. Despite Tony’s offers, they opted to share a room (at least for the first few weeks), neither of them able to stomach the thought of being alone. All Peter can do is pray to whatever God is up there and thank them for not leaving them alone, for giving them somewhere safe to live.
Peter wakes up to his sister’s sobs. His eyes fly open and he turns to look at the bed across from him where Penny should be asleep. But Penny is sitting up, hunched over herself crying. In the soft moonlight, Peter can see that her arms are wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to self soothe.
Peter is out of bed in an instant. He throws off his blankets, hurrying across the room to sit on his sister’s bed and pulling her into his arms. Penny clings tightly to Peter and slumps in his grasp. Her fingers are knotted into his t-shirt as she sobs.
“Shh…” Peter whispers. “It’s okay. I’m right here. We’re okay.” Peter has no idea what could have Penny so upset, and he hates it. Not that he’s annoyed with her for being sad, he just wishes he could make it go away. He settles to just hold her tight.
Eventually Penny’s tears subside and she leans back, letting Peter’s arms fall away, wiping away her tears with the palms of her hands. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “You can go back to sleep.”
Peter shakes his head, as if, “What happened?”
Penny shrugs and looks down at her hands, “It was just a nightmare.”
“A pretty bad one,” Peter acknowledges. Out of the two of them, Penny hardly gets nightmares, much less ones that have her this upset.
“Yeah,” Penny agrees. She sighs, “I-I was alone and I couldn’t find you and every time I went up to someone to ask where you were they all thought I was crazy and kept telling me that I didn’t have a brother and that you didn’t exist.” Penny shakes her head, “It was so…awful. I-I can’t be alone, Peter. We keep losing people, and I can’t lose you too.” She shrugs sadly after a moment, “I guess it got me thinking that someday…I’m going to have to live in a world where I don’t have a brother, where I can’t rant to you about everything that happened in my day, or I can’t demand you watch my favorite shows and get just as obsessed as me, or that you might not-” Penny cuts herself off with a sob. Peter takes her hand and squeezes. Penny shakes her head, “Someday I’m going to be all alone and-and I don’t know if I can deal with that.”
Peter quickly hugs Peter tightly as sobs wrack her body once more, “You’re always going to have me,” Peter tells her. “Whether I’m with you or not, I’m always going to be here for you. I swear, Pen, you will never be alone.”
“You can’t promise that,” Penny hiccups. “You put yourself in so much danger every single day, you can’t promise to never leave me.”
“I know,” Peter rubs her back. “But I can promise that no matter what I will still be your brother and even if I’m gone I will still have your back and be right here for you.”
“So you’re going to haunt me?” Penny laughs, wiping away her tears.
“If that’s what it takes,” Peter smiles. “I will be such an annoying ghost, I’m going to eat all your snacks and hide your phone chargers.”
Penny laughs and Peter feels the tightness in the room lift at that sound. “You okay?” Peter asks, squeezing his sister’s hand.
Penny nods, “Thank you.”
“What brothers are for,” Peter smiles at her. “Try to go back to sleep, yeah?” Penny nods and as Peter goes back to his own bed someone lightly raps on the door and it swings open.
Tony leans in, looking between the twins, “You guys okay? I thought I heard voices.”
“We’re okay,” Penny tells him. Her voice is still a little hoarse from crying.
Tony gives them a soft smile and gives them each a kiss on the head before saying, “Go back to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.” Tony softly shuts the door and the twins snuggle down into their beds.
Before Peter closes his eyes once more, he takes another look at Penny and he silently promises her that no matter what he will fight through heaven and earth to make sure she never has to be alone.
TW: Guns, gunshots, unnamed character death
Peter fucked up. Big time.
He doesn’t know if his dad will ever look at him the same again. How could he?
Peter killed someone in cold blood.
“It’s you or him, little spider,” the masked villain said to him. “Either you take that gun and you put a bullet in your brain or his. It’s up to you.”
Peter had instinctively pointed the gun at the masked man, but he had just laughed and held up a small screen showing Peter video footage of May washing the dishes in their apartment, “You shoot me and a bullet goes in the head of everyone you have ever loved.”
Peter’s hand shook as he took a deep breath and pointed the barrel of the gun at himself, feeling the cold metal through his mask.
“No!” The man said, “Spidey, you can’t do that.”
Peter turned to look at him but didn’t lower the gun from his forehead, “You heard him, it’s me or you. My job is to protect people.”
“You won’t be able to help people when you’re dead.” The man countered. “Listen to me, shoot me. You’re just a kid, you still have your whole life ahead of you, a family who cares about you. Shoot me.”
Peter shook his head, “No. What about you, don’t you have a family?”
The man smiled sadly and shook his head, “Not anymore, kid. Please, let me die so you can keep living.” He took a step closer to Peter and redirected the gun that was still pointing at Peter’s head and pointed it at his own. Peter’s eyes were full of tears behind his mask. The man smiled wryly, “It’s okay, kid, it’s okay.”
Peter pulled the trigger, his eyes squeezed closed painfully.
The sound of the gunshot echoed through the dark alley and the villain just laughed and squeezed Peter’s shoulder, “Nice work, little spider.” And just like that he was gone, leaving Peter alone in the night with the dead body of the man he just killed.
Now, Peter is running, his feet pounding on the pavement as he tries to run. His hands are still covered in warm blood and Peter can’t keep his mind from slipping back to a similar night several years ago.
Peter shakes his head and keeps running, but eventually, he can’t breathe so he ducks into the alley and slides down the brick wall, yanking his mask off, and putting his head between his knees.
The gunshot keeps ringing in Peter’s ears, echoing one from his memories. Hears a familiar voice telling him to step back and another telling him that it’s okay. Then a gunshot.
“Pete?” Peter’s head snaps up. He hadn’t realized anyone had approached up. Above him stands Tony, the Iron Man suit hovering behind him, face etched with concern.
“N-No,” Peter forces out, holding a hand up for Tony to stay away from him.
“Is that your blood, kid?” Tony asks intensely. Peter flinches at the nickname, a soft whimper escaping his lips. Peter doesn’t look up to see Tony’s face. “Pete?”
“Not mine,” Peter says. He brings his hands to clutch his stomach.
“What’s going on?” Tony crouches down in front of him, staying a few feet away so he doesn’t spook him. “Are you okay?”
Peter shakes his head, lips wobbling as he starts to cry harder. He hides his face in his knees.
“Peter?” Tony starts. “Can I touch you?” Peter shakes his head quickly. “That’s okay, k- Pete. Can you tell me what’s going on right now?”
Peter keeps his head presses to his knees but he starts to talk, “I-I fucked up, Tony. I killed someone. He gave-he gave me a choice it was him or me and I chose…I chose him,” Peter sobs. “He told me to shoot him and I did, Tony. I shot him and he’s dead.” Peter finally looks up at Tony. Tony tenses at the sight of the boy’s face. His cheeks are soaking wet with tears, the rims of his eyes angry red. “How do I make you love me again?” Peter begs.
“Peter,” Tony can’t help but bring the kid into a hug. Peter goes stiff at first, but once Tony starts running his fingers through his hair, he goes limp in his arms. “I still love you, of course, I do.”
“How? I murdered someone, Tony,” Peter tries to explain.
Tony just shakes his head and pulls Peter a little closer, “From what it sounds like it was you or him and he chose to save you. I can’t hate you for that. You’re going to be okay.”
“How do you know?” Peter demands.
“Because you are the strongest person I know,” Tony tells him honestly. “Now why don’t we get home, huh?” Peter nods into his chest. “Okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
Tag list: @justrepostandlove @gasplaughgasp @canonismybitch @shadedrose01 @baloobird @whatisawilltolive @a-liddell-alice @you-know-i-larb-you-3000 @hold-our-destiny @lyssismagical @spideygirl2003 @make-the-stars-stay
Peter’s Private Problems
The second Saturday of the month was what Peter referred to as his “absolute most favoritist day”. These designated days were long, bright, adventurous, sugar filled travel excursions led by none other than the wildly famous Tony Stark, his mentor. Experiences included, but we’re not limited to: a wild, gut wrenching, high stakes circus in Russia with the best cotton candy Peter had ever tasted; dangerous, heart-pounding white water rafting in one of Pennsylvania’s most notorious destinations; the fresh, enormous, authentic marketplace exclusive to Egypt “Khan Al-Khalili”; adrenaline-pumping zip lining over real, living alligators in the Amazon; and so much more. Each weekend was somehow more exciting than the last, and as the second Saturday of August drew to a close, Peter couldn’t help but think it had been the best yet. Sure, it wasn’t as glamorous as the red carpet premiere in California, but the junk-filled laden tents of the Maryland State Fair had offered a homey country vibe that was irreplicable.
The countryside zoomed by as Tony drove on the highway back to New York. The road was illuminated with the light the Audi R8 shined, the corn on the side of the road bending and blurring with the speed. However, Peter couldn’t help but think it looked like it was waving goodbye. The boy rested his head on his hand, leaning against the car door as he looked longingly out the window. Such nights shouldn’t have to end.
Peter took a breath, appreciating the quiet noise of tires burning along pavement, whispers of wind, and soft tunes of music. His brain immediately recrafted the eventful night, filling his head with memories of sticky fingers as they pulled at cotton candy, heart-racing drops on roller coasters, rough hands ruffling his curls, and bursts of excitement at beating a genius at ring toss. He remembered the way the skyline looked at night, all lit up with life as if beckoning Peter from atop the ferris wheel. And best of all, the feeling of utmost peace that came with being near Tony.
“You good, kid? Tired?” Tony interrupted Peter’s thoughts, glancing at him with raised eyebrows. He shook his head.
“I’m fine, just thinking. Some people don’t have a constant need to talk, especially about themselves,” Peter teased with a crooked grin.
“Please, who wouldn’t want to talk about me? Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist AND devilishly handsome.”
“Let’s not forget an ego about the size of North America,” Peter laughed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.
“Got me there, spider boy.”
“Seriously though,” Peter rubber his neck, “thank you for today, Mr. Stark.” He was never quite sure how to show just how much the nights out meant to him.
“If you really want to thank me, you can stop calling me Mr. Stark. Makes me feel old,”
“You are old, Mr. Stark,” Peter smirked.
Tony looked at him, hand on chest, offended.
“Take it back!”
“I thought you wanted me to be more honest,” Peter batted his eyelashes innocently.
“I meant if you were sick or injured or DYING!”
The boy rolled his eyes.
“Alright, well then I’m DYING to let you know that you’re old.”
Tony remained unamused.
“You know I could pull over this car right now and leave you to live out the plot of Children of the Corn.”
Peter snorted, “You love me too much to do that.”
“Damn, you’re right. Plus, you’re what, 12? 13? You could never survive on your own,” Tony laughed, patting the teenager on the shoulder. Peter swatted his hand away.
“I am not that young! I’m practically an adult!”
“Mhm, you wanna make another old man joke? I can go all night, spiderbaby,” Tony flashed a devious grin.
“Alright, alright, I call truce.” Peter threw his arms up, trying not to smile.
He grinned back, stifling a yawn as the long day caught up to him.
“Sure you aren’t tired, Pete?” Tony asked slowly, one eyebrow cocked.
“Yeah, I’m totally a-a-wakeee,” Peter yawned, cursing himself for being the absolute worst liar.
“That was realllll convincing, kid.”
“Seriously! I can make it home!”
Tony eyed the time.
“Woah, it’s way past your bedtime. Sorry, I meant to get on the road a bit earlier. What do you say we stop for the night? I’m sure there’s a hotel around here somewhere.”
Peter’s heart nearly stopped. No, no, no, no. He couldn’t do that. Not now.
“No! I mean- er, it’s only 11:30 we could totally make it back!” Peter argued, desperate undertones slipping into his vocalization. Tony stared at him.
“It’d be morning by the time we did, and May would kill me if you slept through an entire day.”
“But I don’t have any pajamas!” Peter interjected- a final attempt to dissuade the man. Tony merely chuckled.
“If that’s what you so concerned about, I have a suitcase of emergency travel stuff in the trunk. And get this, it includes PJs.”
Peter gave a weak smile. This was going to be a disaster.
Ive been waiting to make a masterlist, and here it is!
If you can’t breathe, I’ll breathe for you- incomplete
(Kidnapped Peter fic)
What’s wrong with the system- complete
(Peter’s in the foster system, gets an internship with Tony)
(Peter calls tony from the roof- happy ending)
(Tony finds out about Peter’s depression)
(Peter gets hurt on patrol and hides it)
(Peter comes out to his dad)
(Peter’s in the tower when someone breaks in- read the tags)
97 – “I need help”
Sorry this took like a million years to answer and I don’t even think this is from the right prompt list lol (so sorry if this is entirely wrong) but here we finally are:
Asking for help had always been difficult for Peter, he never knew how to ask those simple words whether it was about simple things or about the fatal.
He wouldn’t even ask for help when he was dying until Karen was forced to override his desperate pleads to stay quiet and contact Tony anyways.
He never went to May for relationship advice, he never asked his teachers when he didn’t get the lesson or assignment, he never asked Ned for any help with Spider-Man, he never asked MJ to cut him some slack when he showed up late for decathlon meets day after day, he never asked the principal to help him with his bullying predicament.
He stayed quiet, always.
It wasn’t that he didn’t have anyone to go to because he had a widespread support system of people always willing to be there for him whenever he needed it. But he never wanted to use them. He’s not sure whether it was some selfless act to keep his problems burdening only his own shoulders or if he was doing it because some part of him was insecure that if he showed the ugliest depths of himself that people would disappear.
There was a time, as a child, that he wouldn’t hesitate to ask Mary for help. She was always there to bandage his wounds and kiss his forehead, to offer a shoulder to cry on and give him the best advice, to get him some ice cream and give him the biggest hugs.
He thinks of her now, the parts of her he can still remember so many years later.
The way she smiled, so bright and open like she didn’t have anything to hide. Her laugh, loud and carefree. Her hands, warm and gentle, always there to brush away his tears and smooth bandages over his scraped knees.
He needs help.
But the only person he wants to ask for help is Mary.
He went to a club with Ned thinking that it would be all fun and games.
But Ned’s different now. He’s five years older than Peter, already has a degree in computer science and a fancy real job, a serious girlfriend, and his own house in Brooklyn.
Peter still hasn’t gotten his ID updated like he was supposed to, so it would say that he’s still seventeen, not twenty-two like Ned is, so the bouncer let him into the club. He didn’t expect the alcohol to make amplify all of his emotions until he stormed out of the club, quickly followed by Ned.
“You’re not Ned anymore! I- I don’t even know who you are!” Peter had shouted, tears already pooling in his eyes.
“C’mon, Peter, at least let me drive you home-”
Peter had thrown his arms up in anger, kicking the wall like some child having a tantrum. “I don’t want to talk to you! You’re some man and I’m still this stupid kid who died, Ned. I died and the whole universe moved on without me. How’s that fair? Did you just- Did you forget about me?”
“I didn’t think you were coming back, Peter. Me and MJ, we grieved together, and we were stuck in that awful mourning for over a year, but we picked ourselves up and put our lives together. Even if it meant we had to do it without you.”
“What about all our plans?” Peter demanded unfairly. It’s not like he really expected them to just wait for him. “We were going to go to MIT together and get an apartment in Boston… We were going to graduate together. We were going to be each other’s best mans. You were supposed to be my guy in the chair.”
“I can still be that, Peter-”
Peter had cursed at the sky and glared at Ned through his tears. “You have new, better friends and your own life and it’s all without me. Well, guess what? I don’t need you either, Ned. I don’t need you to dedicate all this time to picking up the pieces of a stupid teenager. I don’t need you.”
And he’d taken off like he was a child running away from his problems. Ned hadn’t tried to follow him.
Now he’s on a rooftop in Queens, looking out over the city that no longer felt like home to him.
He wants help.
He wants somebody to know how he’s feeling and to wrap him in a tight hug and promise that he’ll find his place in the world again.
But nobody comes and he doesn’t know how to ask for help anyways.
His phone shows a couple of messages from May, and dozens of missed calls from Tony. He’s been avoiding the hero ever since that fight moments after the snap had been reversed. He had showed up at the hospital briefly, barely peeking into his room before he had raced out of the building.
He presses on one of the most recent voicemails Tony left, curiosity getting the best of him as the alcohol starts fading.
“Hey kid. I know things have been scary and confusing lately, and I’m really sorry I haven’t made a stronger effort to get you to come visit, but I wanted to check in again. Morgan’s been asking about you, Pepper said you met at the hospital briefly. I told Morgan you’ll visit when you’re ready to… Listen, kiddo, I want to make sure you know that I’m here for you, no matter how small you think the problem is. I don’t want you to think you have to burden this on your own. I’m just a phonecall away.”
There’s a long pause that follows, so long that Peter almost thinks the voicemail is over, but Tony continues eventually, quiet and shaky.
“I really missed you, kiddo. I missed you every single day you were gone. And I hate that I still have to miss you even though you’re back… Just- Please call me, okay? Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off. I just wanna hear from you. Alright, well, hope you’re doing okay, kid. Call me back.”
There’s a beep as the voicemail ends and Peter, almost robotically, clicks on his contact.
It rings for a long time, and there’s a rush of guilt at how late it is that Peter’s calling. It’s been three weeks since the snap’s reversal, three weeks of voicemails and missed calls, and Peter has the nerve to call him back at nearly two in the morning.
“Kid?” Tony starts, voice rough like he’s just woken up.
“I need help,” Peter says, words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I wanted to ask my mom, she’s who I always went to for help, but I couldn’t convince myself to go to the graveyards. I was scared I’d see my own name, I guess. I don’t know.”
Tony’s quiet for a moment and there’s some shuffling as Tony presumably gets out of bed to not wake Pepper. “Where are you? You want me to come get you?”
“You would do that? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Peter sighs and lays back against the roof. “I went out to a club with Ned and we ended up fighting. I just- Everyone moved on without me and I- I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Let me come get you,” Tony says. “I don’t want to have this kind of conversation over the phone.”
“I’m in Queens. Isn’t that far?”
There’s the sound of a car engine starting. “Never too far for me, kid. I can be there in an hour, alright? Sit tight and don’t do anything impulsive, okay? I’ll be there soon.”
Tony makes it to him in forty-nine minutes.
“Don’t throw up in my car,” Tony says, only sounding half-serious, when Peter gets into the passenger seat.
“I won’t. Metabolism’s already burnt through all the drunkenness.” Peter shrugs, putting his feet up on the dash despite how many times Tony’s reprimanded him for it. This time, Tony doesn’t say a word about it. “Am I supposed to tell you why I called you at two in the morning?”
“I kinda got the gist of it when you called. Drunk fights with friends never end well.” Tony spares him a glance at a red light. “You can tell me whatever you want to tell me, kiddo. I’m not here to force anything out of you.”
So Peter tells him everything.
How he was the only one in his inner circle who got dusted. Flash did and some of his teachers, his neighbor. But none of his family.
How Ned’s created this whole new life without Peter, a girlfriend and a house and a job, an adult now.
How MJ’s living in Europe now, according to her Instagram, which also shows that she’s got a fiancé and she’s getting her masters, and she didn’t even answer any of the messages Peter sent her way.
How May’s got a house in the suburbs now, not even living in Queens anymore. How she got remarried to some guy that Peter barely remembers as one of May’s coworkers, she’s retired now, thanks to Pepper’s overcompensation after the snap.
How Tony has Morgan and Pepper and a cabin in the middle of nowhere, the tower’s sold and the compound’s destroyed, Tony’s retired.
How there isn’t space in anyone’s life for Peter anymore.
“You know there’s no real answer to this, right?” Tony asks when Peter finishes ranting. He looks older now, tired. “How there’s nothing I can really do to fix this. I’ve had my fair share of time travel and I can’t go back and change the past five years. I can’t force Ned or MJ to go back to high school. I can’t force May to get divorced.”
“That’s not what I want!” Peter says, frustrated and upset and so beyond tired. “They’re happy now. I’m just confused because I always thought they’d be happy with me not for me. That’s what May said, that she moved on for me, she got remarried and moved and retired for me because she knew I’d want her to be happy.”
Tony reaches out to grab Peter’s shoulder and squeeze. “It’s true. We all moved on because we couldn’t spend our whole lives missing you. That’s not what you would’ve wanted us to do.”
“I know, I just- I don’t know where I fit anymore. I don’t know what to do or how I’m supposed to make it through senior year without my best friends and how I’m supposed to not feel jealous that everyone got their happy endings but me.”
Tony’s shoulders slump a little and he very suddenly pulls over onto the side of the road, turning to face Peter properly.
“Kid, there’s no reason that just because things are different, they can’t be good. That’s not how this works. It’ll take time, but you’ll find your spot again. You’ve already got one spot, secured and prepared.”
“Right here,” Tony says, smiling. “You’re my kid. Morgan’s grown up with stories of her big brother. Pepper decorated the house with you in mind, our living room is painted your favourite colour and there’s a picture of you on our mantle right beside Morgan’s. You’ve got a place already. It might take time for you to find the rest of your footing, but you’ve got us.”
Despite the awkward lack of space in the sports car Tony chose to drive, Peter still finds a way to get himself into Tony’s arms, hiding his face in the crook of his shoulder when the tears start to fall.
He sniffles. “I miss my mom and my dad and my uncle like the grief is new, and I feel like I’m missing May and Ned and MJ, and you because I was scared. I needed help and I wanted family and I couldn’t find it anywhere.”
“Well, you’ve got it, kiddo. If you want us, then you’ve got us. We’re got a bedroom with your name on it, or, well, it has a Star Wars poster on the back of the door, but it’s yours. We’re yours.”
“Would May be okay if I stayed with you for a little while?”
“She’ll understand. And I know this is all scary and overwhelming, but I promise it’ll all make sense again. I promise you’ll figure this out, and I’ll be right there at your side.”
“I love you,” Peter says because he doesn’t know how else to explain the gratitude that fills the chest.
And surprisingly, Tony squeezes him tighter. “I love you too, kid.”
yeah i absolutely can!!
Peter hasn’t been sick since he got the spider bite.
He figures it’s fair, since he spent a good three days with his head inside the rim of the toilet seat, shivering and hallucinating and feverish and starving but unable to keep anything down. That had been miserable. He thinks of it as his penance.
He doesn’t exactly know how it happened, now. Well, like. He has a pretty good idea how it happened, but he didn’t think it was possible, is what he keeps telling Tony, “Ndo, really, I would’ve beend more careful if I kndew dis was a possible outcombe, I swear.”
Tony is pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You patrolled in the freezing rain and hail? You did that? You made that decision with your actual human brain.”
“I did,” Peter says miserably, rubbing his sleeve under his nose. “May says it’s your fauldt for encouraging mbe and it’s your respondsibility to watch mbe ndow.”
Tony sighs heavily, then steps aside.
Peter steps past him into his Manhattan penthouse. Peter has been here before, has been stitched up and has demolished pizzas and played intense rounds of Just Dance in this place, but he’s never showed up with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder and two beanies on his head and a tissue shoved up his left nostril to keep it from bleeding again in the biting wind. City wind is so fucking disrespectful. It’s like constant friction burn. Peter’s face could probably peel off like snakeskin if he tried.
Peter drops his bag beside the door, then curls up on the couch, chills covering every inch of his skin, knees to his chest, pointing his face towards the fire Tony’s got roaring in his exposed brick fireplace. Peter never expected Tony would be an exposed brick sort of guy, but here he is, with a whole wall of the stuff, and a bunch of fancy linen curtains, and a cushy fucking couch, wow. Peter claws at the blanket hanging over the back of it and pulls it over himself.
Surrounded by warmth, he hums in pleasure. Now his brain feels like it’s melting and the rest of his body is warm enough to match. If he’s gonna die of heat death, he might as well do the job all the way.
He hears Tony snort, then approach the couch. Tony lifts Peter’s feet up and pulls his sneakers off for him.
“Kid, you’ve got a toe poking right out of the front of your sock.”
“Yeah,” Peter agrees. He feels the air hit it and shivers.
“Do you need new socks? What the fuck.”
“Nah, these have still got anodder winter in dem.”
“Mother of—” Tony mumbles, then stands. “Do you want a sweatshirt? Something warmer, Cinderelly?”
“Mmb, sure, thandks,” Peter says, poking his face out over the edge of the blanket between his hands to shoot Tony a grin.
Tony shakes his head, but still yanks Peter’s earlobe as he walks by, so Peter thinks that’s a success.
He squirms deeper into the couch. It’s quiet without the clicking of Tony’s faulty ticker, or the rough half-fill of his lungs as he breathes. Peter taps his fingernails against the stiff seams of the couch. Wiggles some more. Rolls onto his back. His head pounds with the movement and he closes his eyes with a groan, pressing his hands over his eyebrows. “Oh, ouchies.”
Tony comes back just in time to hear it and hurries closer, his face far more panicked than the situation warrants. “What, what did you do?”
“Ndnothin’,” Peter mumbles, squinting at him. “I amb dying, Egypt, dying. Give mbe sombe wine an’ let mbe speak a little.”
“Isn’t that my line?” Tony says. He tosses the sweatshirt he’d brought at Peter’s head. Peter lets it drape over his face.
Tony sits back at the edge of the couch and lifts Peter’s feet for a second time, now maneuvering them into another layer of socks. They’re a little too long, but the thought is there, and it makes Peter all mushy.
Peter shoves his way into the sweatshirt, letting the hood settle down on top of his double beanies. He gives Tony a pained grin, head still aching. The tissue falls unceremoniously from his nostril and flutters onto his chest.
“Ah,” he says.
“You are disgusting.” Tony gets up a third time, and really, he should just stay, because Peter is starting to think his weight at the end of the couch is doing far more good for him than the sweatshirt or the socks or whatever he’s going to fetch now.
“Hey, where are you goi’g? Where are you goooi’g?”
Tony does not answer.
Peter groans dramatically, tossing his arm over his eyes.
Tony patters around the apartment for far too long. Peter pulls the hood closed over his face, crosses his arms, and tracks Tony’s footsteps, but his hearing is all fucked because his whole head is about to burst from the pressure on his sinuses. If he exploded, it would be disgusting. There would be snot all over Tony’s nice lamps and nice Moroccan carpet and nice—fucking candle holders or whatever. Tony’s TV reflects back the orange sunset over Manhattan, and that would be really nice if Peter weren’t royally frustrated and grievously ill right now. Tony has no right to not be giving him all of the regard his tiny body can manage. Peter needs it. To be waited on.
He needs attention.
When Tony does return, Peter can hear the rustle of an armful of shit rubbing against his sleeves. Peter sort of spitefully wants to not look at him on account of the fact that he was just needlessly abandoned, but then he thinks he can smell fucking soup so he pulls his eyes free of the hood.
He was right. Tony’s got a mug of soup nearly spilling all over his hand, and a bottle of pills, a heating pad, a little canister of that Tiger Balm shit he swears by, a tissue box, a thermometer, a bottle of Gatorade, and several pillows stuffed between his arms.
“Shit,” Peter says, sitting up as quickly as he can without keeling right back over. He takes the mug and puts it on the coffee table, then jams the pillows all along the back of the couch.
Tony puts the rest of his loot down on the table, saying, “Alright, alright. Let’s do this properly. Temperature first.”
“I’ve got one.”
“A temperature? Man, I hope so.”
Peter snorts thickly. A glob of phlegm flies into his mouth. “Oh, fuckindg gross,” he says, grabbing a bundle of tissues and spitting it out.
“Oh my god not in my house,” Tony says shrilly. “Germs everywhere. Okay, it’s fine, I totally don’t have a compromised immune system, if I say it enough times it won’t be true.”
Peter shoots him a glance. Too quickly. He presses a hand to his temple and closes his eyes as his vision blacks out, pain radiating like the smack of a gong. “You have a combromised immunde systemb?”
“Oh, stop that. It’s fine. I’m super fine. Superhero fine.”
“Superhero sick if you stay ndear mbe,” Peter corrects, scooting as far backwards along the couch as he can.
“Hey, as long as I wash my hands and don’t, like, breathe in every breath that comes out of your mouth, I’ll be fine.”
Peter groans. “Tooondy,” he says. “I’ll go, really.”
Tony snorts as if the idea of that is hilarious to him. He reaches out and moves Peter’s hand from his temple, taking the weight of Peter’s head against his palm. Peter leans into it because Tony has blissfully cold hands and they’re working like an ice pack right now.
The next thing Peter knows, Tony’s jamming the thermometer in his mouth.
Peter jumps in surprise but lifts his tongue.
“Shush. Three minutes, right? That’s how long to wait for?”
Peter nods, slowly this time.
Tony nods back in satisfaction. “Here, let’s—fix the pillows, this is a mess.”
Tony fiddles with them, laying them out properly, stacking a couple behind Peter’s back to keep his head raised.
“Good?” Tony asks.
Peter shoots him a thumbs up.
Tony responds by grabbing the thermometer out of his mouth and checking it, squinting to read the number. He curses. “That’s one-oh-two. Is your brain a baked alaska yet?”
“Pretty close,” Peter admits, leaning back into the pillows.
Tony starts pulling the hats off him.
“Hey,” Peter whines, trying to wiggle out of Tony’s arms reach, but Tony is worse than Doc Ock on a bad day. He gets them off, revealing Peter’s sweaty curls.
“You’re gonna overheat yourself,” Tony says, pulling the blanket off next.
Peter whines, taken over by a wave of shudders. “But I’m freezing.”
“You’re not,” Tony says, but he grabs Peter’s foot and squeezes it as he returns to the far end of the couch. “You just feel like you are. You’re shaky, not cold, but your body knows it’s shivering and making you think you’re cold.”
“Brr,” Peter says petulantly, rubbing his upper arms.
Tony softens a little and squeezes Peter’s foot again. “Alright. Come on. Soup, and then fever reducers, okay?”
Peter grumbles some more but sits up. He’s not nauseous, which is a relief. He’s hoping the soup stays down.
He pulls his knees up to his chest and starts to sip at it as Tony fumbles with the remote. He pulls up the Great British Baking Show, and Peter grins outright, turning towards him with the smile still spread wide across his face.
Tony grins back and presses play, leaning back into the cushions.
The episode is a good distraction from Peter’s soup and general misery, watching the bakers rush around and try to cut Florentines out with circle cutters when Peter knows full well that Florentines are supposed to have nice lacy edges. Rookie mistake.
He puts the mug down on the table when he’s finished, feeling warmer on the inside. Less shaky, too.
Tony pats his head like he’s a dog that remembered to shit outside this time.
Peter rolls his eyes.
Tony gives him the fever reducers then, along with the radioactively yellow Gatorade. Peter sips at it, completely unable to taste it, and the medicine hits him with the usual whammy of just fucking unresolvable nausea, which is a nice cherry on top of everything else.
“Hnghg,” Peter says.
Tony shoots him a glance. “What’s up?”
Tony scoots just close enough to feel Peter’s forehead. “You don’t seem any warmer.”
“Well, I mbight puke all over your couch, so,” Peter grumbles.
“I’mb bei’g drambatic,” Peter says. “Just—fever reducers mbake mbe nauseous.”
“Oh. Aw, kid. I’m sorry. Want some bread or something?”
Peter shakes his head slowly. “Ndothing helps.”
Tony grimaces, then squeezes Peter’s knee. He’s staring at Peter with this weird, almost constipated look he gets sometimes, like he’s trying really hard to be soft but he’s just really got to let this turd out first, and Peter finds himself amused by it.
“What?” he says. “Ndo, let it out.”
“I can’t fix it,” Tony says.
“I don’t like that.”
“Dis is how ndormal people feel all the time.”
“I hate it. I hate being normal people. Oh, fuck this.”
Peter smiles a little. “Aw, you care.”
“No,” Tony says with a sniff. “No, I just—oh, who am I kidding. I care so much.”
Peter laughs out loud, discomfort forgotten. “Alright,” he says, and maneuvers onto his knees. He crawls forward across the couch, drops a pillow on Tony’s lap, and then smushes his face onto it, turned out so he can still see the TV.
“Oh,” Tony says stupidly.
“Shh, just let it happend,” says Peter, groping for Tony’s hand. When he finds it, he drops it onto his own head.
Tony gets the message and starts playing with Peter’s hair, twisting the curls around his fingers and scratching his blunt nails behind Peter’s temples.
Peter hums happily.
Tony snorts, but doesn’t stop. He picks up the Tiger Balm with his other hand and opens the little jar, smearing some onto his thumb and then rubbing it into Peter’s temple.
The instant cooling sensation is, like, brilliant. Peter takes back all the smack he talked about this shit behind Tony’s back. He will bow down and pray to the tiger god, or whatever.
Something must show on his face because Tony says, “Nice, right?” under his breath and keeps massaging Peter’s temple.
Tony laughs quietly. “Here, roll on your back so I can get the other side too.”
Peter obliges a little wonderingly because when the fuck did they reach the point where Tony can, like, massage his head while Peter drips snot all over his pillows? Peter doesn’t know, but he’s not complaining. It’s nice, sometimes, to have all of this concentrated attention on him. Especially from someone he literally adores. Like Tony.
Tony’s other hand takes up Peter’s other temple, and Peter sighs in pleasure, his whole forehead tingling pleasantly.
“You just relax, bub,” Tony whispers. “I’ve gotcha. You’ll be fine.”
Peter thinks he might hum in response but he’s so far gone he doesn’t think he’ll ever know. He falls into a warm, comfortable sleep like he’s tripped into tar. He sinks slowly, serenely.
Peter doesn’t know what time it is when he drags himself into a semblance of consciousness, but he tears an eye open and the apartment is navy with deep night light. The TV is paused on the Are you still watching? screen. Peter blinks blearily and looks to his other side to find Tony melted sideways, pillow jammed between the armrest and his head, mouth slack with sleep. His breath is warm against the still-cool balm on Peter’s forehead.
Peter moves himself and his pillow so he can press his face into Tony’s chest. In sleep, Tony’s arm tugs him closer.
Peter closes his eyes. Tony’s got him. He’ll be fine.
This is a WIP I had in my writing notebook; I don’t plan on writing it so feel free to use it, just tag me so I can read it :D
SHOW RECAP: For those not in the know, BNHA is an anime about a superhero world, where 80% of the population has superpowers called ‘quirks’. There are heroes, underground heroes, rescue heroes, sidekicks, hero agencies, villains, villain organizations, all that good stuff. Now, in the show, the protagonist goes to UA, a nationally acclaimed school for its hero course; they also have a support course (where students learn to build support items for heroes), business course, and general education.
- Tony Stark | The Support Hero: Ironman
- Quirk: Metal Keratin- He can turn the keratin in his body into metal, going as far as to turning his organ lining into metal. (I am no doctor, and so, for the sake of the story, we’ll chalk it up to his body being made to handle the repercussions of his quirk).
- Support heroes aren’t a thing in the show, so Tony stands out as a really unique public figure for this. His family dates back to a long line of inventors, even before the quirk era.
- Now, Stark Industries works alongside Midtown (in this AU, they’re UA’s equivalent), and is one of the committee members that overlook the school.
- He’s the only one in his family history to obtain a hero licence and work as one.
Gah! I am so sorry this took so long! But I had such a great time writing this omg.
Notes: This is a biodad au :)
Tony squeezes his son’s shoulder, “She’s gonna love you, kid.”
“How do you know?” Peter asks, looking nervously down at his shoes.
Today Peter is finally meeting his dad’s girlfriend. They’ve been dating for nearly two months (Tony wanted to make sure the relationship was serious before introducing someone to his son) and Peter is more than a little nervous. He’s heard so much about Pepper from his dad and he knows he is completely enamored with her, he hopes he likes her. Far too many of Tony’s relationships ended because of Peter. Either they weren’t comfortable with Tony having a teenage son or Peter didn’t like them. It’s nice to know that his dad really cares about what Peter thinks about his partners, but Peter hopes this one sticks.
“Just trust me, kid, you have nothing to worry about,” Tony smiles down at Peter. The father and son lounge on the couch, talking about Peter’s day. When FRIDAY announces that Pepper is here, Tony ushers Peter to greet her by the elevator.
The doors open and Pepper doesn’t look a thing like what Peter pictured. She has soft red hair, kind eyes, and a warm smile. She’s almost too good to be true. She wears a white t-shirt and light denim jeans.
Pepper goes to Tony first, kissing his cheek, before she turns to Peter. “You must be Peter.” Peter smiles and nods. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, though from what your dad tells me, I feel like I already know you.”
“Same here,” Peter smiles. “He talks about you all the time.”
“Do you?” Pepper turns to Tony with a flirtatious smile.
Tony rolls his eyes affectionately, “All the time is a bit of a stretch-”
“Don’t lie to your girlfriend, dad,” Peter laughs.
Pepper wraps her arm around Peter’s shoulders, “So tell me, what exactly has he told you about me?”
Peter grins, “He once talked for an hour about how much he likes you smile.”
Tony blushes and claps a hand over his son’s mouth, “Okay, that’s enough of that.”
“No please go on, Peter,” Pepper smirks. Peter and Pepper share a laugh at Tony’s expense.
Tony throws his hands in the air and walks up the hallway, “I never should have introduced you guys.” Peter and Pepper laugh.
Once Tony is in the living room, Peter turns to Pepper and smiles approvingly, “I like you.”
Pepper wraps an arm around his shoulder and walks with him to the living room, “I like you too.”
Tag list: @justrepostandlove @gasplaughgasp @canonismybitch @shadedrose01 @baloobird @whatisawilltolive @a-liddell-alice @you-know-i-larb-you-3000 @hold-our-destiny @lyssismagical @spideygirl2003 @make-the-stars-stay
Oops sorry this took so long to write but here we are :)
(TW Covid Mentions)
(Also @justme–emily wrote one with a similar prompt so go read that one too)
Peter drops his bag on the front porch, crossing his arms over his chest as he steps across the threshold into the cabin. This is the first time in the past year and a half that he’s been visiting the cabin that he hasn’t wanted to be here.
Happy hovers behind him, frown plastered on his face as he meets Tony’s worried gaze.
“You okay, kiddo?” Tony asks. He reaches out like he’s about to comfort his kid, but he stops short. “You should probably- Uh, wash off before I…”
Peter nods, offering a forced smile, not bothering to answer the question. He ducks down the hall towards his bedroom, once a guest bedroom but now adorned with Star Wars posters and littered in his things. It’s his in a way that he never thought would be allowed before the Snap when he used to pack all of his things up when he left the tower after ‘Training Weekends’ or ‘Internship Retreats.’
The word pandemic still rings in his head. A scary thing to be experiencing, even if he knows he’ll be perfectly safe living in the cabin, virtually in the middle of nowhere. Especially with Pepper, who’s a perfectionist and a clean person, paired with Tony’s concerning health detriments.
But May’s out there in Queens, alone, working as a nurse, and Peter’s upset. He doesn’t want her to be alone, he doesn’t want her to be in danger, he doesn’t want her to be put in the line of fire. But he knows this is what he does to her every day when he goes out as Spider-Man, throwing himself into dangerous situations and leaving her by herself to fret.
It’s fair, he knows that, and she’s the true hero, but he still hates that she’s out there by herself.
He stands in the shower for longer than he needs to, long since finished his washing to make sure he’s clean, even though he hasn’t seen anybody since the announcement of the pandemic, other than Happy. He wasn’t even allowed to hug May goodbye.
Eventually, though, he’s not allowed to continue his sulking, so he heads downstairs for lunch, even if he wants to hide away in his bed for the next few months.
“Peter!” Morgan shouts, racing up to him and throwing her arms around his hips. She’s grinning up at him, showing off one of her missing front teeth. “We missed you so, so, so, so much.”
“Wow, that’s a lot,” Peter says, half-heartedly, scooping her up into his arms and kissing the top of her head. He knows he’s not acting like himself, he sees it in the crease of Tony’s forehead and the pout that adorns Morgan’s face, but he’s tired and he doesn’t feel like putting in the effort of pretending.
It’s been a little while since schools were closed, so Peter already has plenty of homework stacked on his shoulders, along with MJ’s Academic Decathlon meets she insists still need to happen twice a week.
He tries not to let that show in his face when he offers a tired smile at Tony who leans forward to press a kiss to the kid’s forehead.
“I know this all sucks, and I know you’re worried about May, but it’s her turn to be the Parker Hero, alright? She’s going to be okay.”
“And if she’s not?” Peter asks because he knows he’s had to. It’s a painful reflection of the amount of loss he’s faced. “What then?”
“We’ll figure it out if it comes to it,” Pepper says. She, like everybody, looks tired and worry pinches her features.
Peter nods like this is all perfectly fine. Like he’s okay with sitting in the cabin day-in and day-out while May works tirelessly in the city.
“Think of it this way, by staying home and not Spider-Manning and following the rules like the rest of civilization, your aunt will have less people in the hospital with her and less chances of catching anything. Does that?”
Peter shrugs, slipping down into one of the kitchen chairs. “Sure… I’m fine. I’m just tired. I wanna sleep for a thousand years.”
“May sent me a general idea of what your schedule was looking like, and as much as I condone healthy sleeping schedules, you have a Decathlon meeting in a few hours.” Pepper casts a glance at the obvious circles under Peter’s eyes. “But after that, you can sleep through the rest of the day. You deserve it.”
Tony serves up some breakfast for them. Blueberry pancakes after Morgan had demanded a special breakfast for Peter’s arrival.
And it makes Peter feel a lot better already.
Tony makes stupid dad jokes that make Morgan crack up in hysterical giggles, especially when Peter rolls his eyes overdramatically as they get worse and worse. And Pepper playfully scolds them for making a mess with the syrup which makes Peter ‘accidentally’ pour too much syrup on his plate which makes Morgan almost fall out of her chair she laughs so hard.
And Morgan’s laughter is infectious. Peter finds himself laughing along, tired smile slowly becoming his regular grin.
After breakfast, Peter calls May and talks to her on the phone about how work’s going and about the Stark Family. He promises to call her every day around the same time to check in, and she promises to pick up as often as she can.
And then he makes sure Pepper knows he’ll be attending his Academic Decathlon call in his bedroom, so if she could keep Morgan busy, that’d be for the best. There’s something quietly alight in her smile when he says his bedroom.
It’s nice to see his friends again, even through the screen.
Ned, MJ, Betty, Cindy, Abe, Zach, Flash, and Brad are all there on the screen, grinning back at them like they’re just as excited to see all the little pixelated faces.
It’s so different to see everybody in their pajamas, or at least sweatpants and old hoodies, hair messily uncared for. Even Flash’s hair is sticking up in a bedhead way and he’s obviously sitting in his bed, not even bothering to drag himself to a desk for the call.
“You know it’s eleven, right?” Ned whined. “I was planning on sleeping in until at least two. How do you look put together, Peter? That’s literally so unfair.”
“I haven’t slept yet,” Peter admits, laughing a little too carefree. “Oops?”
MJ rolls her eyes, something Peter didn’t realize how much he’d been looking forward to seeing, and she quickly pulls the meeting back on track, pulling out her hefty stack of cue cards to quiz them.
Eventually, an hour or two later, there’s a knock on Peter’s door and Tony pokes his head in.
“Sorry to interrupt, kiddo,” he says, a warm smile on his face. He holds out a Hello Kitty mug. “I made you some coffee. May said you’ve finally caved and joined the coffee-drinkers.”
Peter grins, gratefully accepting the warm mug and holding it to his chest. “Thanks, Tony.”
“Holy shit,” Flash says.
“Mister Stark!” Ned waves exaggeratedly.
Tony smiles, waving back at the screen. He looks like a real dad standing in Peter’s doorway in his sweatpants and an old, fraying MIT sweatshirt, hair messy and smiling proudly.
Peter winces, though, hoping this isn’t about to wildly throw his life off course.
“You actually knew Tony freaking Stark,” Flash says, eyes wide in the screen. He shoves a hand through his hair in a poor attempt to flatten it.
“I told you I did. Not my fault you didn’t believe me,” Peter says, shrugging. He turns back to Tony. “Thanks for the coffee. I should be done in a bit.”
“Have fun, kiddo. I’ll have lunch ready for you when you’re done.” He pulls the door shut behind him as he leaves.
Everyone on the screen has matching expressions of dropped jaws and wide eyes, other than Ned who’s grinning mischievously and MJ who just looks bored.
“I can’t believe you were telling the truth this whole time,” Cindy says, followed by Betty’s, “I mostly believed you because I saw you with the new Starkphone, but you’re actually living with Iron Man.”
“Oh my god,” Flash says.
Peter shrugs. “Yeah. He’s nice and all, but he spent nearly an hour telling the worst dad jokes I’ve ever heard, so don’t let him fool you with the whole cool-guy persona he puts on for the public.”
Nothing’s really right in the world, but Peter’s always been the kind of person to find the good pieces of the bad. He’s got the Starks to keep him company and to help him out with everything, Tony’s a pretty good cook, Morgan’s the greatest little sister the world could ask for, and he’s got his friends, just a phone call away to make his anxieties fade even just a little.
Hey guys! Ive been in a little bit of a writing slump recently so i deceided to take my simplest idea and try to write it. I might write a second part since this could go a few different ways. I also tagged anyone i thought might be interested.
read on ao3 here
The floor was solid against his feet, everything else around him was fuzzy, but the floor was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality- or what he believed to be reality anyway.
It was weeks since his last lab day, months since his last decathlon meet, he was losing his grip on reality and there was no one around to notice. He couldn’t keep doing this, he couldn’t keep pretending that he wasn’t breaking inside with every false reassurance of him being okay.
He was going up stairs, up, up up-
The wind hit Peter like a wall, bringing him back. It made him dizzy and slightly nauseous- but maybe that was just because he hadn’t eaten all day and just climbed countless flights of stairs. It was almost midnight, there was no one to ask why spider-man was wandering around at hours past midnight.
Peter closed his eyes and grounded himself, he couldn’t let him slip away, not yet. He knew what he was about to do, and he was ready for it.
Peter had realised a long time ago that things wouldn’t get better. He repeated the words like a mantra in his head when bad things happened. Whenever flash shoved him in the hallways, whenever he got hurt on patrol, whenever tony yelled-
That’s how he ended up here, mask discarded a few feet behind him, along with his phone, which he knew would be blowing up with calls by now. He knew it was… sometime after midnight. Last he checked, it was an hour after curfew- but things started to get blurry after that.
It had been months, maybe years since he was okay. It had been so long since then, since May died, since Tony took him in. He knew he was the reason Pepper left Tony, he knew Tony wasn’t happy with him in his care. With him gone, Tony would be happy. Rationally, Peter knew that Tony would be sad at first but once that past, he would be okay. His life would be back to the way it was before everything, before the civil war… before he met peter.
Slowly, Peter breathed in the frigid new york air, lifting his head for the first time since he sat down. Sluggishly, he walked over to his phone and lifted it. He ignored the numerous texts and calls waiting for him, and selected Tony’s contact. He sat back down on the ledge, dangling his legs and looking down, staring at the hundreds of feet of air below him. He’d been preparing for this moment for weeks, he knew he had to do it right. The dial tone stopped and Peter heard his mentor’s worried voice through the speaker, calling for him, almost begging him for a response. The sound was distant, but it was there. Peter couldn’t pull his consciousness closer so he gathered all his energy for a few words.
“Mister Stark?” The teenager rasped, trying to ward off the tears that threatened to spill, he kept them in for this long, why would they fall now?
“Kid? Talk to me kid, where are you? Are you hurt?” Peter almost smiled at the worried tone of his mentor
It wont get better
“‘M not hurt” Peter whispered
“Okay, kiddo. Can you tell me where you are?” Tony’s voice suddenly souded less frantic, and more- worried? Relieved?
He’ll be relieved when you’re gone
“Dunno” Peter said simply, not lifting his eyes from where they landed on the ground, not having the energy to focus them again, content with the blurriness in his head.
“You- you don’t know? Okay, that’s fine, are you in your suit?” Peter hummed, “Okay, I’m tracking you now, can you wait until i get there?”
Peter suddenly felt wrong. This was wrong. No, he can’t come here.
“Don’t come” Peter blurted, clarity in his voice for the first time in weeks.
“What? Why not, bud?” Tony asked, voice soft, but tony could still hear thrusters in the background.
“You’re not supposed to come here. You’re not supposed to know,” Peter’s voice sounded wrecked, tears streamed down his face as he stood up on the ledge, a step away from nothing.
“Peter. What’s going on?” Tony sounded serious now, he knew something was wrong since he heard Peter’s voice, but it was now becoming increasingly obvious.
“You haven’t cared for weeks. Why now? When i was about to solve everything? Why would you- why-” Peter trailed off into muffled sobs, he threw his phone backwards, Tony’s voice still filtering through the speakers, slowly getting louder.
Distantly, Peter could hear thrusters, too far away for them to reach him in time. He let his mind drift away, leaning forward slightly, twisting his body so he was looking up as he fell, staring up at the fuzzy sky. He smiled, for the first time in what seems like weeks, hearing the wind rushing past his ears, he closed his eyes.
toll a bell for the broken hearted, burn a torch for your sons and daughters is one of those fics that just—man.
Bethany is one brilliant bean.
This story is a complete representation of that.
I also believe she’s out to take my heart out??? So??? There’s that??? Maybe she doesn’t mean to but her talent is out for my life??? So??? Yeah???
This was incredible??? I'm—wow. Just. This was incredible.
@keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars asked: Ohhhh can you do one for the line: “Peter was scared.”?? Please?? Congratulations on 300 followers hon, you’re amazing!
Thank you so much! Here’s your story ❤️💙❤️
Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!
Peter was scared. Not quite like “crushed by a building” scared, or “I have a history test tomorrow” scared, or even “maybe that wasn’t the best decision” scared, but a bit of all three and then some, mixing around in his stomach with all the terrified nausea in there.
And all just because he would be spending the weekend at the Avengers Compound for the first time. Well, that wasn’t the only reason, but he didn’t want to think about the other one yet. Aunt May was going to be out of town for a few days, and as soon as Peter had casually mentioned this to his mentor Tony Stark, Tony had all but insisted that he stay at the compound until she got back.
So here he was, sitting the backseat of a car headed for Upstate New York. And wishing more than anything that he wasn’t.
I’m an animation student in college and as you may know that stuff takes a lot of time. However, the semester is over now!! I should have more time to write now and I’m very excited to post stuff again! I’m most likely gonna update Take Me Under Your Wing first.
Also I wanna post some fanfiction for some other fandoms too (like Ace Attorney) but don’t worry! I’ll definitely keep writing fics about Irondad and Spiderson!! Love you guys 3000!! <3